¡Happy New Year and Feliz Año! It´s much more fun being on a spanish keyboard than a regular american one. Funnily enough the last 2 weeks or so since I last wrote have passed by in much more of a blur than any of our travelling in India. Probably because it´s been much less punctuated by singular events. We´ve spent a lot of time in Colombia´s capital, Bogota, seeing the city and more family than you can imagine. Collectively Hernando´s parents are 2 of 19 total siblings, which all of course have one or two subsequent generations behind each one of them. If I can figure it out as far as "mom´s side" and "dad´s side" I feel I deserve a pat on the back. Anything more intricate than that escapes me, despite Hernando´s mother´s best efforts to thoroughly educate me.
We also visited another city quite a distance away where Hernando´s grandparents and yet much more family live. Everyone is very warm and friendly and I do my best at Spanish, though a good number of people speak good English allowing me to be lazy, or take a break once I have thouroughly toungue tied myself.
Today stands out as the most lovely for me thus far. We rode horses in the countryside and it was a dream. Like any girl I love riding horses. I would say I can´t get enough of it but my body would beg to differ especially after losing any extra padding I had before going to India. I am so sore! But it was so worth it. An interesting moment was when Hernando´s cousin Valentina and I went out for a second ride cantering down dirt country roads at sunset and we come towards a woman bent over a body lain on the side of the road and her two children standing protectively in front of it and she´s lighting a match over it´s stomach. Now I´ve just come from India where I spent a few days watching family funerals at the burning ghats and it brought to mind some kind of crude funeral that absolutely did not make sense. Well luckily and obviously it wasn´t, and I figured as much when I saw another stuffed scarecrow figure of a man sitting in a chair with a can of beer in his hand. They make a figure of a man here and burn it to symbolize burning the old year and welcoming the new.
Now if you were to ask Hernando his favorite day it would have to be when we went go-karting with 8 other cousins. And I had fun too because I beat Hernando at it by half a lap! And that´s how I measure my success, mwah hah ha. He asked me not to write that on the blog but what could he expect? Though since he loves it so much we went a second time and that time he lapped me, but I wasn´t racing as well as before.
We still don´t really know what we´re doing as far as making plans. We´ll be in Venezuela by mid-January but we´re not really looking forward to it. Colombia is so nice and safe they can enjoy the luxury of walking around on the street and being perfectly safe here, it´s so much better than before. Though things are different in Caracas, the capital of Venezuela. The situation is worsening day by day and people are starting to flee to Colombia. Everyday Bogota´s newspapers print somewhat disapproving articles about the current Venezuelan influx as though the tables have never been turned and Venezuela never had the same happen there with Colombians in the past. So basically being in Caracas to us means we stay in the parent´s apartment a lot especially since most of his close friends from there live abroad! Though we of course most look forward to seeing our friends who are there. There´s a great PBS frontline video on Chavez and Venezuela that you can watch online. I would find you the link if the internet here just weren´t so sloooow that I´d rather pull my hair out.
So as it stands after that we´re leaving the fate of our plans in the hands of Expedia. Wherever we can find a last minute bargain flight to once the peak season passes, we´ll go!
till then, ciao and ¡feliz año!
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Q&A
I've received some questions from friends that I thought I would answer here on the blog, since they're the things that I didn't think to bring up on my own.
Where did we spend Diwali?
Diwali is the biggest yearly celebration in India. It's a Hindu custom and it's called the festival of lights. I was so excited to be in India while this was to happen this year. It passed mid-October, but in the end we were in Goa that night which is actually not very Hindu and very Christian so there wasn't much going on to see that night. We were on a super touristy beach, I felt mislead by my guidebook, so what we saw was on one hand touching and one hand ridiculous. The families of fishermen lighting candles by their beautiful handcarved boats was lovely, contrast that with westerner guys and girls and well off Indian men getting drunk in some bar on the beach and making an embarassing spectacle of themselves.
How was the food? combined with "How did you stay healthy?"
So before the trip began I was going around telling everyone how I couldn't wait to eat Indian food everyday for three months. Now this would be an amazing thing to do if we could have somewhat regularly found food as good as my local Indian restaurant in Boston, (Bukhara in JP!), but I should have heeded the word of my parents and not built my hopes so high. Let's just say the food quality is "variant." It's also impossible to find a kitchen to cook for yourself in-- I did once! I'll speak about that next-- so you are condemned to restaurants. Now of course we were on a budget so weren't eating at hotel restaurants everyday and that would have been lame if we did. Local restaurants and cheap tourist restaurants were our lot. When you sit down you are offered a never ending menu, but they only actually serve one or two dishes that day. Of those choices you have to deduce which is A. most likely to turn out ok and not as an unpleasant surprise and B. most importantly, which is less likely to send you running to the bathroom. Now I hate to be such a whiny spoiled tourist but this was a major issue. I've already spoken quite freely about my irregular bowels in past blogs-- it becomes such a banal topic of discussion that often 5 minutes into a conversation with another tourist we'd just met we're all exchanging poop stories. And three months of India left me about 18- 20 pounds thinner and Hernando 10. Though I must say Masala Dosas, the staple dish in the South, were always good. They're like a huge airy, crispy crepe folded over a yellow mush of seasoned potatoes and onions, so yum. And since only local places really serve them they were usually 40 cents for your meal.
Where are you now?
Though I need not complain about the losing weight since we are now in Colombia, the land of beautiful women who wake up looking ready to hit the clubs even though they are at the supermarket, or walking their dog through the park. I don't know if they'd believe me if I told them that celebrities in LA go food shopping in sweats or even pyjamas. So I have returned to adoloscence and become self conscious about my ugly, grey, but ever so comfortable tennis shoes.
Before we got here though we spent a week in England seeing the grandparents and doing a quick one night trip out to London. The weather was as miserable as English weather is in December but I didn't mind it for a week, though that's not to say I didn't enjoy seeing the sun again in Colombia. What we really enjoyed was Grandma's cooking. Especially since upon my departure from India it gave me a last goodbye, gonna miss you present: my last thourough bought of food poisoning. Now, almost three weeks out of the country and I still don't feel right and back to normal. I usually get sick once every 1-2 years, but I can't count how many times I've been ill in the past few months. Don't tell grandma though, she'll worry. Hey good news, as a British citizen (non-tax paying), I took advantage of their national health system, went to the doctor and I do not have a stomach parasite!
And the big question these days is where to next? And drumroll, we don't know. We'll be in Venezuela until mid january but we don't know how much money we'll have left for this lifestyle after that. So it's a big mystery for you and us alike. Hernando's pushing for a swift return to California to start life in San Francisco, which looks like our most sensible option as of yet, but maybe we don't have to be so sensible.... We'll keep you posted!
Where did we spend Diwali?
Diwali is the biggest yearly celebration in India. It's a Hindu custom and it's called the festival of lights. I was so excited to be in India while this was to happen this year. It passed mid-October, but in the end we were in Goa that night which is actually not very Hindu and very Christian so there wasn't much going on to see that night. We were on a super touristy beach, I felt mislead by my guidebook, so what we saw was on one hand touching and one hand ridiculous. The families of fishermen lighting candles by their beautiful handcarved boats was lovely, contrast that with westerner guys and girls and well off Indian men getting drunk in some bar on the beach and making an embarassing spectacle of themselves.
How was the food? combined with "How did you stay healthy?"
So before the trip began I was going around telling everyone how I couldn't wait to eat Indian food everyday for three months. Now this would be an amazing thing to do if we could have somewhat regularly found food as good as my local Indian restaurant in Boston, (Bukhara in JP!), but I should have heeded the word of my parents and not built my hopes so high. Let's just say the food quality is "variant." It's also impossible to find a kitchen to cook for yourself in-- I did once! I'll speak about that next-- so you are condemned to restaurants. Now of course we were on a budget so weren't eating at hotel restaurants everyday and that would have been lame if we did. Local restaurants and cheap tourist restaurants were our lot. When you sit down you are offered a never ending menu, but they only actually serve one or two dishes that day. Of those choices you have to deduce which is A. most likely to turn out ok and not as an unpleasant surprise and B. most importantly, which is less likely to send you running to the bathroom. Now I hate to be such a whiny spoiled tourist but this was a major issue. I've already spoken quite freely about my irregular bowels in past blogs-- it becomes such a banal topic of discussion that often 5 minutes into a conversation with another tourist we'd just met we're all exchanging poop stories. And three months of India left me about 18- 20 pounds thinner and Hernando 10. Though I must say Masala Dosas, the staple dish in the South, were always good. They're like a huge airy, crispy crepe folded over a yellow mush of seasoned potatoes and onions, so yum. And since only local places really serve them they were usually 40 cents for your meal.
Where are you now?
Though I need not complain about the losing weight since we are now in Colombia, the land of beautiful women who wake up looking ready to hit the clubs even though they are at the supermarket, or walking their dog through the park. I don't know if they'd believe me if I told them that celebrities in LA go food shopping in sweats or even pyjamas. So I have returned to adoloscence and become self conscious about my ugly, grey, but ever so comfortable tennis shoes.
Before we got here though we spent a week in England seeing the grandparents and doing a quick one night trip out to London. The weather was as miserable as English weather is in December but I didn't mind it for a week, though that's not to say I didn't enjoy seeing the sun again in Colombia. What we really enjoyed was Grandma's cooking. Especially since upon my departure from India it gave me a last goodbye, gonna miss you present: my last thourough bought of food poisoning. Now, almost three weeks out of the country and I still don't feel right and back to normal. I usually get sick once every 1-2 years, but I can't count how many times I've been ill in the past few months. Don't tell grandma though, she'll worry. Hey good news, as a British citizen (non-tax paying), I took advantage of their national health system, went to the doctor and I do not have a stomach parasite!
And the big question these days is where to next? And drumroll, we don't know. We'll be in Venezuela until mid january but we don't know how much money we'll have left for this lifestyle after that. So it's a big mystery for you and us alike. Hernando's pushing for a swift return to California to start life in San Francisco, which looks like our most sensible option as of yet, but maybe we don't have to be so sensible.... We'll keep you posted!
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Hi again...
One more time I have to apologize for my bad negligent behavior in writing here on the blog, almost a month has elapsed since the last entry. I'll be honest, I enjoy writing here but sometimes it feels like homework and I'm not a grown up now for nothing. If I don't wanna do something, I don't do it-- said the mature adult. Well you're supposed to be a grown up when you're 25 but I'm wondering when I'll ever feel like one. Maybe because grown ups aren't supposed to go gallavanting across the globe, but I don't like the people who make those rules. All the more reason why rules are for breaking.
That said- hello. We are alive and well, and have been duly busy, and putting off writing. Let's start back a whole month ago when Hernando and I had missed our train up North and we had to rebuy tickets for the next train heading north. After half a lifetime we ended up at our destination, the village of Sanchi. This is where we had visited at the beginning of our trip and befriended the most lovely family with a grumpy and slightly scary mom. We wanted to visit them again and though it was an absolute pain to get there we were so glad we did when we saw Singh, the dad, and Annu the middle daughter, again. The experience of meeting them was defintely the best thing that happened to us in India. For all the people that tried to rip us off rudely, as opposed to in a friendly manner, and that I could have strangled during the trip, this family more than made up for it with their warmth and kindness. Even with our limited means of communication, they were by no means fluent in English and we of course much less so in Hindi, we really did break through barriers and had a very meaningful time with them. To the point where Annu told her father he was spending too much time with us and it was her turn. When you see the photo of Hernando and 12 year old Annu together (they give her a boy haircut and dress her like a boy, but she is not) you may see why everyone in India thought Hernando was Indian. Though their resemblance is just ridiculous!
Next we went to the world heritage site of Khajuraho's temples. Now if we thought Sanchi was in the middle of nowhere, this stepped up our concept of what it really means for a place to be in the middle of nowhere. Our two most horrendous journeys in India were getting to and from Khajuraho while we continued northboundish with a wide detour to Varanasi in the northeast. The temples of Khajuraho are famous for one thing, erotic sculptures of the gods "enjoying each others company" (I'll let you google the photos yourself) but we went there like we did to Sanchi, becuase I studied them in school and had to see them for myself. Honestly we did. It is a bit of a shame actually because the temples are amazing, they're not world heritage listed and funded for nothing, but of course they become they become comepletely marginalized by everyone obsessing over the sex sculptures on them which were only noticeable on one of the 22 surviving temples. So the temples were amazing but the journeys to and from drained us along with being somewhere SO touristy and dealing with the trappings of being a tourist in India.
The next and final adventure in India, and deservedly the most fascinating and truly cultural Indian experience- Varanasi. A place that of all places I have ever seen in my life across the 20 odd countries I've visited this one is unlike anything else. So unique that I find the task of simply describing it aptly a bit daunting. Mark Twain said this of Varanasi: "it is older than history, older than tradition, older even than legend, and looks twice as old as all of them put together," and being a genius couldn't have put it better. And he wrote that whenever he was alive a long time ago when the world was even older than we're used to it now, a wise man once said. And Varanasi has to be unchanged since then, and since it's conception which according to Mr. Wiki was 3,000 years ago. Ask a Hindu and you'll hear the city is 5,000 years old and started by the god Shiva, which I am willing to believe as well.
So besides being old what is Varanasi, you ask? It is a maze of streets, unmappable and hardly large enough for the thousands of resident cows that wander it freely and with 'tude. Cows that you have to sometimes pass carefully as to not get some horns swung into your bum (happened to friend while we were with her). Another friend, not while we were with her, got stuck behind one of the beasts as it relieved itself. Forget the Ganges, now if that's not a blessing with holy water, what is? Varanasi is like the Venice of Asia but it makes Venice look modern. You get completely lost in the lanes or "streets" but one musn't get too caught up admiring all the fascinating details or photographing them either because it's only a matter of time before a bunch of motorbikes with families on them come through and threaten to smash your toes into the cobbled ground. Everything about the city is about it being holy. Temple after temple will appear before your eyes because past the lines of people, cows, motorbikes, birdsnests in nooks above, cow poop at your heels, scattered flowers, miscreant monkeys and the bend in the road up ahead, you don't know what's coming next. The doors were designed to be tiny to make you stoop as in prayer when you enter a home. Amulets dangle here, an impromptu shrine there and so forth. And of course it is the home of homes to the Ganges. This is the place you've seen in documentaries and photos where people come to bathe in the Ganges, wash their clothes, drink the water and swim in it. You may also know that it is the most polluted river in the world, between it's human useage for waste of all kinds, especially the dead, and the untreated factory effluents that are also offered to it. Which brings me to being dead and/or dying. If you're a devout Hindu this is the place to kick the bucket and cease being. People come here to die, apparently there are centers full of people lying around waiting for death, not a club I'm anxious to join, becuase if you die in Varanasi you end the cycle of rebirth so you don't have to worry about what you may come back as. (I once killed a mosquito in front of my yoga teacher and he pointed out that that could have been someone's mother and then I felt like a jerk.) And I apologize if I'm being a bit forward and jokey about death but after experiencing death through the avenue of a culture so vastly different than our own my relationship to it changed. And that without my realizing it until sitting here and treating it as I do. Death is a fact and a part of life. Just another chapter in the book, and perhaps need not be so terrifying and shrouded in mystery, shall I tastelessly say.
Which of course brings me to the famous burning ghats. The part with the burning funeral pyres, the part that our hotel was near, so we saw a lot of it. So many dead bodies, covered in white and then dressed in gold fabrics are brought down to the Ganges, blessed with some water and then placed in the middle of a fairly tall stack of wood. It takes 200 kilos, or over 400 pounds of wood to burn a body at a cost of $20, and then the flames go on for 3 hours or so. Women are not allowed to attend, a good custom the British began, as women were often expected to commit sati for their husbands-- throw themselves into the flames. The families are sometimes serious, but often have almost celebratory processions down to the river. In Madurai, another holy city in the South, a week or two before this we saw a seemingly celebratory procession with drums and dozens of people. I was readying my camera when we noticed the center piece being carried on people's shoulders was not in fact a shrine but a dead body, dressed in white and seated upright, face revealed and looking forward as though he were a king on tour of his land. There are 5 types of people though who are not allowed to be burned and are deposited straight into the river: children under 5, pregnant women, holy men, people who die of a disease that gives you white spots, and cobra bite victims. Watching the funerals was sobering but I found them somewhat lovely and poetic in their simplicity, handling and tradition.
However the most lovely thing to do in Varanasi was hire a boat and see it from the river. We did it once at sunrise and once at night. At sunrise everyone is up praying, dunking, swimming, dipping, washing and drinking in the river, so much activity. At night there are some rather unspectacular ceremonies with candles you can float past as you admire the little prayer candles amongst magnolia leaves in floating paper dishes coming down the river.
We flew out of Delhi December 2nd, spent a week in England, and are now in Colombia with Hernando's vast network of a family but more about that next time. In conclusion and as your friendly tour guide I will tell you that if you are up to it, make a point of going to India in your life. Make it a must see because it simply is. Though it's not for the faint hearted. Only go if you are prepared for it at times to be more difficult and heartbreaking than you ever imagined, but so worth it all. We had a great time despite how much I believe I may have griped about it here. I love emails, comments and questions from you friends and family out there reading so fire away if you are so inclined.
Cheers,
Manali and Hernando (my somewhat silent partner in this venture whom I speak for freely. He'll have to tell you his side of the story when he sees you.)
That said- hello. We are alive and well, and have been duly busy, and putting off writing. Let's start back a whole month ago when Hernando and I had missed our train up North and we had to rebuy tickets for the next train heading north. After half a lifetime we ended up at our destination, the village of Sanchi. This is where we had visited at the beginning of our trip and befriended the most lovely family with a grumpy and slightly scary mom. We wanted to visit them again and though it was an absolute pain to get there we were so glad we did when we saw Singh, the dad, and Annu the middle daughter, again. The experience of meeting them was defintely the best thing that happened to us in India. For all the people that tried to rip us off rudely, as opposed to in a friendly manner, and that I could have strangled during the trip, this family more than made up for it with their warmth and kindness. Even with our limited means of communication, they were by no means fluent in English and we of course much less so in Hindi, we really did break through barriers and had a very meaningful time with them. To the point where Annu told her father he was spending too much time with us and it was her turn. When you see the photo of Hernando and 12 year old Annu together (they give her a boy haircut and dress her like a boy, but she is not) you may see why everyone in India thought Hernando was Indian. Though their resemblance is just ridiculous!
Next we went to the world heritage site of Khajuraho's temples. Now if we thought Sanchi was in the middle of nowhere, this stepped up our concept of what it really means for a place to be in the middle of nowhere. Our two most horrendous journeys in India were getting to and from Khajuraho while we continued northboundish with a wide detour to Varanasi in the northeast. The temples of Khajuraho are famous for one thing, erotic sculptures of the gods "enjoying each others company" (I'll let you google the photos yourself) but we went there like we did to Sanchi, becuase I studied them in school and had to see them for myself. Honestly we did. It is a bit of a shame actually because the temples are amazing, they're not world heritage listed and funded for nothing, but of course they become they become comepletely marginalized by everyone obsessing over the sex sculptures on them which were only noticeable on one of the 22 surviving temples. So the temples were amazing but the journeys to and from drained us along with being somewhere SO touristy and dealing with the trappings of being a tourist in India.
The next and final adventure in India, and deservedly the most fascinating and truly cultural Indian experience- Varanasi. A place that of all places I have ever seen in my life across the 20 odd countries I've visited this one is unlike anything else. So unique that I find the task of simply describing it aptly a bit daunting. Mark Twain said this of Varanasi: "it is older than history, older than tradition, older even than legend, and looks twice as old as all of them put together," and being a genius couldn't have put it better. And he wrote that whenever he was alive a long time ago when the world was even older than we're used to it now, a wise man once said. And Varanasi has to be unchanged since then, and since it's conception which according to Mr. Wiki was 3,000 years ago. Ask a Hindu and you'll hear the city is 5,000 years old and started by the god Shiva, which I am willing to believe as well.
So besides being old what is Varanasi, you ask? It is a maze of streets, unmappable and hardly large enough for the thousands of resident cows that wander it freely and with 'tude. Cows that you have to sometimes pass carefully as to not get some horns swung into your bum (happened to friend while we were with her). Another friend, not while we were with her, got stuck behind one of the beasts as it relieved itself. Forget the Ganges, now if that's not a blessing with holy water, what is? Varanasi is like the Venice of Asia but it makes Venice look modern. You get completely lost in the lanes or "streets" but one musn't get too caught up admiring all the fascinating details or photographing them either because it's only a matter of time before a bunch of motorbikes with families on them come through and threaten to smash your toes into the cobbled ground. Everything about the city is about it being holy. Temple after temple will appear before your eyes because past the lines of people, cows, motorbikes, birdsnests in nooks above, cow poop at your heels, scattered flowers, miscreant monkeys and the bend in the road up ahead, you don't know what's coming next. The doors were designed to be tiny to make you stoop as in prayer when you enter a home. Amulets dangle here, an impromptu shrine there and so forth. And of course it is the home of homes to the Ganges. This is the place you've seen in documentaries and photos where people come to bathe in the Ganges, wash their clothes, drink the water and swim in it. You may also know that it is the most polluted river in the world, between it's human useage for waste of all kinds, especially the dead, and the untreated factory effluents that are also offered to it. Which brings me to being dead and/or dying. If you're a devout Hindu this is the place to kick the bucket and cease being. People come here to die, apparently there are centers full of people lying around waiting for death, not a club I'm anxious to join, becuase if you die in Varanasi you end the cycle of rebirth so you don't have to worry about what you may come back as. (I once killed a mosquito in front of my yoga teacher and he pointed out that that could have been someone's mother and then I felt like a jerk.) And I apologize if I'm being a bit forward and jokey about death but after experiencing death through the avenue of a culture so vastly different than our own my relationship to it changed. And that without my realizing it until sitting here and treating it as I do. Death is a fact and a part of life. Just another chapter in the book, and perhaps need not be so terrifying and shrouded in mystery, shall I tastelessly say.
Which of course brings me to the famous burning ghats. The part with the burning funeral pyres, the part that our hotel was near, so we saw a lot of it. So many dead bodies, covered in white and then dressed in gold fabrics are brought down to the Ganges, blessed with some water and then placed in the middle of a fairly tall stack of wood. It takes 200 kilos, or over 400 pounds of wood to burn a body at a cost of $20, and then the flames go on for 3 hours or so. Women are not allowed to attend, a good custom the British began, as women were often expected to commit sati for their husbands-- throw themselves into the flames. The families are sometimes serious, but often have almost celebratory processions down to the river. In Madurai, another holy city in the South, a week or two before this we saw a seemingly celebratory procession with drums and dozens of people. I was readying my camera when we noticed the center piece being carried on people's shoulders was not in fact a shrine but a dead body, dressed in white and seated upright, face revealed and looking forward as though he were a king on tour of his land. There are 5 types of people though who are not allowed to be burned and are deposited straight into the river: children under 5, pregnant women, holy men, people who die of a disease that gives you white spots, and cobra bite victims. Watching the funerals was sobering but I found them somewhat lovely and poetic in their simplicity, handling and tradition.
However the most lovely thing to do in Varanasi was hire a boat and see it from the river. We did it once at sunrise and once at night. At sunrise everyone is up praying, dunking, swimming, dipping, washing and drinking in the river, so much activity. At night there are some rather unspectacular ceremonies with candles you can float past as you admire the little prayer candles amongst magnolia leaves in floating paper dishes coming down the river.
We flew out of Delhi December 2nd, spent a week in England, and are now in Colombia with Hernando's vast network of a family but more about that next time. In conclusion and as your friendly tour guide I will tell you that if you are up to it, make a point of going to India in your life. Make it a must see because it simply is. Though it's not for the faint hearted. Only go if you are prepared for it at times to be more difficult and heartbreaking than you ever imagined, but so worth it all. We had a great time despite how much I believe I may have griped about it here. I love emails, comments and questions from you friends and family out there reading so fire away if you are so inclined.
Cheers,
Manali and Hernando (my somewhat silent partner in this venture whom I speak for freely. He'll have to tell you his side of the story when he sees you.)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
