7,692 Miles from Home

Going home

2009-12-20T13:32:00.005+05:30

It's our last day in India. Tonight we're headed home. The flight leaves out of Delhi at almost midnight. The first leg of the trip is only about five hours, and we have a stopover in Hong Kong. For about six hours, we get to enjoy one of the nicest airports in the world: it's clean and safe, and has decently comfortable seating, wifi, and a great food court. Hungry? You can eat at Western classics such as Popeye's or Burger King, or you can do what I'm going to do and take advantage of the noodle shops. The last time I was at the Hong Kong airport, I had a fairly tasty bowl of wonton soup.

After noodles, internet, and possibly a nap, we'll be back on the plane for a 12-hour flight to San Francisco. We leave Hong Kong around 2pm and arrive in California at 10am, thanks to the magic of time zones.

I'm happy to be going home, but I'll miss it here. I'm a little sad about leaving the street dogs and the monkeys. I'll miss my favorite restaurants, like Green Chilli and Dosa Yes Please here in Paharganj or Govinda's at the ISKCON temple.

It's definitely been an adventure, and there have been ups and downs. I don't know if I'll ever come back for 15 weeks all at once, and I may try to avoid northern India and spend some time exploring the south. Danny is already planning to come back late next year to do more research and wants me to come with. He's even promising to rent a beach shack in Goa, where he can write his dissertation and I can enjoy the beach and tropical weather everyday. We'll see what's happening in my life at that point!

There are a number of things I've been wanting to write about but haven't had the time to include as posts here. In the coming weeks, I will be putting up some of those entries, so don't assume my blog is over and done with. In fact, I don't plan to keep this as an India-only travel blog – I will blog about any and all of my future travels, whether that's to Minnesota this summer or whatever part of the world I decide to go to next.

I'll also be creating photo albums for Facebook and Picasa, and I will post the links here. I must have taken thousands of photographs while I've been here, only a minute fraction of which I've shared here on this blog. The highlights will be available for all to see at some point next month.

Goodbye, India. It's been quite an experience. Now it's time to find out what the next chapter holds for me.

Our animal shelter adventure

2009-12-17T23:32:00.006+05:30

Friendicoes is an organization in Delhi which serves as an animal shelter and clinic, housing and treating everything from dogs and cats to monkeys to cows and pigs. Their main office is tucked away beneath a highway flyover and offers free vet services to people who bring their pets in. They also accept unwanted dogs, many of which can be seen hanging out in front. The dogs all wear coats or sweaters and happily move from person to person, looking for someone to scratch them behind the ears or on the rump.

Danny was invited to see their larger sanctuary, located in the city of Gurgaon, which is an hour's drive to the south of Delhi. Technically, we were tagging along with a French filmmaker and her French informant, who were making a piece on dogs and animal welfare in India. Friendicoes provided transportation, which turned out to be an animal ambulance. Along one side of the van was a medical stretcher, with a small padded seat opposite. I sat in the back with the two French women, where it was so cramped that my knees pressed up against the metal bars of the stretcher. It was clear that the vehicle served animals, for as the sun heated up the ambulance, there was a faint but distinct smell of dog.

After a long and bumpy ride, we arrived at the sanctuary. Upon climbing out of the ambulance, we were greeted by the enthusiastic barking of hundreds of dogs. On either side of a narrow walkway were two fenced-in enclosures, with more dogs than I've ever seen in my entire life. Some had collars. Some had injuries or skin diseases which were being treated with an orange ointment. Some were sleeping in the heat of the late morning. The vast majority of them, though, were barking, following us as we walked along the path, and jumping up on the fence to greet us. There were even some up on the roofs of the buildings inside the enclosures, barking at us from on high.

Friendicoes has a no-kill policy, so once an animal ends up in their shelter, they are there for life, unless they get adopted. There are so many dogs at the sanctuary, in fact, that it seems they have run out of room in the dog section and are housing many more in the wildlife section. Despite the huge number of dogs housed there, it's actually quite roomy, with plenty of space for the dogs to move around, as well as spaces for them to get privacy if they need it.

Danny and I walked to the wildlife section, at the rear of the complex, where the macaques were kept. It's also where they keep langurs, guinea pigs, rabbits, geese, pigeons, kites, vultures, parrots, chickens, rats, and another hundred dogs. All the various animals are kept in cages, except for the dogs – in this area, they are kept in the open space between the cages. So when Danny and I first went in, we were surrounded by barking, tail-wagging dogs. The only way most of them knew how to interact with humans was to jump up and put their paws on us. After just a couple minutes, I was covered in dusty paw prints. The staff quickly put leashes on the rowdier dogs and tied them to the fence or to trees.

We toured the facility and looked at all the animals. A lot of the macaques housed here had been injured at some point and were now permanent residents at Friendicoes. In one cage were two monkeys: one had lost an arm, while the other had lost his hands. Some other macaques had once been monkey dancers, which is an illegal form of entertainment in India. These were missing their front, sharp teeth, which had been pulled out by their previous owners so that they couldn't inflict damage if they tried to bite.

While I enjoyed looking at all the monkeys, the best part for me was having a chance to spend some time with the dogs. I took every opportunity I had to scratch a dog behind the ear or rub a belly (which was actually rather difficult, since, as soon as I knelt down to give a belly rub, I would get pounced on by other excited dogs, wanting a turn). Considering we were surrounded by dogs, I got to do quite a bit of scratching!

I wish I could have taken a dog (or several) home with me. They were all so sweet and just wanted to be loved up. Since I can't adopt an Indian dog, I'm glad these guys at least have a nice place to live where there are people who care about them. Having visited Friendicoes, I plan to add them to the list of organizations that I donate to, which already includes an animal welfare group: the Marine Mammal Center. I also plan to get back involved with volunteering at the local animal shelter at home.

If you're interested in giving to Friendicoes, there is information on their website. Every little bit helps, especially in India where a dollar goes a long way, and you could make a dog – or a monkey – very happy.

A city in ruins

2009-12-16T13:53:00.069+05:30

As I've mentioned before, I love old buildings. They're among my favorite things to see when I'm traveling. When I traveled in Europe during my junior year abroad, I spent a ton of time exploring castles, ruins, and the like. Living in California, it's often difficult to experience places that are really old. Sure, Mission Dolores in San Francisco was founded in 1776, followed by the city of San Jose in 1777. But neither the church nor the city feel old.

Then I go somewhere like Tughlaqabad, founded in 1321. It's a ruined fort and city that lies in the southern part of Delhi. Modern-day Delhi contains the remnants of a number of "cities" that have risen and fallen there, going as far back as the 11th century. Tughlaqabad is one of those ancient cities.

The overgrown grounds contain the crumbling remains of towers, storehouses, gateways, and residential quarters for both royalty and servants, all contained within a defensive wall that encircles the city. Nearly seven hundred years later, the city functions as a grazing area for cows and donkeys, and its buildings house stray dogs and a troop of rhesus macaques. In fact, it's said that a curse was put on Tughlaqabad when Nizzamudin, a Sufi mystic, became angered by the construction of the fort. The city was doomed to be inhabited only by shepherds – a curse which holds to this day.

Danny hired a guide for the first part of our excursion into the ancient ruins. This fellow pointed out where the queen's bath had been and told us why some of the gateways were so large (so that elephants could pass through). He walked us down into the market, where the narrow corridor was lined with low doorways that led into dark rooms, and showed us the thorn-covered entrance to a kilometer-long tunnel, which supposedly led to another fort across the way.

When the guided tour was over, we spent another couple of hours exploring, particularly looking for monkeys and birds and making sure we saw as much of the city as possible.

Like other historical sites we've been to, there is some writing on the walls, although not as much as we had seen before. Perhaps it's because Tughlaqabad is so far out of the way and doesn't seem to get a lot of visitors.

We then left the fort and crossed the street to the tomb of Ghiyadthu'd-din, the Tughlaq emperor who founded the city and the dynasty. It was quiet and mostly empty, except for a few people who were working on renovating the mausoleum, as well as a few pigeons and parrots.

As our excursion drew to a close, the sun was beginning to set, lighting up the sky in a particularly awesome way.

I will always love ruins and ancient buildings. The next time someone asks me what's my favorite part of traveling, I'll most likely say, "I love finding places that are truly old." Lately, I've been thinking about taking an archaeology class, since I'd love to be able to learn about the spaces where people once lived. In the meantime, though, I'll continue to visit and photograph them... and wonder about the history behind what I'm seeing.

Christmas comes to Vasant Vihar

2009-12-12T23:21:00.016+05:30

We hopped on a rickshaw and headed down to south Delhi, to check out a bookstore called Fact & Fiction. (Danny and I have bought a ton of books while we’ve been here. Some people travel and buy jewelry, snow globes, or T-shirts. We visit new cities and buy books.) The shop is located in a rather posh outdoor shopping mall, which I’ve mentioned before. In the early darkness of evening, with the glare of the back-lit billboards shining in your face, the place doesn’t actually look so bad.

After making our purchases, we headed next door to one of the fanciest Pizza Huts I’ve ever eaten at. Instead of a place you’d go for a pitcher of beer and a pepperoni pizza, which would be consumed at a dimly-lit table covered in sticky soda stains while listening to classic rock blaring out of a jukebox, this Pizza Hut had menus, tasteful pizza “art” on the walls, and plush booth seating.

We ordered the seafood appetizer, which included fish sticks and fried prawns. The prawns were the best I’ve had during this entire trip: a crisp breadcrumb coating, with a hint of garlic. It’s sad, actually, that my best prawn experience was at a chain pizza restaurant.

Afterwards, we went outside to find that Santa had arrived. Dressed in the usual red suit and fake beard, St. Nick was sitting in his sleigh, which was, in turn, parked on a small flatbed truck. A female announcer was just saying goodbye to the crowd, and even though Santa wasn’t quite finished shaking hands, the lights on his tree were unceremoniously shut off, perhaps in an attempt to get people to walk away.

Soon there were three Santas on the back of the truck, which made me remark to Danny, “This would never happen at home. How would we explain to the children why there are three Santas?”

Christmas isn’t really a holiday that is celebrated in India, being that there is only a small population of Christians in India and also that it’s not a part of the cultural heritage. In fact, up until this visit to south Delhi, I hadn’t seen Christmas decorations anywhere else in the city. Christmas really seems to be something that has been appropriated by the wealthy. In the west, we like to show off our worldliness by decorating spaces with Tibetan prayer flags, statues of the Buddha or Ganesh, and African musical instruments. Here, I guess, they do a similar thing with fairy lights and inflatable snowmen.

The shops take advantage of Christmas as well, in order to bring in the customers. What better reason to have a sale, and therefore increase sales, than Christmas? And if it involves Santa playing a saxophone, I’m sure they’ll be drawing in more customers than ever.

While I’m really looking forward to going home for Christmas, seeing this purely commercial version here in Delhi left me feeling a little annoyed. It was all the things I can’t stand about the holiday: the mad amounts of shopping, the over-the-top decorations, the jangling pop music, and the lack of the true spirit of Christmas. But then, if the people here are drawing what they know of Christmas from what they see us in the west doing, all they must understand of the holiday is the commercialism, and so that’s what they celebrate – which is an unfortunate result of western influence on Indian culture.

In search of tiger... prawns

2009-12-08T15:36:00.005+05:30

One of the things I was especially excited about Kolkata was the fact that many of the dishes that come from West Bengal involve fish and other seafood. Therefore, I was extremely disappointed to discover that someone had forgotten to tell the restaurants in Kolkata that. Nearly every time we ordered prawn dishes, we were told they weren’t available.

For dinner on the first night, we ended up at a place that claimed to be for “families and couples,” but was more like a speakeasy than a restaurant. It was dim, windowless, and definitely a boys’ club – not really for families at all. Nonetheless, we ordered fish Manchurian and prawn chow mein. The waiter returned a few minutes later to tell us that neither was available. We ordered the chicken options instead, which turned out to be really tasty. But still, no fish in a coastal state? What was up with that?

The next day, we went to a Chinese restaurant called Bay Leaf. The prawns in the fried rice were actually tiny bay shrimp, but there were tiger prawns listed on the menu. So the second time we went there, I ordered the golden tiger prawns and prawns wrapped in banana leaves. But no, we were denied yet again – at least the fish Manchurian was available at this place.

One evening, we stopped at a fairly ritzy bar for drinks, and I ordered the golden-fried prawns, which they claimed was their specialty. The batter was too thick, and the prawns had no flavor. They were nothing at all like the reigning champion of fried prawns in India, which are from Sam’s in Colva, Goa. They were also overpriced, as were the beers.

The guidebook listed a restaurant that served prawns “so big they speak lobster.” But after days of having to deal with cheating taxi drivers who didn’t actually know how to take us where we wanted to go and eating at places where prawns weren’t actually available, I decided it wasn’t worth trying to find it. I figured I’d get my shrimp fix when I got back to California and could buy some from the farmers market. So we left Kolkata without any fabulous prawn-eating experiences.

The best thing we did have were kathi rolls. They’re sold from tiny counters on the street, built right into the walls of the buildings. For a whopping Rs. 24 (US$0.50), you get a round of fried bread, wrapped around a filling of fried egg and mutton, along with plenty of onions, chili peppers, and a mildly sweet sauce. You can also get chicken, paneer, or just egg. The fillings differ ever so slightly from counter to counter, but they all follow a basic package of meat and onions inside bread. They are greasy, delicious, and filling. Perfect with a beer, and perfect for taking the edge off the prawn let-down.

In search of tigers

2009-12-07T13:15:00.005+05:30

For Danny’s birthday, we went on a tiger safari to the Sunderbans Tiger Reserve. This wildlife park is located to the south of Kolkata in a mangrove forest which is part of the world’s largest river delta. We went with a tour group called Sunderban Tiger Camp on a one-night/two-day adventure. For $120, we got a three-hour bus ride, followed by a two-hour boat ride to a fairly nice “resort,” which was run like a cruise ship. A bell was rung to let us know when to gather for the next boat tour, when it was time for a meal, when the “traditional” entertainment was about to begin, and when it was time to wake up.

Our “cottage” was actually rather cozy. The bed was comfy, they provided a handy kit of toiletries, and there was a little sitting area on the porch, surrounded by lots of tropical foliage. There was no hot running water as promised, though, which I was not happy about (we had to call reception to have someone bring it in a bucket). There was also a creature living above the woven wicker ceiling, which wasn’t so bad except when it felt the need to start a fuss at 5:30AM.

But amidst all the traveling that had to be done to actually get to the tiger reserve, there wasn’t a whole lot of time to actually visit the reserve. On the first day, we were taken on a “luxury” boat to the Mangrove Interpretation Centre, where we stood on a watchtower for all of about ten minutes, looking at wild hogs (see photo below) and spotted deer from a distance. The centre also had a crocodile hatchery, with apparently one crocodile that wasn’t to be seen, as well as a hell of a lot of garbage and a crumbling building that seemed to house nothing at all.

The next day, we took a “thrilling” boat ride through the creeks of the mangrove forest. I have to admit that while it was fun, it wasn’t my idea of thrilling. I kind of expected to be traveling down tiny creeks in a little row boat, instead of a large motor-powered boat through narrow rivers. Danny enjoyed the bird-watching, though, and we did see monitor lizards, macaques, and another spotted deer. We didn’t actually see any tigers. By the Forest Department’s count, there are something like 280 Bengal tigers in the Sunderbans. It’s entirely possible that there had been a tiger or two, hiding in the dense mangrove forest, and that we just couldn’t see them.

The Tiger Camp provided “complimentary” meals, which they claimed would “leave a lingering taste behind, making you crave for more.” The food was good, but it wasn’t as good as all that. Actually, dinner was a disappointment, and breakfast was just bad. Dinner was Indian-Chinese food, which was pretty bland, and breakfast, served on the boat, consisted of cold baked beans, over-boiled eggs, and bread that had little bugs baked into it (ew). Lunches, though, were Indian and another thing entirely. I loved the food for lunch and wished they would have just stuck with serving local dishes. We had dal, rice, and fish curry, which was tasty but involved too much work as the fish was full of tiny bones. Our first lunch included a really nice okra curry, while on the second day, they served little grilled eggplants, which were really good – and I normally don’t like eggplant. The best part was the tomato chutney, which was sweet, gingery, and highly addictive. I’m going to figure out how to replicate the recipe when I get home.

Still, I was disappointed by the lack of traditional Bengali dishes and by the lack of local seafood. Being that we were on the Bay of Bengal, I thought they would serve prawns at least once. The Tiger Camp was definitely making a killing by charging us a ton of money for not a whole lot of return. Clearly, they had even gone for the cheaper, boney fish, rather than spend the money on boneless filets or shellfish.

Overall, it was an enjoyable trip and a nice break from hectic Kolkata. Even though it obviously would have cost more, I wish the two-night/three-day option had been available (there wasn’t going to be one until the weekend, and we were flying out on Monday). Considering the five-hour trip to get out there in the first place, it would have been more worth it to have that extra day to try and see a tiger. It was also really nice to be out in nature, where I could breathe in the scent of salty sea water. The next time I come to India, I definitely need to see more of its natural places and less of the urban ones.

Finding Firpo's

2009-12-06T13:07:00.004+05:30

My first glimpse of West Bengal was the ponds and rice paddies outside of Kolkata as the plane made its decent. The nearly full moon was reflected in the water. As we rode in the taxi on our way to the hotel (after standing in line at the pre-paid stand for 45 minutes, since the “taxis were insufficient”), I looked out at the rows of giant billboards that lined the roads, advertising soap, jewelry, insurance, and cell phone providers. They were all lit up with bright lights. It was like being in L.A. – in India.

The city seemed different from any other city I’ve been to India so far. The streets are wide. There are tidy intersections with four-way traffic and lights that people actually appear to obey. The sidewalks are wide, too, and are dotted with trees rather than shit. The air pollution smells like bus exhaust rather than sewage (yes, that’s an improvement). People sleep on these sidewalks under tattered blankets, instead of in squatter’s tents, which I suppose they aren’t allowed to build. There are no cows walking the streets, like there are in every other city and town we’ve been in.

When my grandfather arrived in Calcutta in sixty-five years ago, what did he see first? What did he think of this new place that was so completely different from his home state of Minnesota?

Grandpa was stationed in Calcutta in 1945. I don’t know all the details of his time here. If my memory serves me correctly, he had sailed from the other side of the world to clean guns for the army in India. He ended up getting sick with malaria and spent a lot of time in the hospital. It was obviously an exciting time for him, though, as he still speaks fondly of his army days.

An avid photographer who preferred to take pictures of people, he had taken a handful of photos of local landmarks. On a visit to see my relatives in Minnesota three years ago, I saw his photos for the first time. He went to retrieve the album from the sitting room, and it was clear how happy they made him: he stopped in the doorway, lost in the images of his travels. When I thought about places I wanted to go during this trip, I decided that I wanted to see the city that Grandpa had spent time in. My aunt sent me copies of his photos of Calcutta so that I could try to find the places he’d been and reproduce the pictures.

Since I had neglected to print out the photos before our flight, I drew sketches of them to carry with me. I wanted to take photos that were as close to my grandfather’s originals, so it wasn’t enough just to take a photo of the buildings he’d shot. I wanted the right angles, plus I knew having an idea of what the original buildings looked like would help me find places that didn’t exist anymore.

Firpo’s restaurant, for example. On the photo, Grandpa had written, “Best eating place.” An internet search told me that Firpo’s used to be one the more popular places for G.I. Joes and Janes to hang out, serving dishes that were familiar in the west (including beef, apparently), but that, at some point, the back portion of the building had burned down and the restaurant was never rebuilt. Further research, via the forums on IndiaMike, helped me learn that although the restaurant no longer exists, a market stands in its place, also called Firpo’s. Another similar location was the Red Cross Club, which also doesn’t exist anymore. Once again, with the help of the internet, I found a photo by another G.I., which helped me track down the street name and also that the building is near St. Andrew’s church.

Both places were actually pretty easy to find. Firpo’s Market was right where I was advised it would be, down the street from the Oberoi Grand Hotel. The building looks the way it did back in Grandpa’s day, but now it houses a row of shops aimed at tourists. Firpo’s itself is filled with individual shops and hawkers who followed us down the hall, imploring us to come look at their “pashmina” shawls.

The “Burra” Red Cross Club was also right where I thought it would be, though Danny had to help me see it amidst the trees that have grown up around it and the signs that have been hung up everywhere. He pointed out the awning that led out from the entrance, which I had drawn in my little sketch. The tree that was growing outside the club in Grandpa’s photo was now huge and joined by a number of other trees, which made it almost impossible to see the façade of the building.

He had also taken photos of the burning (crematory) ghats by the Hooghly River and one of the Jain temples located on the other side of the city. In his burning ghat photo, he managed to capture a funeral pyre burning in the foreground. Since his visit, a lot more has been built up around the area that he photographed, including a grassy memorial area and an industrial crematorium. A wall topped with barbed wire lined the street, so I couldn’t get as close as Grandpa did, but then I didn’t really want to, out of respect for the dead and their families. I did manage to photograph the same mandirs in the background as he did, as well as the billowing smoke.

We went to visit the Jain temple twice, and both days it was closed. By the second visit, I was fed up with taxi drivers who cheated us and frustrated that I couldn’t get close to the temple, and I just ended up crying in front of the guard at the gate. Danny and a little old local man convinced the guard to let us in for just a minute, so I could get my shot. Again, it wasn’t exactly the same as Grandpa’s, since I wasn’t allowed to get as close as he had been. But it was still clearly the temple he’d been to. Too bad I didn’t actually get a chance to explore it further.

He had also taken a picture of a street scene and a rooftop scene. I didn’t bother trying to find the exact street corner he’d stood on, instead just snapping current street scenes to illustrate how different things look now. I never did manage to take a rooftop photo, since I couldn’t figure out where I could get up that high to take the photo.

None of the photos I’ve posted here are the replicas of my grandfather’s pictures. I’m hoping to surprise him with a scrapbook of both of our photos, which I will post here in the future when it’s done (so check back sometime in February!).

Thanksgiving in Delhi

2009-11-27T22:52:00.002+05:30

There are no turkeys in India, and there is no pumpkin pie. It also goes without saying that no one celebrates Thanksgiving in India – because while there are Indians, there certainly were no pilgrims here. This honestly made me a little sad. After almost three months of being here, I miss the familiar things of home. I miss cooking. I miss Thai green curry, roast chicken, macaroni and cheese, and burgers. I miss the farmer’s market. And I miss all the fuss over holidays.

Everyone on Facebook is posting their tales of cooking and eating to their statuses. It's actually a little hard to avoid being jealous. I want to be sharing in the sweet potato-tofurkey-family drama festivities. I want to sit down to a plate of gravy, stuffing, cranberry sauce, and mashed potatoes.

Honestly, it’s been exhausting to be here this long. Not knowing the language(s), feeling isolated and out of place, occasionally being treated like an object, having to interact with people constantly, not having my own private, quiet space – I’ve basically had to be “on” all the time, and it’s worn me down. Maybe it would have been different if we’d had our own apartment, instead of staying in one-room hotels where it’s easier to feel crowded and where we have to go out to do anything besides sleep. Missing a food-related holiday was just another in a growing list of things to be grumpy about in India.

Danny knew I was sad about missing Thanksgiving, and he tried to find a restaurant that might be serving Thanksgiving dinner. No luck. There really aren’t that many Americans in Delhi, I suppose. Instead, we went to one of our favorite restaurants in Paharganj, Green Chili Bar & Restaurant, which is just around the corner from our hotel. Even though it wasn’t turkey and pie, we still managed to have quite a feast: veg wonton soup, tempura prawns, fish in black bean sauce, steamed rice, and beer. (The soup was especially good. Besides the really tasty vegetarian dumplings, there were lots of fresh veggies in the broth.)

And you know what? It was a pretty nice Thanksgiving after all. I was with Danny, I’m no longer working a job that makes me crazy and miserable, and I’m doing something different and adventurous with my life by living in India – even if I don’t always enjoy being here, it’s been a good experience.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

Camels, camels everywhere

2009-11-23T12:36:00.001+05:30

Bikaner is a town that depends on camels for much of its labor, and in recent years, it has started to become a place where tourists can go on camel safari in the surrounding desert. We saw camels everywhere in town, either pulling huge loads on carts behind them or “parked” on the side of the road.

We visited the National Research Center on Camels, just outside town, where they breed, raise, and milk camels. I’d never seen so many camels in one place: camels at the feeding trough, camels in stables, camels sitting down or standing up or eating or getting milked, adult camels and baby camels.

We were told one of the babies we were looking at was only a few hours old. He was already pretty big for a newborn! It’s not quite full breeding season yet, so we were lucky to see some of the really little guys.

Before we left, we stopped at the “camel milk parlour” for a snack. I had a camel milk kulfi and Danny got a coffee with camel milk. My frozen pop was just okay – I honestly was hoping it would taste more camel-y. I should have tried just plain camel milk, to get the true taste of camel!

The following day, we went on a camel trek with another couple from our hotel. We were headed back to Delhi that night, so we could only do a partial-day safari, while Gaby and Alex were going to do an overnight trip. We headed out together, though, in the bright-hot desert sun.

Getting up on a camel was a new and interesting experience. Unlike a horse, the camel sits down so that you can climb up onto his back, which makes it easier. But then the camel has to get to his feet. He raises his back legs first before his front, so at one point, you get titled quite dramatically and you have to hold onto the strap for dear life. The saddle is well-padded on both sides, to make it more comfortable for camel and rider. Unfortunately, camels don’t like to be touched, so we couldn’t pet our fuzzy vehicles. We each rode on our own camel, with a fifth camel pulling a cart with all the equipment that would be needed on the trip: cooking supplies for our lunch, then overnight gear for Gaby and Alex.

We rode through a sandy desert that was surprisingly green. Danny did some bird-watching from atop his camel, and we also saw a couple of blackbuck antelope sprinting through the sand at a distance. After about an hour, we stopped at a village, where the camels got to rest and the humans had water and chai. The local children were very excited about the tourists coming through their village, and they all waved and shouted “ta-ta!” in the hopes that we would wave back.

After more walking through the desert, we came to a stop by a little grove of trees, which provided some much needed shade for a rest and lunch. The camels were especially happy to have their saddles removed, and they all rolled around in the sand.

Lunch was cooked over a propane stove, so it was a little bit like camping (though, this time, I wasn't doing the cooking!). There was dal, okra, eggplant, rice, chappatis, and a salad of cucumber and tomato. We ate, chatted, and gathered our strength for the next part of our respective journeys. I really liked Alex and Gaby and was glad to have their company on the trek. They were from Mexico and seemed to be of similar minds to me and Danny. They had been traveling since March through various parts of Asia and had plenty to say about their experiences. It was really nice to have people to compare notes with, especially around things like how foreign tourists get treated in India.

Once lunch was over, it was time to go our separate ways. Danny and I rode our camels back to the village, where we were picked up and driven the rest of the way back to our hotel. It was a really fun time, and I wish we’d been able to do a longer safari. Although maybe that wouldn’t have been so good for Danny’s saddle sores!

A temple for a different kind of animal

2009-11-22T12:29:00.001+05:30

Our next and final stop on our eleven-day trip was Bikaner, in the northwest of Rajasthan. The must-see in this hot, arid desert town is the Karni Mata temple, located in the village of Deshnok, 30km to the south. The temple is overrun with rats, which are believed to be the reincarnations of dead storytellers. While I’m a fan of rodents in cages, I’m a little more squeamish about the kind that runs along the kitchen floor, chews holes in packages of ramen, and leaves poop on the cupboard shelves. To help me deal with an entire temple full of these little guys, I made sure to wear especially sturdy socks (being that it’s a temple, you have to take your shoes off before entering) and reminded myself that rats could actually be quite cute – I hoped that would help me not freak out if and when one of them ran over my foot.

The rats really and truly were everywhere. They sat in the curlicues of iron railings, huddled in corners, hurried over stairways, and climbed up pillars. There was plenty of prasad left out for them, and the rats were gorging on seeds, nuts, even coconut.

In two different areas of the temple, there were dishes of milk set out for the rats. The little guys would perch on the edge to have a drink, trying to avoid getting their feet wet.

Danny had bought some prasad outside the temple and tried to hand-feed the little pieces of numkeen to the rats, who usually didn’t want them. They were probably full from all the food they’d been eating all day!

I had to walk carefully, so as not to step on one of them as they scurried from place to place. The floor was sticky from a combination of rat and pigeon waste. In the end, I’m glad I had brought an extra pair of socks, as the ones I was wearing were a mess of prasad and poop.

It’s auspicious if a rat runs over your foot, which is hard to avoid. But instead of running over my feet, the rats were more interested in sniffing my socks. While I was snapping photos, a rat or two would come up to me, inspect my socks, and move on. Sometimes they would sniff one sock and then the other. If I stood still long enough, a rat would be encouraged to start climbing. The first time this happened, the rat put his feet on my pant leg and stood up on his hind legs before moving on. But later, two different rats at two different times got up onto my trousers and started to climb! I guess it must be especially auspicious if the rats take that much interest in you.

It’s also said that it’s good luck to see a white rat. We happened to see one crawling around near a trash bin. Overall, I think we came away from the temple with plenty of blessings from Karni Mata’s rat friends.

Yet another monkey temple

2009-11-20T12:21:00.001+05:30

The highlight of our three days in Jaipur, in the desert state of Rajasthan, was Galta temple, known in the guidebooks as the “monkey temple.” And no wonder: there are monkeys everywhere, sitting on parked motorcycles, climbing the rocky mountain walls that surround the temple, and drinking from the various pools of water. Even before walking up to the temple complex, there are macaques, hanging out in the same space as pigs, dogs, and goats. All seem to be used to begging visitors for food. One particularly pushy goat got in the way when I was trying to photograph a monkey drinking from the water pump.

The path winds up the hill, then down before reaching the temple itself. After weeks of making the steep climb up Jakhu hill in Shimla, it was a pleasant stroll.

Within the complex are bathing tanks, which are said to be several stories deep and filled with water that has been diverted from the Ganges. We watched a monkey pounce on a woman’s sandal, which had been removed when she went to visit the pool. He chewed on it for a minute before tossing it back down. Later, we found the sandal badly chewed and abandoned – I guess the monkey had decided it was worth doing a thorough examination before giving up on it as food.

While Danny talked to one of the pandits at one of the Hanuman mandirs, I watched people bring bags of bananas and peanuts to feed the macaques, langurs, and cows that hung out at the entry gate on the opposite side of the temple complex. I apparently was standing too close to a juvenile monkey, who happened to be screaming about something on top of the gate, because a large male hurried over to me and grabbed my leg, barking a warning!

On our way back, we stopped every so often so Danny could offer peanuts to the resident cows and macaques. I had my second close encounter of the monkey kind when a baby monkey scurried up my pant leg and hopped onto my purse. He looked at me for a moment, probably wondering why food wasn’t being proffered or maybe what was supposed to happen when you leapt up on a human, then hopped back off.

By the time we reached the bottom, we’d been at the temple for nearly three hours, which was confounding to the auto rickshaw driver who had been waiting for us. (We quite often defy the tourist stereotype, taking much longer than the locals think we’ll take when we visit sites or museums. This is partly because Danny is sometimes doing research and needs to talk to lots of people and partly because we like to take our time and look at everything.) It was also too dark for photographs at that point, which was too bad. As we were leaving, I saw a baby monkey hop onto a pig’s back, sit there for a second, and then use the pig as a stepstool to get him onto a bike. A monkey riding a pig would have been an awesome photo to have.

Assholes at Bharatpur station

2009-11-19T12:17:00.001+05:30

On our way from Vindavan to Jaipur, we had a stopover at the Bharatpur train station, which is in a town in Rajasthan, just on the other side of the border from Uttar Pradesh. We had a wait of about three hours, and we planned to just hang out and read. Danny needed to take a quick stop at the restroom, so we walked to where one was located, near the stairway which led to the main terminal.

There were a group of young dudes loitering in front of the restroom. “Dudes” in India can always be identified by the clothing labels plastered everywhere, particularly Ed Hardy, and the well-greased hair, as well as by the fact that they travel in packs. Danny went into the men’s toilet, after leaving me around the corner by the far wall. The dudes moved closer, though, walking down the steps toward me. They clearly wanted to take a peek at the Western girl. I turned, so that I was looking away from them and tried to ignore them. One dude – and guy in a neon green T-shirt – broke away from the group and began to come even closer. He said something to his dude friends in Hindi that I didn’t understand. He then walked in a circle around me, leaning as he came around to my front so that he could see my face.

As soon as Danny came out of the bathroom, I said to him, annoyed, “That guy in green circled me, like I was an animal in a zoo.” Danny got angry then, and he shouted at Neon Green in Hindi. Whatever he said, it made Neon Green and some of his dude compatriots take off running in the other direction. There was some giggling amongst the remaining members of the pack, but when Danny told them to shut up, they did.

Even though we were both still seething, we stopped at the magazine stand to take a look. At one point, I happened to glance up and look across the train tracks. I saw that a group of dudes (the same one? a whole new pack? I couldn’t tell) were watching me, and some of them waved. Of course, I didn’t acknowledge them. Danny and I retreated down the third platform, which was less busy, and sat on a bench to wait for our train platform to be announced.

I’m not sure why dudes think it’s okay to treat a woman that way, whether she’s foreign or not. It’s degrading and disrespectful to be looked at like I’m a piece of meat. From what I’ve read in guidebooks and on travel sites like IndiaMike.com, this sort of behavior is not uncommon, and women are frequently warned to be aware that harassment can be an issue in India. The advice is to wear sunglasses, dress conservatively, and be thick-skinned – because that’s just how men are in India.

Well, I’m certainly not going to put up with being treated like an object, and I’m not going to take “that’s just how it is” as an explanation to excuse away the dudes’ poor behavior. It may make me seem like a Western bitch, but those guys are most certainly assholes – and cowardly ones, at that.

A visit to Krishna's hometown

2009-11-18T22:56:00.003+05:30

While in Vrindavan, we stayed at the MVT Ashram, which happens to be located just behind the town’s massive ISKCON temple. It was surprisingly nice, with hotel rooms on one side of the complex (the room itself was clean, comfortable, and included a kitchenette) and apartments on the other for long-term residents. Unusually for India, it also had gardens with green, manicured lawns and lush landscaping. It was sequestered off the main road, so that you couldn’t hear the street noise or even have to look at the gutters filled with free-flowing sewage just a few steps outside the door. It was a little oasis at which you could really forget that you were in India. Considering that the majority of people staying at MVT were Westerners (mostly Americans and eastern Europeans), perhaps that was the point.

Vrindavan is the town in which the god Krishna grew up in. He was a mischievous child who stole butter and played pranks on people, then grew into a young adult who danced with gopis (cow girls) and stole their clothes while they bathed. There are sites in Vrindavan that you can visit, such as Nitivan, a grove of sacred trees that, every night, are still believed to turn into gopis who dance with Lord Krishna. It is overrun with macaques, who are said to have been Krishna’s childhood friends.

ISKCON, the International Society for Krishna Consciousness, is a new age movement based in Vaishnava Hindu traditions and which views Krishna as “the Supreme Personality of Godhead.” It was founded in New York in 1966 and has since spread around the world, though it has the biggest presence in eastern Europe and India. It is considered by its followers to be a “consciousness” rather than a religion. ISKCON devotees are often referred to as Hare Krishnas, and, as I’ve seen at home, are known to preach Krishna consciousness by walking down the street, wearing orange, beating drums, and singing devotional mantras.

There were a number of interesting things I observed during our two days at the ashram. The first was the way the mostly Western devotees dressed. The men wore simple T-shirts or kurtas, and all wore dhotis, which is similar to a sarong – I never saw a single man who wore regular trousers. The women wore printed cotton saris (as opposed to the embellished polyester saris that I often saw non-ISKCON Indian women wearing), or a combination of a long skirt, choli, and shawl used to wrap around the torso, sari-style (what I called a “cheating sari”). The women also sometimes wore elaborate necklaces and earrings. The children were especially interesting to me, as they were also dressed in what I came to call the ISKCON-style. One little girl wore a Krishna T-shirt, long skirt, and a scarf pinned to her hair as a head covering.

The other thing was the food available at the ashram’s dining hall. Hare Krishnas follow a strict “pure vegetarian” diet, which, besides no meat, means no eggs, onions, or garlic. Almost all of their food, though, was Western – more specifically, American. You could order a couple of Indian dishes, like a samosa, curried vegetables (called the “daily vegetable”), or dal. But the rest were foods I’d be most likely to find at home: lasagna, spaghetti, salads, even a burrito, which was actually a very large chappati wrapped around beans, lettuce, salsa, and cheese. Surprisingly, the majority of the food was done really well (except for the burrito, actually, which was a challenge to eat and, of course, not really like a burrito at all).

The stars of the show were the pizzas, cooked to order in the wood-burning stove. In a country where pizza usually features a thick, bread-like crust and plasticky processed cheese, I was quite impressed by these thin-crust creations with the kinds of toppings I’d find at home, like olives, pineapple, and tomatoes. The chocolate cake, which was moist despite being egg-less, took second prize.

Despite their move toward dressing more “Indian,” the food seemed to allow the devotees to hold on to the familiar foods of the West. Hidden away from the outside world, they could come to India and not actually have to really deal with the “annoyances” of the country (touts, pollution, squat toilets, spicy Indian food) if they stayed at MVT.

Also, as opposed to most people here in India, the devotees were very quiet. In the corridors of our various hotels, the guests and the staff always seem to be shouting at each other about something, and there are always people in the street, shouting to sell their wares. Not so at MVT. The people there chatted quietly, meditated, or chanted the Hare Krishna mantra to themselves. It was very peaceful and very different from my experience with the rest of India.

I became extremely fascinated by the followers of ISKCON during my short stay at MVT. In the future, I hope to learn more about ISKCON and its devotees, through talking to them and also through reading histories and critiques of the movement. I’m even thinking about putting together a research project about Hare Krishnas, as I’m particularly interested in the identity development of children who grow up in this group. I wonder, too, if I’ll be able to find delicious Hare Krishna food at any of ISKCON temples in the Bay Area – or, at least, be able to buy tasty ayurvedic Gokul tea.

My brush with celebrity

2009-11-17T13:19:00.004+05:30

The main reason we traveled to Vrindavan in Uttar Pradesh was the monkeys. The macaques there are known for their snatching and exchange behavior, similar to that of the macaques at Jakhu temple in Shimla. There was also a “monkey lady,” who apparently fed the monkeys, that Danny was interested in talking to.

When he first called her up, I could catch snatches of her end of the conversation, and I was surprised to hear that she had an American accent. We were instructed to look for the blonde woman when we went to meet her. (As I later realized, there are plenty of Westerners living in Vrindavan, being that it is one of the main sites in India for the followers of ISKCON.)

We were expecting just some random person who was interested in monkeys and liked feeding them. We were yet again surprised to meet a fabulously rich woman who lived in a humongous old haveli that she was renovating, complete with carved wooden furniture that she was having made on-site. She invited us in for tea and cookies, and we sat around an intricately decorated metal table, while her adopted street dogs, Krishna and Radha, hung out by our feet. It turned out that not only did she feed the resident troop of macaques that live just outside her door (600 chappatis daily, hot off the stove!), but she also ran a clinic for the poor and the street dogs, right out of her own home and funded out of her own pocket. On top of that, she also had a staff that went out to the villages to provide similar care, and she owned farmland nearby on which she was trying to learn how much food one acre could produce for a family.

Apart from telling us about her work and proudly showing off the restorations being done around her home, she didn’t really tell us much about who she was. To us, she was this mysterious woman with a ton of money and a government job which provided her with armed guards, and who also loved animals, wanted to help the poor of India, and had ties to the Hare Krishna community (though she claimed not to be a Hare Krishna herself). We didn’t even know her full name, just the Indian-sounding first name she went by. Suffice to say, she was actually really interesting to talk to.

We went to her house twice to watch her feed monkeys and so Danny could interview her for his research. On our second visit, we got a tour of the clinic, where people came for medicines and to receive care for injuries. We also learned that she had taken in a cow and was going to house an elephant on her farm while it healed from a wound on her foot. It was nice to see someone put all their wealth toward a good purpose.

A few days later, we were in Jaipur, at a hotel with wireless, and we did a little Googling, to find out more about this eccentric monkey lady. We found the site for her organization, which happened to list her full name. We then learned that she had come into her millions by inheritance, being that she was the adopted daughter of a billionaire heiress and philanthropist, and that she had once been portrayed in a TV movie about said billionaire’s life. There were actually a number of different accounts about her adult life, which seemed to be full of intrigue, although no one really seemed to know all the facts. She’s said to have married an infamous actor from children’s TV, though she didn’t seem to have a partner with her in her haveli and made no mention of a Mr. Monkey Lady. (A Wikipedia search of this actor also makes no mention of a wife.) She also has supposedly donated large sums of money to right-wing causes, including George W. Bush’s re-election campaign in 2004. One can only hope that with her clinic in full swing, she’ll put that sort of use of her money to rest. When she spoke with us, she made mention of politicians, actors, and other VIPS, which seemed to be corroborated by what we found on the internet.

If she were from my generation, she would have been the kind of person who popped up in People and Us magazine. Instead, she seems to have been rather successful at running off to India and getting away from her possibly scandalous previous life, where she can feed her monkeys in peace.

No means no

2009-11-16T11:42:00.001+05:30

I have to admit that I’m not the biggest fan of Agra. Besides the disagreeable weather (it was hot and sticky), the touts are particularly aggressive there. In most places, you can generally ignore the men who offer rickshaw rides, invitations into their trinket shops, or suggest that they be your guide into the historical site you’re about to enter – or, at any rate, you can say, “No, thanks,” and keep walking. In Agra, these same guys are rather pushy and will follow you down the street, hawking their wares or services. No matter how often you say no, they’ll just keep at it, until you finally have to resort to being rude to get them to leave you alone – and then they’ll act insulted. The moment we walked into the street, we would be followed by guys trying to give us rides on their bike rickshaws or who wanted to sell us postcards and magnets with pictures of the Taj Mahal on them. We might as well have had big neon signs over our heads that said, “We have money” – because that’s how we were being treated, as walking receptacles of money that, if the touts could just squeeze the right way, would issue rupees.

We took an auto rickshaw forty kilometers outside of Agra to see the ancient city grounds of Fatehpur Sikri. As we neared the town, two guys who were standing in the street actually stopped our rickshaw and climbed in to offer us their guide services. Danny told him no and no again, but they persisted, insisting they were genuine licensed guides and also dropping the price lower and lower. When Danny and I started to get angry, they finally got out of the rickshaw but acted like we were doing them some kind of disservice. When we finally reached the site, we found out we actually had to walk the last kilometer to the ruins – or take a second rickshaw, which seemed like just a way for the locals to make extra money off the tourists. As we headed up the road, we found ourselves being followed by a boy offering his services as a guide. We said no, but he followed us anyway. In fact, he followed us for several minutes, trying to tell us about things that we walked by, and we simply ignored him. Finally, Danny had to say again that we didn’t want a guide. The boy then asked me directly (he’d mostly been talking to Danny this whole time – I often get ignored in conversations), and I said, “No, thank you.” He got really mad then and took off in a huff.

All of this persistent and aggressive touting really put me in a sour mood, which is too bad because the ruins of Fatehpur Sikri’s old city were really cool. My favorite thing about exploring cities, especially ones with hundreds of years of history, is the ruins of palaces, forts, and other buildings. I love trying to envision what these places once looked like when they were functioning and bustling. It’s especially interesting to find bits of ancient plumbing, fading paintings, or crumbling reliefs or statues.

The old city still provides a hanging out place for the poor who live in the surrounding area. They sit around the ruined buildings or graze their goats on the overgrown shrubbery. There were several little boys who wanted to say hello and start conversations, but I was beyond being polite at that point, so I just ignored them. I felt bad about doing so, since I knew it wasn’t that big of a deal to just wave or answer a few simple questions (“where you from?”). But it was becoming rather apparent that the locals would take any opportunity to make a sale or ask for money – and it all starts with the acknowledgment of the person who is hoping to collect. Exchange simple hellos, and it’s assumed that you’re ready and willing to have further conversation, which often ends with an invitation to buy some trinkets you don’t actually want. (I did, however, smile at a small boy who was standing at the very top of a tower over our heads and was rewarded with a shuffling dance.)

As is our habit when we visit these sprawling monuments, we spent at least two hours wandering the old city and never actually made it to the main grounds of Fatehpur Sikri. It would have been nice to explore it, as it’s supposed to be one of the must-sees of India, but I didn’t mind not having to pay the Rs. 250 fee to get in. Instead, we hung out with a quartet of grazing goats, walked on the domed roofs of old buildings, and watched school children explore a tall tower studded with phallic-looking tusks jutting out from all sides.

During our 36-hour stay in Agra, we also went to check out the Agra Fort, which happened to have a resident monkey troop. Upon our arrival, I was happily surprised to see a macaque reaching into a trash can and immediately went for my camera. At the same time, a tout offered his services as a guide to Danny. When he said no and walked away, the tout muttered something about tourists who just want to take photos of dogs and monkeys. Sure, tourists want photos of dogs and monkeys – it’s not like we see this kind of thing every day at home! Furthermore, the reason we never accept guides is that they want to rush through the site, sharing information that may or may not be true (for Fatehpur Sikri, the guidebook notes that most of what is said about the ancient palace and fort is made up, since no one actually knows what many of the buildings were used for), while we just want to explore at our own pace, investigating where doors and stairways lead, and photographing monkeys for long periods of time.

Like the Taj Mahal, there are some parts of the fort which were built with white marble and inlaid with semiprecious stones. One whole section is gated off, so as to preserve it and prevent the graffiti and theft of the stones that has happened in a similar section on the opposite side.

That evening, we headed out of town on a train to Mathura. Next stop: Vrindavan.

Why is there graffiti on the Taj Mahal?

2009-11-15T16:49:00.013+05:30

Our eleven-day journey began with a three-hour train trip to Uttar Pradesh, the state directly to the west of Delhi. Our first stop was Agra, home of the monument everyone has told me I had to see when in India: the Taj Mahal.

Our hotel was literally steps away from its eastern gate, and while we couldn’t actually see the domes of the Taj from our hotel, we could hear the singing that emanated from within at nearly all hours of the day (and sometimes night). We got up painfully early to try and beat the crowds, which the guidebook claims start to arrive around midday. (Everyone must read this advice, as it was rather busy at 7am.) The Taj Mahal charges a hefty Rs.750 (US $15) entry fee, which we actually had to go a whole kilometer down the road to buy, since they don’t sell them at the east gate. The ticket came with a free bottle of water and free shoe covers, though, which are two of the handful of items that are allowed to be brought into the grounds. The official word is that you’re only allowed to bring a small bag, camera, money, and mobile as long as it’s switched off, and you’re definitely not allowed to bring in pens or tripods.

This is due to the depressing habit of defacing historical monuments that people seem to have here. At every site we’ve gone to, popular or not, from the Hawa Mahal in Jaipur to the zoo in Delhi, there is graffiti written or scratched into the walls, red paan spat into corners and in corridors, and even sometimes shit and piss stains in dark corners. From what I’ve heard, the blame is often placed on the Western tourists; however, the graffiti tends to read “Ravi from Bihar,” “Mehra loves Sunita,” or is written in Hindi, and I don’t know any Westerners who chew paan. It’s both sad and frustrating to come to these places and see how little respect people have for them. I personally can’t imagine going to a beautiful and ancient building and wanting to carve my name into it, either at home or abroad.

Even on the Taj Mahal, India’s crown jewel of historical sites, which also happens to be a mausoleum, there were names written in ink on the white marble walls. All it seems that can be done to prevent further damage is to restrict what is brought in and by placing guards who search and inspect each and every tourist as they enter the gates. What these places also need are guards throughout the grounds, as well as restoration of areas that have been destroyed. It’s my understanding, though, that there just isn’t the money to implement those sorts of measures, partly due to a lack of funds and partly due to corruption within the organizations that are in charge of taking care of India’s historical sites.

I wonder, though, about the general disrespect that seems to be shown toward these places. Are people so detached from their own history that they can justify leaving marks or poorly treating their monuments?

We spent the morning exploring the Taj and its grounds. A haze of smog sat over the city that morning (except for a ten-minute period when it briefly burned off), making it not so great for taking photos. But after seeing its image practically everywhere for years, from the internet to posters, I was actually not particularly moved by it. Yes, it’s a beautiful building, and I admire the amount of work that was put into creating a memorial for a loved one. I was expecting to be blown away, though, and I wasn’t. I think perhaps that I’m less impressed by the big (literal and figurative), famous, man-made must-sees. When I was in Paris nine years ago, I saw the Mona Lisa at the Louvre, surrounded by tourists taking its photo, and I just moved on, thinking, “It’s really small.”

Maybe that’s the attitude that the people take when they graffiti on the Taj Mahal. Maybe they think, “What’s the big deal?”

The day Paharganj closed

2009-11-13T22:08:00.003+05:30

After an exciting morning of packing for our upcoming trip to Uttar Pradesh and Rajasthan, we headed out to grab a bite to eat. Instead of the bustling madness of a typical Paharganj afternoon, it was actually quite mellow along the Main Bazaar. We soon realized that this was because the majority of the shops and restaurants were shut, despite it being nearly two in the afternoon. We ran into Danny's friend Raju, who is a bike rickshaw-wallah, and he told us that shopkeepers were on strike today in protest of a raise in the prices of food. (Strangely, though, I haven't been able to to find an article on this in any of the online Indian newspapers.)

One restaurant was open, and it looked like it was doing good business, being that it was the only one up and running in the vicinity and there were many hungry tourists who wanted lunch. After a very reasonably priced thali (Rs. 40 or US $0.90 for a plate of veg curry, dal makhani, aloo muttar, rice, dahi, and chappatis), we went back out to find that the shops were beginning open. I guess the need to make money supersedes the need to protest having to spend more of it. Most of them, though, remained closed, their metal storefronts pulled down and the shopkeepers biding their time elsewhere – like the men who were playing cricket in the street outside some closed shops.

The strike actually made it almost easy to walk down the street. There were less people and less vehicles trying to make their way down the narrow lane. It wasn't any less dirty, though, thanks to a morning rain shower, and there were puddles and mud along the side of the road where we walked.

We also took a tour of the neighborhood which surrounds the tourist trap of the Main Bazaar. The streets become even narrower, as the buildings tower overhead. The architecture and quality of paint differ from structure to structure. Sometimes there are distinct differences between floors of one building. While much of the main street had continued to be closed, most of the small neighborhood chaat stalls and paan shops were open for business, providing the locals with their "daily needs" of cigarettes and samosas.

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Tomorrow Danny and I are headed for an 11-day journey to see the Taj Mahal, visit some monkeys who are friends of Krishna, check out the Galta monkey temple, and experience the Karni Mata temple. I don't know what internet access will be like while we're on the road, but if I don't get a chance to post while we're there, I will definitely do so when we get back.

Tuesday at the Hanuman mandir

2009-11-11T18:04:00.003+05:30

The Hanuman mandir in Delhi is just off of Connaught Place. Commonly known as "CP," the mostly high-end shopping and eating district is a magnet for tourists who want to buy department store goods, organic teas and socially-conscious clothing, and over-priced trinkets. Meanwhile, the mandir, since it doesn't appear in any guidebooks, doesn't get a single tourist. It does get plenty busy, though, on Tuesdays, which is Hanuman's day and a particularly auspicious day for Hanuman worship.

On Tuesdays, the grounds of Delhi's Hanuman mandir are teeming with people: those who have come to do puja in the temple, those who have goods to sell (religious trinkets, chaat, or fruit and flowers to offer the gods), and those who have come to beg. Just outside the temple itself sits a row of elderly beggars, who wait for offerings of food or rupee coins from pilgrims. Further down the courtyard are a row of lepers, who come out specifically on Tuesdays to hold out their ruined hands for money. Children also approach people to ask for rupees. It's overwhelming to be surrounded by so many people who have next to nothing when you have so much in comparison.

Around the back of the temple complex, the macaques hang out outside the police station and an apartment complex. While people wait for handouts at the temple, the monkeys are showered with prasad, including bananas, burfi, and strings of marigolds. Unlike the macaques up in Shimla, these guys are less robust, not as furry, and smaller in size, but they appear to be well-fed. They don't know any of the item-snatching tricks and are less fussed about humans looking at them (and taking their photos). They do know a banana when they see one, though, and aren't afraid to approach a human to claim it for themselves.

While we were exploring the vicinity, we ran into a langur-wallah, who is a fellow with a trained langur on a leash. They walk around, chasing off bothersome macaques. I'm not sure if this keeps the macaques from creating further problems because, while they seem nervous about the langur's presence, they don't stay away for very long.

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We've switched to Hotel Prince Polonia in Paharganj, which we like much better than Ess Gee's. It's a little more polluted and therefore stinkier in this neighborhood, but there's wireless: I can blog from the hotel room while listening to NPR on streaming radio! In a city of many frustrations and disappointments, this is a big deal to me.

Returning to Delhi

2009-11-06T14:02:00.002+05:30

As we drove further and further from Shimla, it was obvious that we were getting closer to Delhi. Kalka, the first large town in Himachal that we came to after leaving the foothills, was full of trash in a way that we hadn’t seen in the last seven weeks: there were piles of garbage everywhere, mostly consisting of plastic bags, with cows and pigs picking through it all for something to eat. As the hours and miles passed, the air started to take on a smell that is particular to Delhi, one that is a mix of sewage, smog, shit, sweat, and exhaust. We got stuck in traffic numerous times and witnessed the aftermath of two different highway accidents. (Danny also saw two dogs that had been run over in separate incidents.)

We’re staying at Ess Gee’s guest house, in the Patel Nagar neighborhood, which has actually turned out to be a disappointment. The room itself isn’t terrible, for India standards. Despite the dirty floor that turns my feet brown when I walk around barefoot, really slow shower drain, sticky geyser handle on the toilet (yuck), crappy channel options on the TV, two single beds separated by a nightstand instead of one double bed, and the occasional visit from a large cockroach or mouse, it’s actually quite roomy, has an air conditioner, and is located in a nice neighborhood. Unfortunately, we were expecting more from the hotel, and it hasn’t delivered. The breakfast, included in the room rate, is standard, boring white toast and eggs – from chickens, based on how my boiled eggs tasted the first morning, that may have been raised on garbage. Plus they skimp on the butter for the toast. The hotel’s website claims it has a business center, with internet and long-distance calling facilities. It turns out that was blatant false-advertising, since there is nothing of the sort on-site. They also charge exorbitant amounts for laundry. At Rs.20 per piece, it cost us nearly twenty dollars to do a load of laundry – and that’s partially because they charged per sock! Meanwhile, the “boss” is a disembodied voice who lives somewhere on one of the upper floors and is only available by telephone – his staff takes care of everything, and he never even asked us to check in properly. Makes you wonder if the place, which doesn’t even have a sign board outside, is even a legitimate hotel.

There was another hotel that we’d been interested in. For an extra 100 rupees per night, it has wireless, fridges in-room, a rooftop café with room service, and most likely has a real-live person at a real-live reception desk. The only reason we didn’t go with that place to begin with was because it’s in Paharganj, where Danny was hesitant to stay in. Paharganj is the hot-spot for backpackers, hippies, drug dealers, beggars, filth, and low-budget digs. Hotel Prince Polonia, which we plan to check out this afternoon, is definitely not a budget hotel (not at Rs. 1200/night!) and is also a little bit off the main drag – and so we’re hoping the facilities will make up for its location.

While I wouldn’t walk around Paharganj by myself at night, I actually kind of like it there – although I’ve only spent small amounts of time there, watching the traffic move by while I was sequestered in the safety of a restaurant. It’s a great place for cheap eats, which are hard to find in Delhi, and the people watching can’t be beat. I especially enjoy critiquing the outfits of the tourists who are generally trying too hard or have been convinced by a shopkeeper that their purchase will help them fit in. The shops, which are most definitely geared toward tourists, are also fun to look at, provided I’m at a distance where I’m not going to be shouted at: “Yes, madam? Madam, looking is free.”

Paharganj might be an interesting place to stay. It seems as though every other young traveler to Delhi, including Danny, has stayed there at one point or another. If nothing else, it’ll give me something to write about.

Good-bye to Shimla

2009-11-03T20:55:00.001+05:30

On my last day in Shimla, I got climbed on by a female monkey trying to eat pieces of apple off of my head and also had a huge male monkey eat hazelnuts out of my hand with his mouth. Danny and I said good-bye to all the people we knew at the temple, including the temple dogs (Sheru, Lusi, Dreadlock Dog, Dusseri Lusi, and Spot). We had dinner at my favorite restaurant and ate way too much. And soon, we'll be headed back to the hotel to pack up all our stuff.

It’s time to say good-bye to Shimla and its monkeys. Tomorrow we leave for Delhi, where the macaques are fewer and far between. We’ll spend the next seven weeks splitting our time between living in Delhi and traveling to a few other cities, including Agra and Vrindavan in Uttar Pradesh, Jaipur and Bikaner in Rajasthan, and Kolkata in West Bengal. In Delhi, Danny will continue with his research, and I’m hoping to volunteer with Mother Teresa’s Missions of Charity, helping to take care of orphaned babies.

It’s not the end of our animal adventures, though: there are bears in Agra, more macaques and langurs in Vrindavan and Jaipur, camels and sacred rats in Bikaner, and monkeys, elephants, rhinos, and tigers in Kolkata. Add the famous sights we’ll see (the Taj Mahal, Fatehpur Sikri, Raj Ghat, the Karni Mata temple), as well as all the foods we’ll be eating (Gujarati thalis, Mughali koftas, freshly-caught fish curries, camel-milk lassis!) – and suffice to say, there will be much to report on this second leg of the journey.

I will definitely miss the monkeys (even the ones who stole my glasses!), the cows who roam the streets and moo insistently for snacks at shop doors, and the friendly stray dogs. I’ll miss being able to walk down the street without worrying about being run over by a car and having everything from restaurants to chemists within easy walking distance. I’ll miss the chow mein at China Town, all the fabulous dishes at Nalini and Fascination (we had the most amazing fish tikka there last night), and even the dal makhani and naan “mini-meal” at Himani (where the table linens look like they’ve been washed with coal). I’ll miss hiking up Jakhu hill to the mandir, partly because it’s been my only form of exercise since I got here!

I won’t miss how cold it’s gotten here, though I don’t think I’ll like the 30°C weather in Delhi any better. I definitely won’t miss our mildew-covered, cramped hotel room, nor will I miss the smell of our bathroom, which actually lets in some of the sewage smells through the toilet, particularly at night.

Danny pointed out to me that there will be things I miss about Shimla once I’m actually in Delhi. The quiet, for instance. Compared to the constant din of Delhi, Shimla’s nights are calm, interrupted only occasionally by the distant bark of a dog, an ambulance siren, or music from a late-night wedding. The air here, despite being thin due to the high altitude, is fresh, unlike the brown, polluted smog of Delhi. (Danny told me that he’d heard breathing Delhi’s air is like smoking a pack of cigarettes a day. In fact, on the news this past weekend, they reported that Delhi’s air pollution levels are dangerously high right now.) Also, the people here are generally friendly and no one is trying too hard to cheat me out of my money, unlike in Delhi, where touts, rickshaw drivers, beggar children, and shop-wallahs will try to squeeze every last rupee out of me.

So it’s off to the craziness of Delhi. Good-bye, Shimla. Perhaps I’ll be back someday.

Monkey birth control

2009-11-02T13:56:00.001+05:30

One of the methods being implemented to reduce the macaque population is sterilization. With dogs here in India, it’s a fairly straightforward process: someone catches the dog, another person does the sterilizing (usually a vasectomy or tube-tying), and then the dog is released. The dog receives a notch in its ear, to mark it as having been fixed. With monkeys, the process is similar… but a little more complicated.

I went with Danny to what is commonly referred to as the Tuti Kandi Zoo, but which is actually called the Rescue & Rehabilitation Home and Monkey Sterilization Centre. It’s located in Tuti Kandi, a village just outside Shimla, and it was a zoo, once upon a time, but now houses rescued and captured leopards, Himalayan bears, and rhesus macaques. In bare-bones cages with concrete floors live about a dozen bears and four leopards, which were brought in injured and subsequently treated by the resident vet. If the animal heals within a short period of time, it is released back into the wild, but if the recovery period is longer, it has to stay at the center, as they have no facilities to help the animal become re-accustomed to the wild. So a number of bears and leopards are permanently housed at the center, because of concern that once the animals have become used to contact with humans and human-provided food, they will seek out human habitats instead of staying away from villages.

With the macaques, it’s a little different. When monkeys are captured and brought to the center, it is specifically for the purpose of sterilization. Once they arrive, the sterilization procedure is performed as soon as possible, sometimes even the same day, and the monkeys are returned to where they were caught within a week.

Depending on how many monkeys are captured, as many as two dozen or more are sterilized every day. Danny observed the sterilization process, during which the doctor uses a laser to make a small incision in the macaque’s abdomen, then uses a small camera to show him just where to make the cuts. During the procedure, I remained in the prep room. I watched assistants bring in knocked-out monkeys and pile them on every space inch of counter space. Meanwhile, one assistant applied an antibacterial solution to the monkeys’ bellies, and then made quick work of their fur with a shaving blade. The monkeys were then transferred to a table by the operation room, where they waited their turn to be sterilized. At one point, I was surrounded by about ten monkeys, their eyes half-closed and their gaping mouths showing off sharp teeth.

Before and after sterilization, the monkeys are housed in a building filled with rows of small cages. Some care is taken to keep mothers with their babies or seemingly related juveniles together. It’s not the best of facilities, and the monkeys express a range of emotions about being kept there, from despondency and depression (some lean listlessly against the sides of their cages or lie on the uncomfortable mesh bars that line the floors) to fear and anger (making threat faces at humans or screaming at each other). Many monkeys carry fresh wounds, from being transported to the center in a small cage with several other monkeys – or from their human captors who aren’t exactly gentle with them. One large male had lost the tip of one of his fingers, while another smaller male had lost an entire portion of his face: his lip was ripped open and his nose was all but missing. Others had gashes in their backs or arms.

While I understand the potential good that sterilizing the monkeys will do, it’s hard to see them in such squalid facilities, crying, scared, and huddling with babies or friends. It’s partially a lack of money and partially a lack of proper animal-handling knowledge or training – or perhaps simply a lack of respect for the monkeys. Any animal rights group would have a field day with the center, as they probably would with any place in India that houses animals, including the zoos. I have to remember that the center is doing what it can to reduce the area’s monkey problem and, being that it is a government-run program, that it can only provide bare-bones care and facilities.

Bringing the monkeys to the center is a process that involves a lot of patience. Danny and I followed the resident animal catcher as he and his team of three young Nepali men went about the business of trapping macaques. The boys start by setting up a large metal cage, which has a trap door at one end and a small gate on the side. One of them is put on trap door duty, and he sits at a distance, holding the twine that allows the door to drop when the time comes. Another one of the boys scatters foodstuffs – bread, bananas, peanuts – in the cage and in the surrounding area. He calls to the monkeys as he does this, saying, “Leh, leh,” or “Au, au,” which are, apparently, known ways to get the attention of the monkeys.

Then the waiting begins. Everyone stands back, while the monkeys investigate. In the villages, where it’s more wooded, the monkeys are harder to trap because they are more wary. We watched some rural macaques hesitantly approach the cage and the food, then take off at the slightest sign of something suspicious. In the city, it’s easier to catch the monkeys because they’ve grown soft and lazy with the easy access to food afforded them by humans. Food is abundant in garbage dumpsters and littered along the side of the road, and humans are easy enough targets for the stealing of bananas or ice cream cones. No danger is too risky for a city monkey who really wants to fill his cheek pouches with peanuts.

Sometimes one monkey enters the cage, or even two or three or more. Then the boy drops the door, which falls with a terrific crash. The monkeys freak out, bouncing off the cage walls or going to the smaller door and trying to pull it open. The guys put a small cage next to the large one and open the small door for the monkeys to go through. Using long sticks to encourage them toward the door (these three were actually rather gentle with the monkeys), the monkeys eventually find their way into the small cage. Then the large door is pulled back up, and the process begins again. One early morning, we watched about a dozen monkeys get captured in this way, while the rest of the troop watched anxiously from the surrounding trees and the government building behind us.

Meanwhile, the captured monkeys, who are understandably frightened, fight amongst themselves – especially if a large make is being held captive with several lower-ranking macaques – but eventually simply huddle together and poop. (When they finally moved the small cage full of monkeys, there was a huge pile of droppings left on the ground.) In the village, one female was so scared, she opened her mouth and began vigorously patting her cheeks, releasing all the food she’d been storing in her pouches. In the city, however, the monkeys continued to eat, despite their fear.

When they feel they have caught enough monkeys, the small cages are loaded into the back of their truck, and the cage is dismantled. Then it’s off to the next location to collect more monkeys.

When it’s time to return the macaques to their habitats, post-sterilization, they are once again stuffed into small cages and driven back to where they were caught. In an unceremonious procedure, the cages are opened one by one, and the frightened monkeys bolt from the van as fast as their little feet can carry them. They rejoin their troops, where they probably have to spend some time sorting out rank

It’s a fascinating process. But is sterilization working? Of the nearly five hundred monkeys living up at Jakhu, the monkey trappers caught about forty – that’s less than ten percent that are being preventing from further breeding. The sterilization program has been going on for five years, and we still see just as many infants and juveniles as we do adults. Dogs, on the other hand, seem to not be producing as many puppies, as we have only seen four little ones and maybe a hundred adults the entire time we’ve been here. This may be because dog sterilization is handled by the Municipal Corporation, while monkey sterilization is the duty of the Forrestry Department, which is spread much more thinlyover its jurisdiction. I know Danny wants to come back sometime soon to do further investigation into whether the sterilization process can be successful at reducing the monkey population.

Chowing down on chow mein

2009-10-31T20:01:00.000+05:30

When Indian restaurants make the claim that they offer Chinese food, they usually mean that they offer Chinese-style noodles – typically chow mein and chop suey. Most restaurants offer some form of chow mein, in veg and chicken options. Besides noodles, the dish will contain an assortment of the expected vegetables: cabbage, carrots, onion, green bell pepper.

On the middle bazaar, just a flight of stairs below the Mall, are a handful of Chinese restaurants that proudly declare they serve “real Chinese food.” They are just tiny holes in the wall, the largest having seven tables, with just enough room to walk down the aisle between. They’re dimly lit and a little dingy, where the occasional cockroach can be spotted dashing across a surface in the dining area. One place has paintings of tigers and dragons on the wall – an awkward copy of Chinese-style art.

Their menus feature momos and a few kinds of stir-fries, but the stars of the show are the noodles. At China Town, my hands-down favorite, there are a dozen kinds of veg chow mein. It starts with regular veg chow mein, then moves to variations based on places: Hong Kong, Sechuan, and Singapore. Then there a variety of different sauces: garlic, ginger, garlic and ginger, as well as regular old gravy. The menu includes numerous kinds of chicken chow mein, as well as one kind made with mutton.

On our first visit, we ordered the veg chow mein, along with a vegetable hot pot in ginger sauce. The stir-fry was pretty good, and the sauce had a really strong ginger flavor that I really enjoyed. The chow mein, meanwhile, was surprisingly delicious. This was due to several factors. First, the noodles were the perfect thickness (actually thinner than the typical chow mein noodle) and consistency, just beyond al dente. Second, they weren’t at all greasy, as chow mein can be both here in India and at home in the States. Third, the veggies were cut to a size similar to the chow mein, so that each forkful contained similarly-shaped bits of food. (They also don’t use green bell pepper, my least favorite vegetable, in their noodles at China Town.) And, finally, whatever they did to season the dish, it was fantastic. I could have easily eaten the entire pot of chow mein by myself.

The next time, the goal was to try two new kinds of noodles. (At Chinese restaurants, I’ve often seen people order two or more varieties of chow mein.) I chose “veg Singapoori chow mein” and “mixed chow mein with gravy.” The latter arrived first, with the noodles in one pot and the gravy in another. The noodles were tinged with a red, spicy, probably tomato-based sauce, while the gravy was a brown, Chinese-style sauce, dotted with cauliflower and cabbage. It was interesting, in a good way. The noodles alone were pretty tasy. I don’t think the addition of gravy did anything for the chow mein, but it seems like Indians like to put gravy on just about everything, so I had really wanted to give it a try.

The Singapoori noodles came out next. I don’t know what makes them Singapore-style, since I’ve never actually had Singaporean food. The most dominant flavors came from the liberal sprinkling of ground black pepper that coated the noodles and from the bits of tomato strewn throughout. We’d had Singapori noodles at another place down the alley called Aunty’s, and the spice-factor had set my mouth on fire, in a mostly tolerable way. China Town’s version did not have as much heat, but they were still really good. Danny liked these noodles best. My vote is still with the regular veg version that we’d had the first time. I think I like my noodles on the simple side, without all the bells and whistles of extra sauces.

Eating at Embassy

2009-10-30T19:17:00.000+05:30

There are a couple restaurants in Shimla that I really like and that we go to all the time: Nalini and Alfa. Except for their pizza, which comes with processed cheese and a blah crust, everything Nalini makes is fabulous, from masala dosas to karadhi paneer and garlic naan to burfi. Alfa is a good place to go for a quick bite, and we almost always order the same thing: Danny gets pav bhaji, and I get a veg burger with a smattering of fries and a small vanilla shake.

There is another restaurant I enjoy that we don’t go to as often, perhaps because it’s ever so slightly out of the way from where we usually spend our time and perhaps because it’s ever so slightly expensive: Embassy. It’s a quiet little place, with lots of polished wood, huge windows looking out onto Shimla town, and hand-written signs quoting J. Krishnamurti, among others. There typically aren’t many people there the times I’ve been, so it’s a good place to get a little bit of peace and quiet, along with some gorgeous views and delicious food.

I mentioned Embassy’s food earlier, when I wrote about their chicken pizza and the bowl of veggies I’d had. The next time Danny and I went in for a meal, I had dal with rice (one of my very favorite comfort foods in India), and Danny had lamb with fried potatoes. There is usually just one person working who does it all: cooks, serves, and sells Krishnamurti books. He also owns the place. Despite the fact that there is a menu, he is happy to suggest something not on the menu – or suggest something entirely different if what you order isn’t available. He told me he would make my rice with cumin seeds, suggested the potatoes and lamb instead when Danny ordered a chicken pizza, and then further suggested tomato soup and banana lassis.

Everything was excellent. The tomato soup came with little croutons that were buttery and still crispy on the inside, even after sitting in the soup while we waited for it to cool. After having plain lassis (basically, just plain yogurt, water, and sugar) at other restaurants, the addition of banana was a welcome change. The rice was fluffy, and the dal had just the right amount of masala (spicy heat). Danny’s potatoes were amazing: absolutely crispy on the outside, and so perfectly cooked that they needed no extra sauces or seasonings. The lamb was tender, having been cooked in a sauce that tasted Moroccan to me (I recognized cloves, but I’m not sure what else was in there).

The bill came to Rs.600 (about US $12), which is two to three times the amount we usually spend for a meal. But we were also aware that Danny’s lamb dish would have easily cost about twenty dollars back home, and so, yet again, we were glad for a relatively inexpensive but fabulous culinary experience.

When farmers get agitated at monkeys

2009-10-29T19:58:00.000+05:30

Earlier this week, Danny was invited to attend a farmers’ “agitation,” which was to discuss the monkey problem that was occurring in the villages outside Shimla. Not only do monkeys steal food from humans in urban areas, they take fruit, vegetables, and grains from village farms, thereby ruining crops and the farmers’ livelihoods. When we heard that it was an agitation, we were thinking it would be a rally, much like the Communist rally we had seen a few days earlier: a large group of people, holding red flags, and someone shouting over a microphone. It turned out to be more of a conference – a three-hour long, rather boring meeting with speeches from different members of the community concerned with this particular monkey problem.

It began with a gathering on the main road by the bus terminal. This was because many people were coming in on buses from their villages. People milled about, Danny talked to a couple of them (including an interesting fellow with dreads who was a retired principal), and I baked in the hot late morning sun and watched the vegetable vendors sell their wares. After nearly two hours, we trekked up the hill – very slowly, as the majority of folks were older.

The conference was held in the auditorium at Kali Bari temple. Some men set up a microphone and podium on the stage and hung signs with slogans around the room. There were also journalists in attendance, taking photos and video and also interviewing Danny. All the speeches were in Hindi, so, while I tried to look interested, it was difficult to really pay attention. In fact, I found myself beginning to doze after about an hour or so. Listening to their tone, though, I definitely could tell that there was a lot of frustration and anger about the monkeys (and also feral pigs) that were destroying their crops.

After about two and a half hours, some people came around and passed out snacks: a little plastic cup of chai and two pieces of bread pakora for everyone. The pakora was greasy, and the slices of bread were filled with a little bit of curried potato. It was a heavy bit of food to put into my stomach when all I’d had was toast for breakfast, but it tasted good. After all, how can you not like a deep-fried potato curry sandwich?

When the agitation was over, Danny shook a few hands, and we headed back into town, stopping along the way to look at the goods being sold outside the temple. All in all, it was an interesting experience, though I have to admit I personally didn’t get a lot out of it. I did feel bad for the farmers, though. India’s farmers are faced with quite a challenge from several wild animals, including elephants, which trample crops (and houses!), and tigers and leopards, which kill livestock. There isn’t an easy solution to controlling crop destruction by animals, apart from killing them – which isn’t really the answer, considering that the three mentioned above are endangered. The farmers at this conference would like to see monkeys eliminated through culling or by exporting them to the U.S. and U.K. (which is currently illegal), where they could be used for biomedical research. Current methods, such as relocation and sterilization, don’t appear to be working as well as the farmers would like.

The next day, we were told that, apparently, Danny and I had been on the local TV station.

Indian-style

2009-10-24T18:40:00.001+05:30

When we stopped at one of the little hole-in-the-wall stalls near our hotel (the kind that sells biscuits, potato chips, Cadbury chocolate bars, bottled water, individually-wrapped cough drops, and batteries), the man behind the counter asked if we needed any toilet tissue. When I said no, he said, “Indian-style?”

There are two kinds of toilets in India: the squat and the “Western.” The former is, apparently, the bane of Western tourists everywhere. A quick internet search brings up numerous web sites warning the reader of the horrors of the squat toilet. Oh, no – you have to squat to relieve yourself! Avoid this if you have to, even if it means holding it in till you get to a “normal” toilet! (This is actual advice I’ve read.)

To add insult to injury, toilet paper might not be available. Imagine having to clean yourself with water and your hand! The same websites recommend bringing toilet paper with you, just in case.

I know I’m poking fun at something a lot of people are uncomfortable with: the bodily functions that have to do with evacuation. It’s easy for us to ignore what happens in the bathroom, since it’s merely a matter of using a handful of toilet paper, then closing the lid and flushing it all away. We don’t really have to see what’s happening, much less think about it.

For much of the world, however, this isn’t the case. Plumbing can be poor to nonexistent, and so people often have to face the problem of where to do their business and what to do with it afterward. In India, people in the villages without indoor plumbing will go out to the fields to relieve themselves, whereas in urban slums, some people shit in plastic bags, tie a knot, and toss them into the street. Suffice to say, it’s not very sanitary.

Where there are toilets available in India, particularly in public areas, the squat toilet is the most common. It was developed because squatting is the most natural way for humans to evacuate the bowels. (The Western toilet actually requires more strain on the body and can increase the occurrence of hemorrhoids and constipation.) Granted, the public toilets here, no matter what type of toilet, are pretty gross. Often, there will be urine on the floor or on the toilet seat if there is one. A flushable toilet is fairly rare; usually, the handle is broken, and so the bowl is filled with whatever the previous users have left behind. The smell isn’t so pleasant either. I suppose it doesn’t bother most people here, as filthy public toilets seem to be the norm. When I’m using a public toilet, I tend to do the following: roll up my pant legs so as not to get them soaked in urine or whatever fluids might be on the floor, cover my nose which helps with the odor, and carry hand sanitizer which is useful even if there is water and soap available for hand washing (which is not always the case, if the faucet happens to be broken or there just isn’t any soap).

Sometimes when you’ve got to go, you’ve got to go – and it’s simply silly to be picky about the kind of toilet you’re going to use. On my last trip, I used a squat toilet while on a moving train, where the bottom was open to the tracks below. It smelled, and the train car vibrated as it made its way toward its destination. I looked at the whole experience as an adventure, even as I hoped the door would stay locked and I held onto the wall of the bathroom with my fingertips. What was I going to do, wait several more hours for a Western toilet with toilet paper at our still far-off hotel?

Indian bathrooms also include a spigot (or, in some cases, a bucket of water) and a cup (usually a plastic one with a handle, though sometimes it’s also just an old, re-used oil container). This is for washing up afterward. In fancier bathrooms which have Western toilets, like the ones in hotels, there is a geyser option, which is either a hose attached beside the toilet or a spigot built into the toilet itself, at the back of the toilet seat. Again, for those of us in the West, the idea of washing yourself after a bowel movement with some water and your hand is pretty unappealing. After having been here for seven weeks, I’ve actually gotten used to it (provided there is a geyser and typically not in a public bathroom setting).

First of all, toilet paper isn’t so good for Indian sewer systems, which weren’t developed to handle the amount of tissue that Westerners use. (The average American uses fifty-seven sheets of toilet paper a day.) Secondly, toilet paper isn’t necessarily good for our bottoms. Not surprisingly, washing with water actually gets one cleaner than by simply wiping with paper. A study in 1964 examined the underwear of 940 men in Oxfordshire, England, and found fecal contamination in nearly all of them, from “wasp-colored” stains to “frank massive feces.” Gross, right? But do you really expect dry paper to properly clean your bum?

I’ve been reading Rose George’s The Big Necessity: Adventures in the World of Human Waste (from which I got the above statistic about toilet paper as well as the study). This book explores everything from attitudes toward human waste to movements towards improved sanitation in impoverished countries to high-tech toilets. (Danny thought it was an appropriate progression from books about food.) It’s a fascinating read that’s sometimes funny, sometimes depressing, and all-around informative. And it’s helped me to realize that washing instead of wiping isn’t such a bad idea after all. After all, I’m going to wash my hands afterward anyway. (This is not necessarily the case with the rest of India and has resulted in movements toward encouraging better hand washing habits to prevent stomach ailments, colds, and other infectious diseases.) The one thing I’ve really had to get used to is being a little wet after using the toilet. But, as with many things in India, you get used to things after a while, even if they’re slightly inconvenient.

Sure, poop is gross and stinky, and it ought to be confined to a toilet with decent plumbing. But I actually have no problem dealing with it “Indian-style.” Which means any toilet tissue I do purchase is used toward a runny nose.

Hanuman's birthday

2009-10-23T18:32:00.002+05:30

On the day that Jakhu temple celebrated Hanuman Jayanti, we headed up to the mandir in the morning to participate in the festivities. We first went into the temple itself, which was decorated with shiny metallic tinsel hanging from the ceiling and a strand of marigolds draped over every image of Hanuman – and there are a lot of them. We got our tiliks, rose water, and a heaping handful of prasad (the typical hazelnuts and white candy, plus golden raisins). On our way out, we were given a generous helping of halwa in a bowl made of dried leaves (a typical way to serve chaat, as the bowl is biodegradable), along with a couple of large, sweet, cracker-like things to eat them with. The halwa was also popular with the monkeys, while the crackers were enjoyed thoroughly by the Sheru, the temple dog.

We were then invited to sit in the large hall that had just been built (it had been under construction since I was last here in December) to have a celebratory meal. We sat on the floor on a long jute mat and were given tin thali plates. Men with large buckets came around, spooning food onto the plates: first rice, then dal makhani, curry, and channa paneer. We ate with our hands, as no utensils were provided, and I managed to eat without making too much of a mess. (Watching my mom eat rice with her hands all these years helped with my technique a little bit.) It was a fantastic meal, especially the paneer dish, which was delicious. It had paneer and chick peas, with cashews and golden raisins, all in a coconut milk-based sauce. This was followed by a spoonful of kheer, which is better than any rice pudding you can get in the States. (We discovered that monkeys like kheer, too – we found one outside where the dishes were being washed, stealing leftovers off of unguarded plates.)

Afterwards, we went out to give the monkeys some birthday treats: apples, oranges, and stale rice and rotis.

When we were done celebrating, we went to sit on the steps that lead up to the temple grounds, while Danny did some observations and asked questions of people that were headed to and from the mandir. There are some fairly aggressive monkeys that hang out in that area, and it wasn’t too long before one of the females decided to try to take a swipe at my glasses. I felt a paw on my back, then a tug at my glasses. Because I wear one of those elastic bands that people wear to keep their glasses on during sports, my glasses more or less stayed where they were – leaving the confused monkey wondering why she hadn’t been successful.

As we were leaving, though, another monkey – perhaps the same one from before – made another attempt to snatch my glasses. Maybe I hadn’t adjusted the elastic band properly, or maybe the monkey was lucky in the angle at which she pulled the glasses. Either way, she made off with my glasses and ran into a tree with them. The prasad-wallah went after her with a packet of nuts and made the trade. My glasses were returned to me with the end of the right ear piece covered in monkey teeth marks – and the prasad guy was nice enough to not charge for the packet. The monkey, meanwhile, sat in the tree and enjoyed her nuts.

Is it auspicious if a monkey steals your glasses on Hanuman’s birthday?

Shimla gets dressed to the nines for Diwali

2009-10-19T18:30:00.002+05:30

As Diwali approaches, all the shops on the Mall start to put up their decorations. The most popular are strings of marigolds and garlands of silk flowers. These are hung from awnings, over shop windows, and around signs.

Several shops also put up fairy lights, which twinkle through the evening till the shop closes.

The more high-end shops, particularly the ones that sell jewelry, get especially decked out. One encircled its sign in imported fresh flowers, including gerber daisies, orchids, and roses. Another hung a fancy banner with Ganesh, Lakshmi, and swastiks, as well as a garland with silk flowers, plastic beads, sparkly pom-poms, and golden baubles with Ganesh and “om” on them. In the shop window, a diamond engagement ring sat rotating on a pedestal covered in little electric puja candles.

The fountains in the public areas, which typically are shut down, flow freely in celebration, and some even shine bright with festive lights.

At the internet café we go to, the shop’s little mandir was decorated, too, with fairy lights, marigolds, and a tinsel-edged banner.

Even our hotel was, of course, in the spirit – especially since the owner and his family live there. A large sticker in the shape of the traditional rangoli (typically made with colored sand) was put on the front stoop. Then, upon returning from a late lunch on Diwali, we found little feet painted on each of the stairs in the hotel, representing Lakshmi’s footprints.

That night, we listened as the children of the owner giggled and shrieked as they set off firecrackers outside the entrance to the hotel, right under our window.

Happy Diwali, everyone, and happy new year!

Shopping for Diwali

2009-10-18T18:01:00.002+05:30

Like with Christmas in the West, Diwali, which is happening this weekend, involves a lot of shopping: decorations, gifts, sweets, new clothes. Unlike in the West, the bulk of the shopping happens just a week or two beforehand (instead of months!). The shops in the lower bazaar burst into a explosion of colors, and the street suddenly teems with people jostling each other as they search for the best deals in silk flower arrangements and garlands, blinking fairy lights, candles in every shape imaginable (from tea lights to dogs and cats to fruit and corn), and sparkling banners proclaiming, “Welcome,” and “Happy Diwali.”

There are piles of little clay pots, which will eventually hold oil and a wick to light the way home for Lord Ram, and men sell bags of cotton to turn into wicks. Tables are heavily laden with mithai, including pastel-colored burfi, a fudge-like milk-based sweet (sometimes studded with nuts or given a thin layer of edible silver), and laddoo, balls of dough soaked in sticky sweet syrup. People buy boxes by the kilo to give to friends and family. Hanging from yellow and red awnings are lengths of colored string, from which images of Ganesh and Lakshmi hang in either paper or silver plastic. For children, there are shiny paper hats with noise-makers attached to the top (the kind often found at kids’ birthday parties), with a little straw that hangs down so the child can blow into them.

At night, the bazaar lights up with bare bulbs, shining through plastic beaded chandeliers and flower garlands in primary colors, and multicolored fairy lights in the shape of bulbs (both traditional and round), flowers, and stars.

I did a little Christmas shopping myself and picked up a few things to bring home. There were some pretty tea lights for sale, in holders that were decorated with tiny beads and sequins. I also picked up a couple pretty kurtas with silver thread woven into the fabric and metallic edging along the hems – perfect to wear at the holidays when I get home.

The long-cut to the mandir

2009-10-15T20:08:00.001+05:30

One afternoon, we decided to take the back road up to Jakhu, where the private cars and government taxis go to take people who don’t want to make the chest-heaving trek up the hill. We ended up finding a foot path that wound through the grass at the top of the hill. It reminded me of hiking at home, although, embarrassingly, it was a difficult hike for me. I got out of breath easily and had to take numerous breaks – which I’m hoping was simply due to my chest cold and the altitude.

It was definitely a very pretty hike. The hill is covered in small purple flowers, which burst open recently after the rains were over. The air smelled fresh and green. And, occasionally, we spotted a dog, monkey, or bird from where we stood on the path.

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Happy belated birthday, Jake! Hope the next quarter century of life treats you well.

It'll cure what ails you?

2009-10-13T19:00:00.002+05:30

Since arriving in Shimla four weeks ago, I’ve been plagued by a bad chest cold. I started off by having allergies, thanks to the amount of dust and mildew in our hotel room. This was resolved by buying our own pillows, sheets, and blankets – because who knows how old and unwashed (and therefore full of dust mites) the hotel’s pillows and polyester blanket were? But then I developed a hacking cough that had nothing to do with my allergies, which was sometimes accompanied by a runny nose and muscle aches. On top of which, I’ve been absolutely fatigued. Waking up in the morning is a chore, and I often feel drained throughout the day.

Perhaps my allergies had lowered my immunity, and perhaps the high altitude has prevented me from healing as quickly as I normally should. Either way, Danny decided it was high time I saw someone about it. There is an ayurvedic clinic up at Jakhu temple, and when we were there this past weekend, we stopped in. I explained my symptoms to Dr. Seth, and she looked at my throat and my nose and listened to my chest. She determined that my illness was not related to my lungs, as they sounded fine, but instead, it was something wrong with my throat.

I received a battery of medicine: a handful of red capsules, wrapped in newspaper; an herbal cough syrup, to be taken with hot water; nose drops; and a mysterious powder in an unlabeled bottle, to be mixed with honey and hot water. I’m not exactly sure what everything does, but they were all free! Dr. Seth said there was no charge. In fact, the bottles say, “H.P. [Himachal Pradesh] Govt supply. Not for resale.” So my guess is that the clinic is government-funded.

The pills go down easy, and the cough syrup isn’t too terrible, though I don’t look forward to drinking it. The powder is spicy, like it’s full of cloves and ginger, and I actually think it’s just a kind of chai (everyone here seems to think chai is a cure-all, so why not?). The nose drops are the worst, mostly because I hate the way the herbal tincture runs down the back of my throat and leaves me feeling kind of itchy there. In fact, I’ve given up on them, since I feel like the drops aren’t helping. I want to believe that these herbal remedies will make me better, but I still have the cough and I still don’t feel great.

We’ll be stopping in again, since Danny wants to ask Dr. Seth some questions for his research. She said she wants to give me something to boost my immunity. I’m definitely interested to find out what new herbal remedy I’ll be adding to pile – and if they’ll even work.

Shopping in the lower bazaar

2009-10-12T18:30:00.001+05:30

When most tourists come to Shimla, they spend most of their time on the Ridge and the Mall, where the majority of the shops are higher-end (designer saris and gold jewelry) or tourist-related (resin statues of Ganesh and Lakshmi, woolen Himachali shawls). But follow the road down when the path forks outside of Sher-E-Punjab, and it’s a whole different sort of shopping experience.

The path through the bazaar is narrow, but the crowd is huge. There are little shops running along each side, each dedicated to something different: bed linens, plastic kitchenware, children’s clothes, adult clothes, underwear, sweets, chaat. Because there’s such little space, it’s easy to bump into people and negotiating the crowd is the only way to go from one side of the road to the other.

When Danny and I wandered down to explore the lower bazaar, it was the week before Karva Chauth. On that particular festival day, married women spend the day fasting to ensure the long-life of their husbands, eating only when they see the moon at night. When evening comes, women come out in their finest saris, gold wedding jewelry, and armfuls of bangles – some even paint their hands with mehendi like when they were married. They bring their puja thalis down to the Ridge, make offerings of incense and marigolds, and burn candles inside little, painted clay pots, before going to have dinner with their families.

In the lower bazaar, this meant that many shops were selling oodles of bangles, in a rainbow of sparkling colors and sizes. I stopped to look at the bangles outside several shops. I often didn’t stop for very long, not wanting to jockey for space between the crowds of aunties looking for a good bargain. I also knew that most of the bangles wouldn’t fit over my American-sized hands. When I was able to find a shop that had less people, the shopkeeper would be keen to show me the sets of bangles that cost Rs. 250 (US $5) – which doesn’t sound like a lot, but I was looking for a set that cost around Rs. 30!

The shops were also selling the little clay pots to be used for holding candles or oil. The reddish clay was painted orange-red or gold, with the addition of simple designs painted in black and red. I thought they were quite pretty, but I also knew that something that delicate wouldn’t survive the trip home in my bag.

We wandered further down into the bazaar, to the area called subzi mundi – the vegetable market. This area was jam-packed with shoppers trying to find the freshest, tastiest, and cheapest produce at the stalls lined on either side of the narrow path. There were brown-splotched bananas, green-tinged oranges, apples in yellow and red (Himachal is famous for its apples), kiwis, pears, pomegranates, and persimmons. As for the subzi, there were cabbages, red onions, okra, eggplants, potatoes, cucumbers, chayotes, ginger, garlic, daikon radishes, white button mushrooms, and corn. There were also a couple of people selling spices: black pepper, cumin seeds, cinnamon bark, cardamom pods, and others I didn’t recognize. There were more chaat sellers, as well as people selling a variety of nuts and every kind of achaar (a condiment of spicy pickled vegetables) you can think of, including mango and garlic.

For whatever reason, the Lonely Planet guidebook neglects to mention anything about Shimla’s lower bazaar. There’s nothing about the shops, the vegetable market, or even the restaurants. I’m not entirely sure why this gap in their information exists. The lower bazaar is a great place to explore and to become completely overwhelmed by the sheer number of people trying to get all their shopping done. There are some great restaurants down there, too. (Danny and I had a really tasty paneer kofta at a placed called Deepak. Unfortunately, I then proceeded to get a little sick, but I still think the culinary experience was completely worth it!) I haven’t seen a single Western tourist off the beaten track of Shimla’s tourist areas, which I think is really too bad. They’re definitely missing out.

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Happy birthday, Jessica! I wish I could be at home to have a margarita with you.

Everything I need to know I learned from Indian TV

2009-10-10T16:58:00.002+05:30

1. At any time of day and provided you have cable, you will be able to find Amitabh Bachchan, the biggest classic movie actor and one of the most famous faces in Bollywood, on at least two channels. Shah Rukh Kahn, Bollywood’s current big name, might found on at least one channel, even if it’s just in a commercial for satellite TV.

2. Celebrities are so big in India that they regularly are featured in “breaking news” segments. One day, the news included a piece on whether Salman Khan’s biggest nemesis was Shah Rukh Kahn or Aamir Khan (yes, all of the most famous contemporary actors have similar last names but are unrelated). Actors are such a big deal here that their opinions are listened to and considered seriously when they are expressed on politics, society, or other current events – to the point that these opinions often make front page news. (Actors are so big, in fact, that scandals don’t affect their careers. People still love Salman Kahn, despite the fact that he has, in the past, been involved in domestic violence, the hunting of an endangered species of deer, and the killing of a pedestrian while driving drunk.)

3. The two most prevalent beauty concerns for women are achieving fair skin and preventing “hair fall.” At least one commercial per break involves some kind of cream that promises to fade freckles and to “brighten” skin tone up to two full shades. The brands are all ones that I’m familiar with at home: Garnier, Dove, Pond’s. They promise skin that will bring you fame, love, and beauty. When I went to a drug store to buy shower gel, the woman working there tried to sell me a lightening cream – because she immediately noticed that I have freckles! Imagine what Indians would think of Americans’ obsession with skin tanning products.

I’m not so sure why advertisements for hair products are so focused on women losing their hair. I suppose that because long, thick hair is highly valued in women, losing a few strands in a hair brush can lead to the worry that one is losing a ton of hair. I do wonder if “hair fall” can more likely be attributed to poor nutrition, rather than what products are being used – which can be contributed to a diet that is more Western (read: abundant amounts but low nutrient value, such as McDonald’s). As with skin lightening creams, all the major brands are taking advantage of this primarily female concern: Pantene, Dove, and Garnier especially.

4. Good wives wait at home, doing the cooking and cleaning, while the husband goes out to work and lives the high life with friends and colleagues. Modern-day India apparently is a lot like the U.S. in the ‘50’s.

There is a type of cooking oil called Husband’s Choice, the idea for which is that it includes important nutrients for the male body – because, of course, a woman will be cooking for her husband and all the male members of the family, and it is her priority to keep them all healthy. (On a related note, oils are so highly valued as a source of nutrients in the Indian diet that they get their own group in the four food groups: fruits and vegetables; beans, meat, and dairy; grains and pulses; and oils and nuts.)

5. In stark contrast, the young women of Bollywood bare a lot of naked skin and often act silly and brainless – kind of like many young women in Hollywood. Instead of the glamorous actresses of yesteryear in saris or embellished kurtas, contemporary actresses wear tube tops, miniskirts, and stilettos. That may not sound too terrible, but in a culture where women are expected to dress modestly, men stare at them anyway, and to talk about sex is still fairly taboo, the move to “Westernize” Bollywood actresses in a stereotypical way does nothing but perpetuate the idea that Western women are loose and stupid – and so now, too, are these Bollywood actresses. To further emphasize the stereotype, female actors speak in higher-pitched voices, punctuated with giggles. (Men speak in deep voices, to emphasize their masculinity.)

6. I love watching infomercials (no matter where I am), and my favorite one here is for jewelry that is meant to deflect the evil eye. I always thought the evil eye was an old wives’ tale, but I guess here in India, people really believe it exists – and that you can inflict it upon someone without meaning to. How it seems to work, according to the infomercial, is that when someone compliments you (or your child or your new business), their hidden jealousy manifests itself as the evil eye, which then afflicts the person with ill health, an accident or fire at their place of business, or some other incidence of bad luck. The infomercial sells a set of jewelry with a large glass bead of varying shades of blue, which includes a bracelet, necklace, and amulet (to hang in a room) – all of which are “scientifically” guaranteed to keep off the evil eye. For just under Rs. 3,000 (US $60), you, too, can have a lovely glass pendant to protect you from, well, everyone. (Actually, I think it’s really pretty and would buy one on a necklace if I saw someone selling it for, say, Rs. 200.)

Visiting the bird house

2009-10-08T14:51:00.001+05:30

One afternoon last week, we took a couple-mile walk out in the direction of the Viceregal Lodge and Himachal Pradesh University. The journey was filled with the typical gorgeous views of the Shimla as the outer reaches of the city stretched out into more wooded areas. It also included, of course, the occasional macaque crossing the road and a tree full of langurs.

When we reached the Viceregal Lodge, we noticed that right across the way was the Himalayan Bird Park. Being that Danny is an amateur but avid bird-watcher, we definitely had to check it out.

In the front room before the aviary, there was no one to collect the entrance fee (all of Rs. 5, plus Rs. 15 for my camera) but the head of a small ungulate mounted on the wall. I cringed and, not wanting to spend more time than I had to in close quarters with a taxidermied animal head, pushed open the door into the bird park – where I found that one entire wall was dedicated to taxidermied animals.

For those of you who don’t know, I have a severe phobia of taxidermy. When I was growing up, the African safari room of my beloved California Academy of Sciences was both intriguing and terrifying to me. Provided I had my mom’s or dad’s hand to hold, I was comfortable peering through the glass at the zebras, lions, and various kinds of antelope, posed at the drinking hole or looking off into the distance. One visit, though, I went with my mom’s best friend’s family, and since I was too embarrassed to admit my fear, I hung out with a small exhibit off the African safari room and got to know really well a replica of Lucy. The animals at the Cal Academy don’t bother me so much now because I’m familiar with the pieces.

Unfamiliar taxidermy exhibits continue to freak me out. A few years ago, on a trip to Manhattan’s American Museum of Natural History, I had to hold onto a friend’s arm until I felt comfortable being surrounded by the stuffed animal skins with glass eyes. And a couple months ago, when we were camping at Big Sur, we came across the nature learning center, which was, fortunately for me, closed – because it was full of taxidermied animals. Even just looking at them through the window in the front door was unnerving.

Even worse is bad taxidermy: poorly constructed, dusty, falling apart, or just simply ageing animals not only are horrible to look at, but they really scare me. That’s the kind of taxidermy they had at the bird park – according to Danny anyway. I barely took a good look at the pieces (I saw the rear end of a yak and a couple large deer on one end and a leopard on the other) before I moved away into the area where the birds were. My fear was bad enough that I refused to even walk past them with my eyes closed and Danny leading me past. Fortunately, the bird park was built with circular path, so I just went the wrong way to look at the birds. Also, from the upper level of the aviary, I couldn’t see the taxidermy exhibit below, since it was blocked by tall foliage, which some of the birds lived in.

The bird park is home to a number of geese, red jungle fowl (from which all chickens in the world are descended from), pheasants, monals, and the occasional sparrow. We were the only ones visiting at the time, and apart from two men who were doing some work, it was just us and the birds. Which was kind of nice, actually, since normally everywhere in India is crowded. I was even able to forget about the taxidermy after watching the birds for a while.

Trout for dinner

2009-10-07T19:09:00.004+05:30

As I mentioned elsewhere, I haven’t really been eating meat since I’ve been in India, due to the fact that I can’t be sure of the sustainability of how the meat was raised or where it came from. (In fact, I know for sure now that I don’t want to eat chicken, after visiting the subzi mundi – “vegetable market” – and seeing how chicken is sold.) When I heard, though, that a restaurant called Ashinana sometimes serves locally-caught trout, I was very excited. I especially avoid eating fish when in India, considering that most of where I visit is landlocked – and therefore, who knows where the fish comes from? But fresh fish from rivers that run off the Himalayan mountains? I was all over that.

We stopped in at Ashiana for lunch one day, and on every table was a little sign advertising “grilled trout fish.” Included was a description about trout: “Trout fish was introduced in 1909 with the species Rainbow fingerling, which were brought from Norway. Trout are usually found in cold waters (10-15°C), a 600-km stretch on the Beas, Sutlej, and Ravi rivers in the upper Himalayas is the habitat of trout. Trout is somewhat bony, but the flesh is generally considered quite tasty.” For Rs. 250 (US $5), the grilled trout came with chips and boiled vegetables. It was the most expensive meal I’d had in a while, but it was probably a quarter of what I’d pay at home and, as it turned out, totally worth it.

We each got a whole trout, with a crispy grilled skin and a little bit of masala sprinkled on for good measure. The fish was rather bony, even after I removed the spine, but again, worth the effort to pick out the tiny bones. As promised, there were a few masala-dusted fries and a spoonful of boiled-then-grilled vegetables on the side. It didn’t look like a lot, at least in comparison to the huge portions I’d get at home, but the serving size was perfect. In the end, all I had left was a plate of fish bones, and I was full and happy.

I’ve been doing some travel planning, and I’m hoping to make it out to Kolkata toward the end of my time here in India. I want to see it partly because I’d like to experience a big city in a part of the country I’ve never been to, and partly because my grandfather spent some time in Calcutta when he was stationed in India during WWII (and I want to photograph things he took photos of). As a bonus, West Bengal, the state Kolkata is in, sits on the Bay of Bengal, which means a lot of the food includes fish: fish curry, fish pakora, jhaal (fish with ground mustard seeds and chilies), and chingri malaikari (giant prawns, which the guidebook says are so big that they “speak lobster,” cooked in coconut milk). It has the makings of an awesome trip.

Chinese food in India

2009-10-01T19:56:00.007+05:30

Before I left for India, I was reading a book by Jennifer 8. Lee called The Fortune Cookie Chronicles, in which, among other things, the author explored the history of the fortune cookies, as well as took it upon herself to find the best Chinese food in the world. (Seriously, how do I get this kind of job?) She talks about the ways in which Chinese food manifests itself in different countries, based upon the various tastes of those particular parts of the world.

I’ve had Chinese food in numerous countries, including several European countries (England, Hungary, Italy, the Netherlands), Mexico, and Thailand. Each puts its own spin on how Chinese food ought to be. (Don’t eat Chinese in Hungary. Really.) India, too, has its own regionally-inspired Chinese cuisine. It’s very popular and can be quite tasty.

The most popular dish seems to be little dumplings called momos. Actually, I’m not entirely sure if they’re Chinese – they could be Tibetan. Regardless, these little pouches of dough-wrapped vegetable filling are on almost every menu at every restaurant we go to here in Shimla. At some places, you can get them steamed or fried, but typically, they come steamed. They’re best served with a trio of dipping sauces: soy, vinegar with tiny chopped chilies, and a red, fiery sauce filled with chili seeds. Many places, however, just serve them with Indian-style ketchup, which is less sweet than the kind at home. The filling varies, too, by restaurant. It’s primarily cabbage with wisps of other finely slivered vegetables, and sometimes they have bits of chili pepper thrown in for good measure. (There is a meat variation as well, which we haven’t tried.)

The dish that intrigues me the most is chop suey. To begin with, it’s not pronounced “chop soo-ey” like we say in the States. Here, it’s pronounced “chop see.” It is typically found in the “Chinese” section of nearly every menu, including our hotel’s, next to the chow mein. The chow mein is similar to what we have at home: an oily pile of thick egg noodles, with some veggies or egg thrown in. The chop suey is an entirely different beast. It comes with a tangle of crisp, thin noodles, submerged in an almost too-sweet tomato-based sauce, dotted with vegetables. To be honest, I’ve never actually had chop suey at home, due to its lack of “authenticity,” being that it was a dish invented for the American palate (read: the kind that enjoys eating Wonder Bread and vanilla pudding). I therefore have no basis of comparison to the “original” chop suey. But I find it interesting that this American-Chinese dish has found it way, in one form or another, onto the plates of Indians who enjoy Chinese food.

Besides Dim Sum, where one should only go for momos (as nothing else on the menu is particularly spectacular), we haven’t eaten at any Chinese restaurants here in Shimla. There are a number of tiny places on the middle bazaar, which were crammed packed the one afternoon we wandered down there for lunch. I’m curious to find out how the Indians up here in Himachal envision Chinese food. Being that China is just on the other side of the Himalayan mountains, one would hope that they can do Chinese well – in whatever form it takes.

We did have Chinese food when we were in Delhi, at a place in Connaught Place called Bonsai. It’s kind of off the main tourist drag, down a trashy, stinky street filled with parked cars and stray dogs. It was entirely empty when we arrived, which normally indicates the poor quality of a restaurant, but the food was actually really good. It was “happy hour” (which in India lasts from like noon to eight), and the beer and some dim sum were at half price. We had veggie spring rolls, veggie sui mai, broccoli and shiitakes in oyster sauce, and rice. The spring rolls were the best I’ve ever had in India, comparable to ones I had while in Bangkok: the outer skin was thin and crunchy, not doughy like at other Indian places. The sui mai was intriguing to me, as I’d only ever had sui mai made with pork and shrimp. The filling for the vegetarian version was a variety of diced veggies, which were really tasty, although the skins fell apart upon removal of the dumplings from the steamer which they were served in. They were served with an aioli of unknown origin, which was fabulous nonetheless (I ate the leftover mayo mixture on top of the leftover rice). The broccoli and shiitakes were also very good – the best stir-fried veggies I’ve had in India.

It’s interesting how Chinese food has made its way around the globe and gained widespread popularity. Danny commented that this could be due to the use of the savory or “umami” flavor, typically found in MSG (among other things), in Chinese foods that isn’t necessarily emphasized in other cuisines. Whatever the reason, I’m looking forward to further explorations of Chinese food in India.

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Happy birthday, Mom and Mike! I hope you're going to (speaking of Chinese food) a buffet tonight or this weekend, and I'm extremely jealous.

Festival time

2009-09-29T19:56:00.002+05:30

The Hindus in India just finished celebrating a nine-day festival called Navarathri ("nine nights"). The days are marked by late night processions with lots of singing, drumming, and the blowing of conch shells. It all ends with Dussehra, which commemorates the story of the Ramayan, when Lord Ram rescued his wife Sita from the clutches of the demon Ravan (with a help of his brother Lakshman, the god Hanuman, and an army of bears, monkeys, vultures, and Vanar princes) and when effigies of Ravan, his brother, and his son are burned to celebrate Ram’s success.

There was a big festival at Jakhu planned for Dussehra. Earlier in the week, we watched men building the demon effigies. They started by lashing together bamboo poles for the skeletons, which was followed by layers of newspaper and fabric. It reminded me of the Guy that is burned on Guy Fawkes Day in England or what I imagine they burn at Burning Man – times three.

Dussehra was yesterday, and we set out for the festivities after lunch. We were planning to take a taxi up the hill, instead of doing the hike, but trying to catch a cab was madness. Like many things in India, getting into a queue is a nice idea that doesn’t actually fulfill its function. We stood in line, waiting for the taxis to arrive. When one finally appeared, the people formerly in a line immediately surged forward, pushing and shoving to get in (while the original passengers were still trying to get out!), regardless of who had been there first. As you can see in the photo below, people are practically coming out of the windows – and still more are trying to get in the rear door. When this taxi went by, I saw that girls were sitting on each others’ laps, squished in like sardines. After waiting for forty-five minutes and deciding we didn’t want to have to fight anyone to get into a car, we decided to make the hike up after all.

There were more people than usual taking the path up to the temple. On an average day, there might be a young honeymooning couple or two, some aunties in saris, a few older gentlemen in sweater vests, a handful of teenagers in hip Western clothing and students in their school uniforms, and the odd Western tourist either going up or down the road. On festival day, there were hundreds: whole families in their very best saris and salwar kameez suits and button-down shirts, packs of young dudes, tourists in backpacks and brandishing cameras, and even some stray dogs from Shimla town who didn’t typically go up the hill. Even though Danny had brought his monkey stick, we didn’t really need it: the monkeys seemed too overwhelmed by the sheer number of humans to bother anybody.

Periodically along the path were vendors selling all sorts of festival day goodies. Normally, there is just a Tibetan woman selling shawls (I bought a couple really pretty ones from her last week) and a couple different people selling prasad, including an older woman I call Auntie Prasad, who pushes her wares on everyone who passes by (Rs. 20 for four packets of the white candy – and take two sets, because there are two temples), knits in the meantime, and talks to Danny in Hindi about monkeys and marriage and how she’d like to see me wearing a salwar kameez. None of the usual folks were there, though. Instead, there were people selling plastic flowers, bhel puri (fried puffs of dough that are, as Danny says, “filled with sickness”), and pillow cases with portraits of tigers on them. As we got closer to the temple, the path became lined with vendors selling a variety of street food (including pakora, jalebi, sandwiches of little fried patties, neon-colored cotton candy, and melting kulfi), as well as all kinds of toys for the children.

There were your typical dolls, toy cars and trucks, pop guns, and other assortment of cheap, plastic junk. For the festival, they were also selling Hanuman masks and the various weaponry used to defeat Ravan and his gang: the bows and arrows of Ram and Lakshman, the club of Hanuman, and swords, all covered in bright, shiny paper. Among the festival toys were masks of Krish, “India’s first superhero,” and Spiderman – just in case, I suppose, you preferred to dress up as something more secular.

The entryway to the temple grounds were decorated in silver and gold tinsel, hanging above our heads. The prasad sellers were out in full force, though there was not a monkey to be seen. We arrived just as the chief minister (similar to a governor back in the States) of Himachal Pradesh was leaving the Shiva temple to go up to the Hanuman temple. There were police officers everywhere because of this, more than I’d ever seen in one place at one time. After Danny bought some prasad from some vendors he knew, we headed up, too, and tried to find a good place to watch the festivities. There were people everywhere: crammed along the edge of the hill, crowded around the outside the temple itself, even up on the scaffolding where normally people were renovating some of the buildings. Danny estimated that there were probably nearly 3,000 people gathered to watch Ravan burn. We ended up standing on the edge of a planter box full of marigolds and barbed wire (to keep out the monkeys). Fortunately, the barbed wire they use around Shimla is fairly harmless; it doesn’t even stop the monkeys.

Ravan and his demon compatriots were set up at the bottom of the first slope beneath the temple (which I thought was a bad set-up, since everyone was above, trying to look down, and still having their views blocked by everyone standing in front of them). The effigies were pink-skinned, with curling mustaches, crowns, and swords. Ravan came complete with his ten heads. At one point, the cast of the Ramayan walked down into the gully where the effigies stood, though what they did after that is a mystery to me, since I couldn’t see down that far. Meanwhile, people were burning huge sparklers and setting off fireworks, which all went off with loud and sometimes disconcerting bangs.

I have to admit that I was a little nervous about three paper-and-bamboo demons being burned in the middle of a pine forest, but they’d done this before and all of the two firemen present would most certainly assure the safety of the trees. I can’t even imagine what would happen if a forest fire broke out with a crowd of thousands present. Crowds in India are not well known for their level-headedness in an emergency. In fact, last year at the Naina Devi temple, about 160 km from Shimla, "162 people died when they were crushed, trampled, or forced over the side of a ravine by the movement of a large panicking crowd" (Wikipedia). It seems to be part of the culture to push and shove when trying to get to where you’re going. (Danny says, “You can probably find any number of stampede deaths in India if you just search on the internet for five minutes.”)

Finally, the big moment arrived when it was time for the burn. The chief minister, sitting safely up by the temple, started the burn by remote control. He pushed a button or flipped a switch or whatever, and Ravan’s face began to spew fireworks (as depicted in the first photo below). Other fireworks in the bodies of the effigies went off with several loud bangs, and they all caught fire. The crowd cheered and took photos with their cell phones. The air was soon filled with even more smoke, and bits of burning paper were blown into the nearby trees (though, fortunately, without incident). After mostly going up in flames, Ravan toppled to the ground, to the triumphant cheers of the crowd. His companions fell shortly thereafter, fireworks bursting in the sky all the while.

Once that was over, the same crowd that had just swarmed in not an hour before began to swarm back out. As the sea of people thinned, we were able to get closer to where the effigies had been. There were still many people watching the prone bodies burn away – and there were still firecrackers going off in the base of dirt where Ravan had once stood. Suddenly, the small crowd gathered along the hillside rushed the fallen demons and began tearing them apart. Danny asked a fellow standing nearby what was going on, and we were told that the sticks used to create the effigies were “good wood” and therefore good luck. So I said we should get some for ourselves.

We clambered down the hill, into the smoke and the still-exploding fireworks, passing boys and old aunties going back up with handfuls of charred sticks. Another Indian bloke encouraged us to collect some of the wood, explaining that we would “have no fear.” It took some effort to break off a piece or two of bamboo, because the effigies were roped together quite well. On our way back up, I found a piece of demon cheek: one side painted pink and black, the other just regular old newspaper. We later turned to see boys carrying entire parts of rope-tied bamboo skeleton – essentially whole chunks of demon torso.

The evening was capped off by a stop at the café of one of Danny’s informants, where we gorged on way too much (free) bread pakora, as well as pakora of the potato, eggplant, and pumpkin varieties. We then went to the Hanuman mandir, which by this point was not as busy. I’d never been in before and was nervous about doing something “wrong.” We took off our shoes before climbing the steps into the temple. Inside was a pandit, seated before the shiny red-orange image of Hanuman. (Danny describes him as a “rock with googly eyes.”) We knelt down, along with a handful of other worshipers. The pandit started by handing out a round of blessed prasad (the typical hazelnuts and white candy), which I missed because I was trying to figure out what was going on. He painted our foreheads with a tilik of orange paint, then poured us handfuls of rosewater (which Danny warned me after the fact not to drink too much of, though, luckily, I suppose, I accidentally spilled a lot of it). Then Danny walked me around the room, showing me the depictions of scenes from the Ramayan. On the way out the door, I rang one of the temple bells, as people tend to do when visiting the mandir.

Our last stop was to the other café to watch a man making fresh jalebi. One of Danny’s friends was working, and he gave us some free “samples” of jalebi – which was almost too much on top of the other fried foods we’d eaten. Jalebi is deep-fried batter, almost like a small funnel cake, which is then coated in sticky sweet syrup. They’re especially good when eaten hot, right out of the pan.

By then, it was well after dark, and we made the long trek back down, to recover in our hotel room with beers and TV.

Langurs, the other kind of monkey

2009-09-26T15:10:00.001+05:30

Often, where you find rhesus macaques, you’ll find langurs. This second type of monkey is different from their macaque cousins in several ways: they have long tails, cream-colored coats, black goblin faces, are strictly leaf eaters (and therefore don’t bother humans the way macaques do), and are adapted to living in the trees with their ability to bounce gracefully from place to place. The locals differentiate the two as “red monkeys” and “black monkeys.” Since they eat different foods, the two kinds of monkeys can occupy a similar territory, although they generally don’t intermingle.

A small band of langurs stopped near our hotel earlier this week to graze on the leaves and flowers of the bushes growing there. Even though I was battling both a nasty chest cold and the end of a bout with traveler's diarrhea, I grabbed my camera and went down to take some photos. Langurs seem to generally be less concerned about the presence of humans, so I was able to get pretty close and get some good shots. Unfortunately, humans seem to be wary -- even frightened -- no matter what kind of monkey, which tends to result in the chasing off of the monkeys with rocks or the waving of sticks. Thus, even the langurs got a little agitated after having me and Danny watch them for an extended period of time, and they eventually took off down the hill.

Dogs of India

2009-09-25T19:43:00.002+05:30

No matter where you go in India, you’ll find dogs. The majority of them are strays, though occasionally you’ll find the odd pure-bred with an owner. In Delhi, the strays were everywhere: lying along the side of the street, sometimes begging humans for scraps of food, or fighting amongst themselves for territory. The neighborhood Danny lived in during my last trip was full of dogs that would bark and howl all night long – therefore keeping me up in the wee hours. They were pretty sad creatures, as most of them were skinny and many of them had injuries like limp or missing limbs.

In Shimla, the dogs appear hardier, many with thick coats, probably due to the fact that it gets cold up here in the Himalayan foothills. They are generally cared for better, insofar as many of them have been spayed or neutered (which is easily revealed by the notch cut into their ears). Plus people seem to adopt local strays by giving them leftovers.

Regardless of where they are, the majority of dogs tend to do the sorts of things that dogs do. By this, I mean that they will generally lie down wherever they please, sometimes block vehicle traffic with seemingly little concern for their own safety (in big urban areas like Delhi, this is where they get their injuries from), chase each other playfully, dig through the trash for tasty morsels, and look at you mournfully if you happen to be eating an ice cream cone.

Since Shimla is rather small, it’s easy to get to know the neighborhood strays. There are four that live up at Jakhu temple, who keep the monkeys in check and also spend a lot of time sleeping. There’s one who lives by the corner shop near our hotel that Danny often says hello to.

People here keep dogs as pets, too. Usually you see Labrador retrievers or little moppy ones like shih tzus or pomeranians, though I’ve also seen a pug. There is a dachshund named Magic, who is owned by a shopkeeper down at the Lakkar Bazaar (“wood market”), who seems to really enjoy chasing the monkeys that hang out by the shop.

While it may sound like there’s a lot of monkey-chasing going on, there really isn’t. Dogs and monkeys can be wary of each other, but often they will leave each other alone.

Coconuts for the monkey god

2009-09-24T20:40:00.003+05:30

We went up to Jakhu temple for the second time this past Tuesday, which is Hanuman’s day and the best day to make offerings and ask blessings from the monkey god. There were several wealthy families from Delhi who had made the pilgrimage, bringing with them huge bags full of coconuts. After they had made their offering to Hanuman, they began to pass out the prasad to those outside the temple, including Danny and me. We each got one to enjoy.

Some of the monkeys did, too, by gift or theft. It seemed that they understood that the fibrous exterior needed to come off, but once they got to the shell, they were unsure of how to access the flesh. Other monkeys were given coconuts that were broken open, and they used their sharp teeth to make short work of the coconut meat.

Meanwhile, Danny and I went to the far side of the temple grounds to figure out how to get the nuts open. Danny asked for help, and an Indian fellow showed us how to pull off the fibers and then smash the coconut against the cement to break it open. It was a lot easier than I thought it was going to be. These coconuts were smaller than the ones we have at home, that need a hammer to smash them open. That’s how I remember my mom opening fresh coconuts when I was growing up.

I wasn’t too skilled on drinking the coconut water as it leaked out, which was fine by me, since it’s not one of my favorite things. But I went on to gorge on more than half a coconut. I can’t recall the last time I’d had fresh coconut, and I was surprised by how nutty it tasted – not at all like the sugary, flaked stuff you find on cupcakes. In fact, I ate so much coconut, I made myself sick and had to give some of the leftovers to the nearby macaques!

Ode to Shimla

2009-09-22T20:22:00.000+05:30

Have I mentioned how pretty Shimla is?

Food, delicious food

2009-09-20T16:11:00.008+05:30

Danny commented at dinner last night that, based on my running commentary of what I eat, I haven’t had a bad meal during our first week here in Shimla. He’s right: there are a number of decent restaurants that serve really tasty food. None of them are four-star cuisine, but then, no one comes to India for a four-star dining experience. You can have pretty much anything you crave, whether that’s pizza, sandwiches, dosas, curries, dim sum, omlettes and toast, soup, or ice cream.

We’ve been eating almost exclusively vegetarian since we arrived. This is mostly in order to remain socially conscious about what we eat, since the assumption is that the meat and poultry is from factory farms and, being that we’re in a land-locked location, we have no idea where the fish and shrimp come from. It’s not a bad country to not be eating meat, as you can imagine, with all the different veggie options available. We’ve only had meat twice now: at a Punjab restaurant, where Danny really wanted us to try butter chicken (which I’d never had), and on a chicken barbeque pizza, which had been recommended in the guide book.

I’ve really been enjoying paneer as a meat replacement of sorts. I really think that, in general , you can’t go wrong with cheese, and I especially like the dense texture of paneer. You could basically put any kind of sauce on paneer, and I’d be a happy camper.

I’m also enjoying any opportunity to eat fresh or lightly cooked veggies, since vegetables in most traditional Indian dishes are cooked down to a gravy. Subway, of all fast food joints, has a location here in Shimla, and I’m currently obsessed with the “Veggie Delite” sandwich, which is basically just a bunch of raw veggies (the usual tomato, lettuce, onion, cucumber, etc.) in a whole wheat roll with mayo. Yesterday, we went to lunch at a cozy café, where I asked the owner/chef what he recommended. He made me a huge bowl of steamed vegetables (carrots, green beans, cabbage, onions, cucumber, tomatoes, potatoes, cauliflower) in a light tomato-based sauce, with a few slices of mayo-smeared white bread on the side. Apart from the spongy bread, it was a really healthy meal – and really tasty!

My favorite light meal is a bowl of sweet corn soup or hot and sour soup, usually ordered from the hotel’s kitchen. I think it’s probably made from a freeze-dried mix, but both kinds are really comforting. True to Indian tastes, the hot and sour soup can be mouth-scorching, sometimes with little bits of chili peppers floating in the broth. Even the corn soup, which is just a clear vegetable broth with corn and some other veggies, can be a little spicy, which I really like.

And sometimes, what really hits the spot is just a tiny cup of steaming hot chai and a plate of pakora: either bread with butter between or vegetables, coated in batter and deep fried. It’s a perfect snack after watching macaques all afternoon.

At the monkey temple

2009-09-19T21:24:00.004+05:30

After making the hike to the top, we took a moment to rest and pick up a couple of monkey sticks. We also had a short photo session with a group of young Indian men who were on pilgrimage to Jakhu. Men, in particular, love taking photos of the white folks they come across – especially if they happen to be tall, blonde, and speak Hindi.

The monkeys at the temple were up to their usual antics: scurrying about, climbing on things, fighting over food, grooming, and napping. We had brought up a couple of chocolate cookies, and then once there, also bought a couple packets of prasad (food offerings), one of which had little white candies, the other was hazelnuts. As soon as I started rifling in my purse, we found ourselves surrounded by macaques of different sizes. I broke the cookies into pieces and tossed them to individual monkeys, while Danny did the regulating with his stick. If a monkey got too close, he tapped the stick on the ground to let the monkey know to back off. They ate everything and anything that was available, right down to the tiniest crumb.

Some of the monkeys liked eating the flowers that grew on the temple grounds. You could see where they’d been eating by the petals strewn on the grass. Some visitors to the temple brought the monkeys marigolds as offerings, which the juveniles happily held in their feet and munched on.

We spent most of our time feeding and photographing the various members of the monkey troop. Danny, being more experienced with the monkeys and therefore more brave, would sometimes feed a monkey by hand, provided that he wasn’t being followed by a whole lot of other monkeys. One such monkey was content in collecting hazelnuts out of Danny’s open palm – until I guess he got impatient and decided to steal the whole packet from Danny!

While Danny re-established connections with his human contacts at the temple, I watched a couple of young monkeys tumble about on a playground set meant for human children. They clambered up the slide, then slid back down, before wrestling their way back to the top. It was much like watching young human children, and I think, at the end of the day, monkeys and humans really are quite similar.

Hiking up to Jakhu

2009-09-18T19:18:00.004+05:30

Since Shimla is built on the side of a mountain, you have to trek up or down a steep road no matter where you want to go. Even just going out to internet café or to grab a bite to eat requires a little bit of a workout.

Jakhu, the sacred temple to the monkey god Hanuman, is Danny’s main research site here in Shimla. It sits at the top of a very steep hill: the closer to the sky, the closer to the gods. It’s only a walk of about a mile or so, but the incline is something like 45 degrees. Add the high altitude to the mix, and it makes for quite an endeavor to reach the top. Literally ten feet into the journey, my heart is pounding, my lungs are gasping for air, and I’m already feeling tired. There are stairs built into the side of the road, as well as benches periodically along the way. These are helpful to a tourist like me, who isn’t used to the traveling conditions.

There is a sign at the base of the road, which predicts your fitness level based on your age and how long it takes you to get to the top. Many of the locals, especially older ones, make the trek regularly – and therefore don’t need to take breaks on their way up. Since we’ll be going up to Jakhu fairly regularly, I’m looking at the walk up as a work out – one which I hope to be able to do without breaks by the end of our time here. I look forward to being able to make it to the top under half an hour and while still being able to hold a conversation.

On the way up, there are, of course, rhesus macaques. They hang out in the trees overhead, on the walls that line the road, and on awnings, roofs, and ledges of houses. Generally, they’re doing the sorts of things that monkeys usually do: grooming, cuddling, climbing up vertical surfaces, or looking off into the distance. The further up the hill you go, the more interested they become in the people making the hike up. These monkeys become a little braver and are more likely to jump into the road to try to take whatever goodies you might be carrying. Bottles of water and bags, which might contain foodstuffs, are especially intriguing. The macaques line up along the road and wait to leap out, hoping to frighten the humans into dropping their wares or, most likely, to steal these things right out of the human’s hands.

This leaves us humans to take necessary precautions against these little guys. A number of cafes and shops on the way up rent wooden walking sticks (for Rs.5 or US $0.10), which can be tapped on the ground to scare off the more assertive monkeys. Some people pick up rocks to throw at the monkeys. I had the bright idea of using my umbrella against the macaques, pressing the “open” button as they approached and hoping that the sudden unfurling of the umbrella would frighten them away. Instead, doing this just seemed to piss them off, and rather than backing off, they appeared more ready to go to battle against the humans with their strange tool. The sticks are more familiar to the macaques, and they have learned to be afraid of them. The umbrella was a new threat that I suppose the monkeys felt they needed to defend themselves against – so much so that one of the young males came running up behind us and bit Danny on the ankle! Fortunately, it was just a nip, and the monkey really couldn’t do much damage through Danny’s jeans. But we learned our lesson: stick with the sticks.

Getting my stomach acclimated

2009-09-17T16:21:00.005+05:30

It’s pretty much guaranteed that if you come to India and spend a significant amount of time here (read: more than a week), you’re going to get sick. I’m not talking a cold either – I mean the kind of sick that sends you running for the bathroom numerous times during the day. Some call it traveler’s diarrhea, others call it Delhi belly. Whatever the name, it can be a royal pain the ass (no pun intended!).

On my last trip to India, I came down with the dreaded illness about a week into my trip. It started out as more of an inconvenience than anything else, and having a stock of Immodium AD helped. By the second week, though, I got sick enough that I was in bed for a full day, feeling generally weak and eating nothing but Sprite, bananas, and plain chips. Even though I wasted a day when I could have been exploring Udaipur, in Rajasthan, at least the hotel room had a balcony overlooking the lake and the other side of the city.

This time around, I got Delhi belly out of the way early. By the second evening, my stomach wasn’t feeling too hot, and I spent the night doubled over in pain, feeling nauseous and running for the bathroom constantly. I knew what to do this time, though. I had a four-pill dose of antibiotics to be used for extreme traveler’s diarrhea. Basically, it’s a stomach bomb that wipes everything out of your system, good and bad bacteria alike. By the next morning, I felt reasonably better, though I still spent the day feeling weak and achy. I limited myself to plain ginger tea, white toast with just a little butter, and hot and sour soup (my cure-all for every ailment). I also chowed down on acidophilus tablets, which I had brought to help prevent stomach illnesses and was then hoping would help restore the good bacteria in my system.

What did I eat that made me sick? It’s hard to tell. I’m relatively cautious about what I eat and drink. I only brush or rinse with bottled water, and drink primarily bottled water, too. (Lately, though, I’ll take a sip or two of filtered water at restaurants, so I can get my gut flora familiar with whatever might be in the local water.) I avoid eating raw fruits and vegetables if I don’t trust how they’ve been washed or sliced – which means most of the time. And while I do eat some street food, I try to follow the rule of eating only foods that are freshly prepared and still hot.

As time goes on, though, I start to break that final rule. I’ve been known to eat street food that’s been sitting out all morning. Sometimes I’ll eat leftovers without reheating them. Especially after getting sick, my hope is that my body is beginning to adjust to whatever bacteria my stomach disagreed with in the first place. I’d hate to miss out on a terrific gastronomic experience because I was too afraid of how my stomach would react. So I’m cautious – but not overly paranoid.

I had trouble in getting to Shimla Sollew

2009-09-14T16:24:00.000+05:30

We’re in Shimla now, in the state of Himachal Pradesh, which is to the north of Delhi. It’s in the foothills of the Himalayan mountains, which means it’s going to take a little getting used to the altitude. The air is fresh and cool, the stars are visible at night, and there are evergreen trees everywhere. Since it’s built into the side of a mountain, the houses and shops sit on steep roadways that stretch below and above our hotel. It’s the sort of place where one doesn’t need to go to the gym – just walking the stairs to get to our hotel is plenty of exercise.

The Hotel Doegar is nice. Danny has stayed here before and knows the staff and the owner. The rooms are hell on my dust and mildew allergies, though. The first room we were in last night was so mildewy that it gave me a terrible cough. I had to sleep at the foot of the bed, away from the ancient velveteen headboard, under the shawls I had brought, since the blankets were musty. We switched rooms this morning, to one that is less dusty and musty, though I’m still sniffling a little. But it’s definitely an improvement, and I just need to get some antihistamines to get me through. (The last time I was here, we stayed in a hotel where I had similar problems with dust in the room. I think this is just standard for the affordable sort of hotels Shimla.)

All in all, I’m just relieved that we’re here. The trip to get here from Delhi was a nightmare. What should have been a six-hour taxi ride that we dug deep into our pockets to pay for (it would have been a pain to travel by train with all of our heavy luggage) became a nine-hour inconvenience.

We had agreed to pay more than Danny wanted to pay for a nicer car that could comfortably hold us and our baggage, as well as had air-conditioning. The trip was going fine, despite some traffic, until the driver pulled off to the side of the road somewhere in Haryana and got out of the car without a word to us. He stood in the median, smoking a cigarette, until some characters in a car drove up. Our driver handed them some money, and then we were off. This happened again a couple hours later, when we pulled into a gas station – not for gas, but so that the guy could demand two-thirds of his payment from us right then and he could pay off someone at the station.

Danny said that it isn’t unusual for this sort of thing to happen, that the guy probably drove this route frequently and needed to pay some debts. It still seemed a little fishy and rather unprofessional to me.

Then, halfway through what was becoming an increasingly long trip, the driver stopped in Chandigar and declared we were having a car change. What? He moved our bags to a tiny little car, which was driven by a guy who frequently emitted disgustingly juicy burps and drove like a grandmother up the mountain to Shimla. To make matters worse, his air conditioning was broken, so he drove with the window down. This would have been fine, were he not to hesitant to drive around trucks that filled the air with thick, black diesel fumes, which then filled our creaky little car.

After having paid through the nose for what we were told was going to be a comfortable, spacious car, I was livid that we’d been passed off halfway through the journey to a vehicle that would have cost less to book. I spent the rest of the trip constructing in my head an email of complaint to the hotel in Delhi. Most likely, they weren’t aware that something like this was going to happen, but they’re going to get an earful from me, as well as a demand for a refund. Not only that, but it took so long to get to Shimla that it was nearly 9PM by the time we got into town and the lift that we got dropped off by had closed for the night. This meant then paying some local porters to haul our stuff up the hill, and started my stay here feeling sweaty and light-headed due to a much longer hike than I had anticipated.

But we’re here now (and at least for the next five weeks), and that’s the most important part. I’m looking forward to doing some window shopping today and to start reading Food Politics by Marion Nestle. (I finished Sarah McDonald’s Holy Cow on the ride up yesterday. At the rate I’m going, the next five books in my backpack aren’t going to last me the whole trip. There are some great bookstores here, though, and I’ll have to explore my reading options when I get to that point.)

Tomorrow, we’ll make the climb up the crazy steep hill to Jakhu Temple, home of the glasses-stealing monkeys.

The parking lot man

2009-09-12T14:18:00.008+05:30

Across the road from our hotel, there is a parking lot, lined along the perimeter with metal fencing and plenty of trash. Today I noticed and photographed a man leaning into the window of a white car, the lone vehicle in the parking lot at that early hour of 8AM. When I shared the photo with Danny, he mentioned that he'd seen this same guy in the parking lot, collecting recyclable materials.

After breakfast, I looked out the room window again and found that the piles of bottles, aluminum cans, and cardboard had grown larger.

Not long after, he was joined by a second man, and they began to fill large plastic bags with the bottles and cans they had collected.

Recycling is not a standard option in India the way I'm used to in the Bay Area. All of the newspapers we read, water bottles we drink from, and shampoo and lotion bottles we use up go in the trash along with everything else. In fact, I thought there was no recycling to speak of here in India, that all the waste produced by the more than 1.1 billion people (plus tourists!) ended up in landfills somewhere or were dumped on the outskirts of the cities, exhausting precious land resources. And, for the most part, it does.

But Danny mentioned that people like this fellow in the parking lot make it their job to sort through the rubbish we leave behind and sell it to recycling plants. Upon further investigation, I found an article from The Independent in 2005. It stated:

“More than 1,000 people make their entire living scavenging here at the Ghazipur dump in down-at-heel north Delhi, where the city's refuse is consigned. They are recyclers of sorts. But, for them, recycling has nothing to do with environmentalism or the green movement - it is about daily survival.

“... The fashionable guidebooks to India pontificate about the damage that plastic bottles are doing to India's environment, and urge tourists to refuse to buy them. But children like Musida depend on the bottles for their livelihood. They can sell them on at one rupee [US $0.02] per kilogram.”

These "recycling collectors" scavage for anything that could be possibly be reusable and sellable, right down to rags and animal parts.

It's not a pretty job in the least, but I suppose I feel less bad about having to toss out so many plastic water bottles, knowing that it's supplying someone with a livelihood -- if picking through other people's filth can be called that.

The risks of riding across town

2009-09-11T23:58:00.008+05:30

The auto-rickshaw is a staple of Indian public transportation. It’s a little, often rickety vehicle with three wheels and a motorcycle engine, with open sides that leave its driver and passengers exposed to the elements. It’s our preferred method of transportation here: it’s generally cheap, though not necessarily fast (that depends entirely on the traffic and the driver), and it always guarantees some interesting sights and occasionally an adventure.

Every time I get into a rickshaw, I’m entrusting my life to another human being – one who may very possibly be drunk, crazy, or just plain stupid. On any given occasion, as we barrel down the street in this little sheet metal vehicle, we dodge cars and motorcycles with a hair’s breadth between us, jerk around potholes (or not), and sometimes come to abrupt halts when there simply isn’t space for us to maneuver around traffic. This is all at speeds generally too fast for whatever road we’re headed down.

I used to ride while pressing down an imaginary brake pedal with my right foot. At this point, I’ve come to terms with the inevitable. It feels rather Buddhist to understand that death may be before me – at the cost of Rs.50 (US $1) – and that I have to accept that fate as I climb aboard. Of course, Danny tells me that most collisions in Delhi involve a car and a pedestrian, since people on foot cross rather higgelty piggelty, so really, I know it’s unlikely we’ll be in a crash.

Actually, I really enjoy riding in rickshaws. I think they’re a great way to experience India with several senses: the sights, the sounds, the smells. Taxis, the alternate method of travel, shelter you from those kinds of sensory opportunities – and tend to be far more expensive than hopping on a rickshaw.

The photos in this post were taken through the back window of a rickshaw Danny and I rode today on our way back to the hotel from Connaught Place. The look of a rickshaw differs slightly from vehicle to vehicle, and so I took advantage of this particular rickshaw's rare rear window.

Where concrete meets the jungle

2009-09-10T22:57:00.001+05:30

New Delhi can be an ugly city. There is a thin veil of dust on everything, right down to the leaves of the plants that grow along the roadsides and in gated little parks. At night, a heavy brown cloud of foul-smelling smog settles in as the city sleeps. Sometimes, it fails to lift in the morning, grounding airplanes and causing accidents in the streets. The buildings, from housing complexes to historical landmarks, are crumbling after years of neglect, covered in graffiti that's been carved into the brick and concrete, the red stains of paan that men spit into whatever corner is available, and the empty plastic soda bottles, chip bags, and cigarette butts that people can't bother putting into a trash can.

Then the monsoon comes, and the city continues to be ugly. The water pours from the sky, creating puddles that become pools that become rivers that flood the roadways and cause traffic jams. The garbage that collects along the sides of the road and in empty lots become sodden piles, leeching into the same water that's already in the street that people like me have to walk down. The giant brown puddles grow ever larger, making it even more of a challenge to get to where one is going on foot -- unless I don't mind soaking my feet as I'm forced to walk through them or getting splashed by a passing and inconsiderate car.

Today, on the first official day of my first official Indian monsoon, Danny and I ventured down to south Delhi, looking for a movie we never found. (It turned out we were at the wrong theater.) He was excited to show me what he called the nicest outdoor shopping center in Delhi. It did have lots of nice shopping: Benetton, Levi's, a clothing shop called Metal that was playing rap music, a bookstore called Fact & Fiction, a drugstore where I picked up some pretty-smelling shower gel, and several upscale restaurants. We had lunch at an Italian place called Sartoria, where we enjoyed bruschetta, a green salad served with baked mushrooms, and a veggie pizza with a Roman-style crust. It was really delicious, although the quality of this "ethnic" food was reflected in the price, which was comparable to a meal back at home.

The sad thing about this place, which was in the Vasant Vihar neighborhood, was how run-down it was. I wouldn't have believed that it was a nice shopping area by just looking at it. The bricks and concrete tiles in the walkways were crumbling in places and loose in others. There were McDonald's soda cups, plastic bags, and dog shit just laying around, getting water-logged in the rain. A huge fountain sat in the middle of a courtyard, and clearly, it had seen better days: it, too, was crumbling away, half-filled with gray rain water, and no longer running.

This is not how it is in all of India. In Jaipur, in the state of Rajasthan to the west, it was obvious that enough money was being put into the care and maintenance of its streets, shopping areas, and historial monuments. Bundi, also in Rajasthan, had forts that were hundreds of years old -- and yet they weren't littered with trash. Why Delhi is such a sad, disgusting mess, I don't know. They're currently trying really hard to improve the city's appearance, since they are hosting next year's Commonwealth Games. This seems to consist mostly of tearing down structures and facades that already exist, making large piles of brick along the sides of the road, and redirecting both vehicle and foot traffic, which causes traffic jams and inconveniences for all. In their effort to beautify buildings and create news roads which promise smoother flows of traffic, Delhi is just becoming more of a mess. There's a year to go before the games. Think they can clean up the mess they've been making of the city, as well as tidy up the filth that was there to begin with?

I don't plan on staying tuned to find out. By Sunday, we'll be off to Shimla, in the foothills of the Himalayan mountains. Not only is it less densely populated and cooler in climate, but they have laws against littering in their public areas. Shimla will be our home for the next two months, with brief jaunts back to Delhi, weekends in Manali or Mcleod Ganj, and trips to do research in various parts of Rajasthan. I'm looking forward to it.

Getting acclimated, part one

2009-09-08T20:09:00.006+05:30

Danny has gone out to purchase toiletries; I've opted to stay in. While I haven't had what even someone with a vivid imagination could call a strenuous day, I'm exhausted. By the time darkness falls and the heat becomes tolerable enough to go out in, my energy resources have already been completely tapped, and all I want to do is sleep.

It's just past 8PM here, which means it's about 7:30AM at home.

Going out would make the most sense at this point, as it would help keep me awake for another couple of hours until a more reasonable bedtime. But there is so much energy -- physical and mental -- required to walk down a street in Delhi. This is certainly not California, and pedestrians don't have the right of way. They don't have any rights at all, it seems, in the traffic hierarchy. When faced with rickshaws (both the bike and auto kinds), cars, dogs, scooters, cows, and buses (or "death machines," as Danny calls them), it's every man for himself for those of us on foot. Here in Karol Bagh, there's not much by way of sidewalks, and when there are sidewalks, there are cars parked up on them. So I find myself having to walk in the street, either with or against traffic, while trying to simultaneously dodge other pedestrians, avoid stepping in puddles of who-knows-what, and keep up with Danny, the expert Indian street negotiator.

This is even more true at night, when the melee of horns combines with the glare of headlights into a blur of sensory overload which makes it even more difficult for me to navigate the streets. I'm used to clear areas that demarkate spaces where cars go and where pedestrians go, and to traffic lights and signs that people actually pay attention to and obey. I'm used to cars stopping for me to cross -- instead of moving steadily foward with no regard to the fact that they could crush me with very little effort.

So I opted to stay in. I know that once the jet lag goes away and once I've been here long enough to get used to the flow of traffic, I too will become an expert in walking down a New Delhi street.

Or I can hope that we get to Shimla sooner rather than later, where less people equals less insanity in the streets.

Returning to India

2009-09-07T14:55:00.004+05:30

Oh, Delhi. I have a love/hate relationship with this place. The casual observer might wonder why anyone would want to come to visit: the constant blaring of horns, the blazing sun and muggy air, the brown haze of smog that hangs over the city, the smell of sweat and human waste, the men who stare at Western women. But there's much more beneath the city's harsh exterior: spicy chai enjoyed on rooftop cafes, friendly street dogs, gorgeous buildings that are hundreds of years old, the jewel tones of the kurtis worn by women, the food, and the food, and the food.

The first twenty hours back have been completely uneventful. Which is just what I'm needing right now. After a 30+ hour trip, hanging out in the air-conditioned hotel room all day, watching (and analyzing and trying to learn Hindi from) Indian TV, is all I really want to do.

For the next four nights, we're staying at the Ananda Hotel in Karol Bagh, which is apparently a nice neighborhood for shopping and which, of course, I currently know nothing about. The hotel itself is your standard over-priced, bare-bones big city accommodation. It has all the important ammenities, such as a bed, TV, a Western toilet, constant hot water, air con, and wireless. There are moth balls in the sink and shower drains (for the purposes of air freshening?), and the sticker on the trash bin reads, "Dustbin: A unique solution for waste."

The complimentary breakfast, served on the roof, consisted of several slices of toasted white bread with margarine and high-fructose-syrup-loaded jam, two undercooked fried eggs, and subpar chai. I suppose I can't complain too much. It was free, after all. To undo the effects of the many, many empty calories I'll probably be taking in, I've brought a veritable medicine cabinet of supplements, including a multi, Omega-3s, and odor-free garlic (a natural remedy to help keep the mosquitos away). When I was last here, it seemed like so much of the food I was eating was fried, smothered in greasy gravy -- or highly processed, as was the case with this morning's toast and margarine. My goal this time is to make healthy menu choices which fit more closely along the lines of how I like to eat (lots of fruit and vegetables, whole wheat breads, etc.). It means I need to learn more about different dishes by trying new ones, which is certainly not a task I mind taking on.

At some point today, Danny and I will venture into the wide world, maybe get something to eat and pick up some needed items like lotion and conditioner. Tomorrow we might even actually go do something, like visit the rhesus macaques at Connaught Place. In the meantime, I'm happy to just hang out in this room with a copy of Yoga Journal and Hindi-dubbed documentaries on Nat Geo.