Varanasi

Varanasi, India (May 2 -9)

So there we were, with the stench of burning bodies in the air; in the water below was a bloated body that was being eaten by the mutant fish that are somehow able to survive in the Ganges; to our left was a rigormortised and floating dog corpse jammed in amoungst the piles of garbage; and immediately to our right were people soaping up and bathing in the shit-filled, corpse-infested, garbage strewn waters of the Ganges: WELCOME TO VARANASI.

As I trudged through the streets of Varanasi to a guest house I found in Lonely Planet, covered in three days of train scum and more pan than anyone should ever be covered in, I was horrified to run into a guy, Tal, that I knew from Mumbai. Like what are the odds. I kept the conversation short and picked up my pace towards the guest house. When I arrived at Ganpati, they told me it was 700 a night for a room with no bathroom, which is the most expensive hotel room since my first night in Mumbai and Holi festival, but they had me by the balls; I had seen the shower; I wasn't going anywhere.

Best shower of my life. I must have shampooed my hair about 7 times. As I soaked up the feeling of being clean while I sipped a cold coffee on the rooftop patio and enjoying one of the most amazing views of the Ganga, I thought about how only a few hours earlier I had been in a shit-filled bathroom covered in pan spit. Things change fast.

 

That night I got to talk to Hailey on skype, which was the first skype conversation I had with anyone other than my parents since Varanasi. It was only mildly interrupted by the En Francais lover's quarrel that was happening on the other side of one of my walls and the people having sex on the other. I seriously can't believe I paid 700 rupees for that.

The next day, I checked into a new hotel that looked like a prison complete with mint green walls that were peeling and cigarette burns on the sheets. It had it's own bathroom and it was 150 rupees per night. I scored big time.

I met a guy named Daniel on the patio and we met up with Tal and wandered around the ghats for a while. We met this kid named Akash who followed us around. It was funny hearing him talk about the corpses, "Yes, fish eating body. Yes. Dog body." As we slowly took in the insanity that was taking place in front of us. He kept asking us for money, and I really wanted to give him some because he was so cute, but I know it is bad to give kids money so I just kept trying to distract him by telling him to show us his dance moves. I struggle with the money thing every day. On the one hand, I do have more money than them and I can spare some to help them, but at the same time you don't want to teach people that they can just sit on the streets and beg for money and they don't have to try and find work, especially children.

After Tal left, Daniel and I took a boat out to see the puja. We pulled up our feet and kept them safely away from the cockroaches that were swarming around my shoes and drank some chai while we watched the fire show along with the massive crowd. It is hard to believe that they have that elaborate show every night.

It hit 50 the next day, but Daniel and I braved the heat and spent the day wandering down the ghats. I spotted another bloated body and wandered in close to look at it. I think Daniel was a bit scared because he stayed pretty far away from it. "Oh my god," Daniel started pointing out as I was dancing to some distant drumming I could hear "This guy is aggressively trying to sell you postcards and you are dancing and there is a dead body just floating next to you." I feel like everything seems strange when it happens next to a body.

We wandered down the river all day and saw lots of people doing laundry and fishing. I hadn't eaten any fish there, but I was on high alert to see if my laundry was out there. At the last main ghat, we wandered onto the street and found this amazing local restaurant called Ashok. Actually, if you go to Varanasi, GO. Food was so spicy but so amazing.

After Daniel left, I went out to get some henna and the girl told me she also did pedicures. She said she had done them before, but the only thing she did successfully was bleach my feet. At least they match my legs now. I guess that is what I get for trying to get a pedicure in India. On my way home, I was passing by a cow and was keeping an eye on it's horns to make sure it didn't head butt me. I was in the clear and just as I was feeling confident that I had figured this whole "cow thing" out, it showered my newly pedicured feet in a gush of urine.

The following evening, I decided I hadn't had enough of the burning ghats so I wandered back over. A random man asked me if I wanted to sit down for some chai. "why not" I said. The guy beside me started droning on in a lecture about the importance of learning Indian culture and his being a guide, etc. I half-heartedly and sarcastically responded for a while, then I got really annoyed and changed seats. Another guy who was sitting by the river timidly approached me and started talking. He seemed like kind of a stoner, but he was really cool. He told me a lot about the burning ghats: how they don't burn sadus, pregnant women, children, lepers, or animals; how they don't burn the lepers because the fumes will be toxic (but putting them whole into the river they bathe in is fine), but the Ganga is holy so it will clease it; how they don't burn sadus because they are already pure; how they initially douse the body in the Ganga to cleanse it, then dry it on the steps; how they pour Ganga water on the fire at the end to release the spirit; how those who die in Varanasi are said to escape the cycle of rebirth; how the pariahs are the caste that burns the bodies (where the word pariah comes from); how they burn people with all of their jewelery; and how the pariahs retrieve the metal afterwards because they are the only ones who will touch the ash.

Sunil was a boat man. I asked him how he felt about the caste system and after some pushing, he said he felt that everyone should work together. He and his friends get high everyday next to the burning ghats. I said it seemed like a pretty strange place to smoke, but he said they were smoking like Shiva in Shiva's city. I guess if you want to get close to the god of destruction, then smoking next to burning bodies is the way to do it.

After a while, I wandered to the roof of the hospice that overlooks the burning ghats. It is the place where the elderly live and watch the bodies burn while they wait to die. I met some Germans and one girl told me that it was her second time in Varanasi, which she felt was good because it was a bit too much to take in the first time. Maybe the reality of it all didn't really hit me, but all I felt was fascination. Maybe after seeing so many bodies and skulls of innocent young victims in Rwanda, seeing the bodies of some old people who had lived their lives and believed they were escaping the cycle of rebirth just didn't seem all that upsetting.

The following afternoon, I met up with Sunil again at the burning ghats. We spent the afternoon watching the bodies burn and talking. My conversation with him really made me realize that there is a sort of war being waged between tourists and locals that is fed by mutual fear and misunderstanding. Tourists come in with a fear of the locals, which is understandable given their often agressive behaviour. The locals approach them with the assumption that they are ignorant, rude, and disinterested and their fear usually leads their behaviour to perpetuate this view. The locals are just trying to earn a living, while the tourists are exhausted from being constantly hounded for money.

I met up with Sunil and his friends again that evening at the burning ghats. They were actually really funny and cool: sometimes they talked to me, sometimes they talked to eachother: just normal. It was really nice. The one guy kept speaking in rhyme: "no hash, no cash" "no food, no shower, 24 hour, Shiva power." A German girl named Hayanna, who was dating one of the guys, came over and sat with us. She was travelling alone also and turned out to be really cool. She told me how she had swam in the Ganga and slept on the roof of the hospice that overlooks the Ganga, and we had one of those good debates where no one gets angry and you actually listen and learn from eachother.
We took the boat out to hang out on the other side of the river. The guys poured out a shot of whisky for Shiva and filled the glasses. I found out it is illegal to fish in the Ganga (which I guess is why they have this weird was of fishing with the line tied to their toe) as I had my first taste of Ganga fish. It tasted pretty slimy, but more normal than I would expect from a corpse-eating mutant fish.
The water looks so mystical and almost smoky at night, under the starlight. As we watched the fires burn at the ghat, Hayanna made a comment that really stuck with me, "Each of those 8 fires represents one life. One life that you could write an entire encyclopedia about." I feel like in the excitement of all the dead bodies everywhere, you start to forget that. It was an overwhelming thing to think about as we watched their final lights fade into the darkness.

50 hours of Train Bliss

Train From Hospet to Varanasi

This is an exact quote from my diary: "On the first day, god created the earth. On the second day, I got on this train...that's it. I'm still here." I did not fully consider exactly what a train ride from Hampi to Varanasi would be like, but now I DEFINITELY know. I would not advise it.

 

 

I got on the train and it was 6 hours to my first destination in Londa. The adorable women beside me didn't speak any english, but when they pulled out their food, they started handing it out to me and the guys sitting beside me. It was whole wheat chapati with spicy pickle and this sweet crummy thing that tasted like crumbled muffins. The pickle was insanely hot. I was actually dying.

I had a two hour wait in Londa before I had to catch my next train. These two Indian girls came up to me while I was sitting on the bench and said, "May we know you?" It was a strange question that I wasn't sure how to respond to, but I invited them to sit down and we started talking. One girl was 16 and the other was 11 and they were extremely shy, but the absolute cutest girls ever. They sat with me for about an hour and a half and we shared stories about life in Canada and India. While we were talking, some guys that were sitting on the bench behind us started playing music on their phones and singing. The girls started laughing and I asked them what was so funny. "They are flirting" they said. "WHAT!? How?" I asked. "Playing music and singing. That is flirting. If our parents saw us sitting here, we would get in trouble." "So what are you supposed to do?" I asked. They told me that they were supposed to walk away. WOW. If all a woman in India has to do to flirt is not leave, no wonder they seem to have such twisted views of what means a woman in interested. By talking to them, they probably think we are practically ready to get married. I offerred them some chai, but apparently the girls aren't allowed to drink chai until they are 20...and I though a 19-year-old drinking age was bad. It always amazes me how aware and unhappy the girls seem to be about how restricted their lives are. I think globalization and education will have a major impact on India. It will be a different world in a generation or two.

My next stop was Itarsi and I got out to get some dinner at a nearby restaurant. I felt completely disgusting already after so much time on the train, but apparently the men of Itarsi did not agree. It was literally the worst staring I have ever experienced in my life. You would have thought I forgot to put my shirt on or tucked my skirt into my underwear or something. Every time I think that I have figured out how to handle India, I end up in a place like that, and at a complete loss for how to handle myself. Part of me just wanted to scream at them all and tell them how disgusting they were, but I knew that an embarassing outburst wasn't going to all-of-a-sudden change India. In those times in India where I feel so powerless, I try to remember Marcus Aurelius who said that ultimately, the only thing you have control over is yourself. I decided that my death stares were the one small satisfaction I would allow myself and I walked back to the train station, hidden under my scarf, trying my hardest to ignore all of the men of Itarsi.

Back on the train, I found a pile of crap on the floor, underneath the sink, right next to the toilet. Like how is that easier? You were so close. Aren't you embarassed when the next person walks in?

Another 15 hours on a sweaty and cramped train that smells like pee. So pumped.

That night, I found myself in the most cramped train I have ever seen. You literally couldn't go to the washroom without waking up/stepping on about 20 people. They were 2-3 to a bed, piled up on the floor in the aisles, jammed in every corner and every available space. There would be two men cuddled on top of a suit case and tiny children's eyes peeking out of the shadows in between the cars. It was actual insanity. There must have been about 20 people in our 8 bed compartment and only 2 of them were women. To make matters worse, a bunch of them weren't sleeping and were just hoovering around and occassionally sitting on the end of my bed. Needless to say I didn't sleep much. I lay there cuddling my swiss army knife and practicing opening and closing it. I felt I was being paranoid because I didn't get any bad vibes from them, but the whole situation just seemed so strange. Why were there so many people?

I managed to get what I think was the answer when I was talking to one of the men the next day. I still don't completely understand how the train system and wait list works, but I slowly started to realize that I think I was supposed to be one of those people sleeping in the aisle. I had a number on my ticket, but I guess that didn't mean anything because it said "reservation slip" instead of "blank paper ticket". Their reaction did seem weird when I pointed out my bed the day before, but the man said "ok, no problem" so I assumed that it was my bed. I didn't think that meant, "Ok, no problem. You can have our bed, and we will not sleep." I actually can't believe how sweet that was.

A few hours away from Varanasi, I was starting to really lose my mind. I hadn't showered, gotten a decent night's sleep, or been within eye shot of less than 10 people in three days. It was about 40 degrees outside and unbearably hot and the train just kept stopping: for 30 minutes/an hour at a time. My ipod had died, I was too tired to read, and there was no breeze or scenery to keep me from losing my mind with boredom; and it just seemed like it was never going to end. We were about 2 hours behind schedule, still with no end in sight and they had stopped bringing water around.

We were over 3 hours late, but we were nearing Varanasi and I felt that I would finally make it. I didn't care how dirty or hot I was; I would soon be out of the train! Suddenly, I felt something drip onto my arm. I looked behind me and saw all of this pink stuff dripping down the wall onto my seat. My friend beside me started yelling at the guy in the top bunk and they got a cloth and started wiping the puddles of pink liquid that were all over my head and back. When they finally got it cleaned up, I asked my neighbour what it was. "Pan" he said, which is the stuff they chew that makes all of their teeth look brown. "So that was spit" I said. "Yes." I immediately began hysterically and uncontrollably laughing... this is happening.

Hampi and an Unplanned Detour

 

 

Hampi and Mysore, India (Apr. 24-May 1)

After settling in at the White Elephant, a bunch of us from the hostel decided to drive out to the lake to go swimming. We found a secluded place where we could wear our bathing suits and jumped in the rocky water to cool off. When we were about to get out, a bunch of local boys walked down to the river and just started staring at us. Maybe it was my fault for wearing a bathing suit, but I mean sometimes you just want to swim like a normal person. Half the time the men there swim almost naked so it just seems so unfair. It is their city so they obviously have the right to be there, but it really makes you feel cheap and dirty the way they stare at you.


I put on my cover-up and this girl Nikki and I stopped by a place for dessert before I went back to get changed. Other than a few tourists, Hampi was dead quiet so I really thought I would be fine wearing my cover-up. As we left the restaurant and were walking the five minutes back to White Elephant, a guy came up behind me, stroked my back, and whispered in my ear, "you have a nice body." I think I almost threw up. I definitely learned my lesson. I went back to my hotel to cover up.

I have never thought of myself as a feminist before, but in a world where parents continue having children until they have a blessed boy, it is hard not to think about what it means to be a woman. I find myself jealous sometimes of the guys who can go out and easily make friends with the locals while I have to walk on eggshells and fend off the constant advances to do the same. I try to take it as an opportunity, an additional challenge to take on in this craziness I have thrown myself into, but it doesn't keep it from being frustrating. It really makes you appreciate what you have at home.

After all of the warnings I got about the heat in the south, who would have thought that Hampi would be the place I would finally get a decent night's sleep. It was my coldest night in weeks and I woke up feeling like a million dollars.

I decided I wanted to rent a motorbike, so my Guesthouse owner, Moin, took me out for 20 minutes and taught me how to ride. They are pretty easy, but it is a little trickier with someone on the back, so I drove around for 15 minutes before I took Nikki to the monkey temple.

I managed to get both of us to the monkey temple without driving into a ditch, which was a definite plus. We energized ourselves with some fresh coconut water and then made the hike up the mountain to the temple. We were both soaked in sweat by the time we reached the top, but I was proud we even did it in mid-day Hampi weather.

Nikki tried to take a shower and found a snake in her bathroom. I ran in to check it out and the guys just pushed it out the window with the end of a broom. Not the most thorough tackling of that problem, but probably better than the time I complained abouI t a sticky spot on the floor and the guy poured bottled water on it and swished it around with his foot. Definitely, problem solved.

Night 2 in Hampi was not so sweet. It wasn't just the heat, there was this bird living outside my door whose singing literally sounds like a screaming baby. At one point in the early hours of the morning I stormed out my door to try and find the source. I felt like Rachel from friends in the scene with the roosters. I swear if I had the means, that bird would have been the lunch special.

Nikki left early in the morning and I met up with my friend Greg to go cruising on the bikes and rock climbing. I definitely think it was wise that we decided to go together since neither of us had ever done it before and it was actually quite difficult.

 

 

 

 

 

We only lasted a couple of hours in the hot sun before we had to go back to the White Elephant to relax in the shade for a while. I was feeling a bit sick from the sun, but I didn't want to waste any time with that bike, so we headed back out. We just went cruising around Hampi, feeling the wind in our hair and taking in the epically beautiful and almost unreal landscape of Hampi. The massive rocks are standing on end and piled in such unbelievable ways that it seems like they should fall at any moment. It doesn't seem right that all that was made from some simple sand and wind rather than built my some all-powerful gods. I just kept looking around and wondering how I got so lucky to be able to be there, having that perfect moment.

We decided to drive out on a random dirt road between two fields, and when it ended we got out to explore. There were rice paddies all around us, completely enclosed by the towering rock piles. A few paddies away was a random pile of rocks in the middle of the field that we decided to walk to. We didn't get very far before our path was obstructed by a big swampy river. It's not that turning back didn't cross my mind, but we both seemed to decide at once that this was an overcomeable obstacle, so we pulled up our pants and waded through the knee-deep swamp water. Another few minutes of wandering barefoot through the rice paddies and another river crossing later, and we made it to the rock pile. It was so peaceful and quiet there that we just sat there under a rock for about an hour and enjoyed the view.

We got back to the White Elephant, exhausted from being out in the sun all day. It was quite dinner yet, so we decided to sit down for some beers first.

Flash Forward: Two strong Kingfishers on an empty stomach later, and I found myself on a nine hour bus ride to Mysore to attend an Indian wedding. So much for Hampi being my only detour.

Despite hijacking the back seats for a bed, I didn't get much sleep before we arrived in Mysore. We only had a few hours until the wedding, so we went out to find some appropriate outfits. Greg found an outfit in about 3.5 seconds, but it took me a few stores before I found the most beautiful sari I have ever seen. It was turquoise shaffon with sequined peacocks along the edges. I felt like princess Jasmine.

Moin brought Monica and I to his aunt's room so she could tie our saris for us, and we all headed to the wedding looking like legit Indians.

As soon as we arrived, they sent Monica and I inside to sit and whisked Greg away for some man time with chai and cigarettes. The bride was set up on the stage surrounded by an elaborate flowered background and seated on what looked like a golden throne. She was dressed in glittering red, green, and gold, with a sheer red veil lined in gold tassels. She looked absolutely miserable and remained looking that way for the majority of the day. She spent most of the time seated in her throne on the stage while people went up in groups to take pictures with her. It reminded me a bit of Santa Claus at the mall.

After about 20 minutes, Moin brought us all downstairs for food. They sat us each down in front of a plate and started piling them with food: roti, ice-cream, chicken curry, mutton biryani, spiced chicken, and vegetable daal. Every time you finished two bites they would pile on four more. My ice-cream looked like it was melting so I ate that, and before I could object they had delivered me a second one. It was legitimately the best ice-cream I have had, maybe ever, though. It was served with this sweet pineapple jam. After about 10 minutes of this free-for-all, everyone stood up and they started clearing everything up. I still had a bunch of food left on my plate, but I could tell by the hasty clearing that I would have no chance to finish it. I sensed it was time to leave the table.

Back upstairs, everyone wanted to talk to us, but very few could speak english. One little boy spoke pretty well so he started asking me question after question and translating my answers for the rest of the group, who watched eagerly.

After half-a-million questions, Moin brough us over to meet his immediate family. Moin's family tree was extremely confusing so I couldn't really figure out how everyone was related. One woman, who I thought was his mother but now am unsure, had this amazing grace and confidence to her that seems to draw you in. She wore entirely white lace and gold in the most elegant Indian punjabi dress I have ever seen. However, the person who stood out most to me was her daughter.

She seemed to be going through that dorky highschool phase where you wouldn't be caught dead in a dress, so was wearing jeans under her long smock top. I was introduced to her when she was called to get her picture taken with the bride and her mother said, with a laugh, that she was dreading it. I asked what could be so bad about it. She explained that these weddings were like a test for the young girls to show how well they were being brought up. The relatives would scrutinize her every movements as she greeted them and then relay their judgements to her mother later on. When she got back from her exam, we started talking and I soon realized what an intelligent, mature, and confident young woman she was: rare for a 16-year-old girl anywhere in the world let alone India. I felt an immediate bond with her like she was my long-lost Indian sister.

I commented to her on how miserable the bride look and she responded, "well, her life is over. The woman's life is turned completely upside-down: she quits her job and moves in with his family, while nothing for the man changes. Men are treated like gods." I couldn't help but think that part of her sadness was due to the lame musicless and danceless party that was condemning her to that fate, but I kept my mouth shut on that point. It does seem crazy to see that this level of inequality between the sexes still exists in the world. You look at it and wonder why they would ever put up with it.

She told me her parents are letting her go to school in the US and she wants to go to Harvard Medical School. I think once they let that girl see what is out there, she won't be coming back. Even then she seemed so strong willed, I couldn't picture her delicately giving up all of her freedoms to become a housewife. I don't even understand how a world like this could have raised a girl like her.

Our conversation was cut-short because Monica had to go back to catch her bus. Greg and I decided that we wanted to head back that night also so we caught the late bus out. I did not think it was possible for anyone to have a music taste that so closely mashed my random mash-up, but complete with the plethora of 90s hits, I think Greg's was about as close as it gets. We fell asleep listening to Mumford and Sons.

We arrived back in Hampi, completely exhausted after 2 full nights on a bus. I decided to take a nap for a few hours and woke up at 10:45am in a puddle of drool after a dream where I was balling my eyes out. I stumbled out into the restaurant in a daze and spent about an hour staring at the creepy wall paintings. When Greg showed up, we headed across the river to see the ruins.

Past the temple, we just wandered down the empty streets, unsure where we were actually going. The buildings along the one side were all hagard and falling apart, while the other side looked like a Greek-style market with a roof and stone pillars. I had heard rumours that they were blowing things up with dynamite, but it was hard to tell what had been blown up and what had just fallen into disrepair. There are so many rumours surrounding what is going on there, it is hard to know what to believe. One says that the Indian government is kicking out the squatters because the World Heritage Fund threatened to pull their funding if they don't protect the ruins. Another says that they are removing all of the squatters in order to build a major resort. Either way, it was definitely strange to see such a welcoming, covered space with no one squatting.

We passed the market and climbed the hill to a small temple at the top. The man carving stone sculptures at the top directed us to keep following the path. After a few minutes of walking, we reached the crown of the hill and our view opened up to something spectacular. There was this massive temple complex below with roofs that looked like the monkey temple from the Jungle Book. It wasn't necessarily that it was the most beautiful temple I had ever seen, it was the fact that we were the only people as far as the eye could see. It was like we were archelologists that had stumbled upon these ruins that no one had seen for hundreds of years. All you could hear was the wind blowing through the complex and the birds chirping in the trees. We stayed there for about an hour and the only other people we saw was a group of three women in saris who passed through. After wandering around a while, we just lay out on one of the stone platforms and closed our eyes.

We left the temple to climb the neighbouring hill in order to make it to the top for sunset. It was a serious climb and after being in the heat all day I was seriously questioning why I was doing that to myself, but the view was worth it.

We were sitting beside the hilltop temple, when all of these Indian police men came wandering out of nowhere. More and more of them kept popping up in every doorway and corner of the rooftop. They looked like they were urgently looking for someone, but seemed to slow to be on the chase. Eventually, they seemed to decide on the back stairs and they all made their way down. We found out later that they were just touring the place. Not sure why they needed those massive guns.

We noticed that they had been on the roof, so we went to try and find our way up. A familiar looking guy that was already up there guided through the maze of temple rooms to the stairs. I couldn't figure out where I knew him from, but I assumed that I had met him on the ferry or something in Hampi. His name was Sebastien and he was a Hungarian that was living in the UK as a yoga instructor/post-man. He told us stories about his life as an officer in Hungary as we watched the misty sun set over the never-ending stretch of palm trees broken up by the grey rocks piles and towering temples peaking out of the green. Just as the sun was about to disappear for good, Sebastien exclaimed, "OH, I know where I know you from. We met on the sand dunes in Jaisalmer." He had been in the group of people Aladin and I went to talk to when we were watching the sunset on my camel safari. It is amazing and sad how quickly you forget people when you are meeting so many.

As we started climbing back down the hill, Greg and I realized we had missed the last ferry going back to our guesthouse's side of the river. I vaguely remembered one guy saying something about a late night boat if we called the phone number on the bottom of the ticket. We managed to dig out an old ticket and everything was in Hindi, but there was something that looked like a phone number written in the bottom corner. We waited 15 minutes and he came to pick us up in his little reed boat. I soaked my butt when I sat down, but for 50 rupees that was a heck of a lot better than swimming.

I spent the next day just relaxing and doing laundry and in the evening, Moin took Greg and I out to his special sunset spot. He had been telling us about it, but I didn't really understand until I got there. It really was one of the most magical places I have ever been. Right at sunset, all of these white birds came flying across the glistening lake and landed on a nearby tree. As the sun went down, I could hear them all singing and chattering in the distance. The lake was smooth as glass, other than the occasional blips of a fish surfacing, and it perfectly reflected the smooth and misty pink and purple sunset. The trees created a black silouette against the bright sky and left their shadows on the glistening water. Every so often, a bird would fly through the silence, its reflection chasing it down the length of the river. As darkness encroached, the birds went silent and the stars started to appear, one by one, peaking through the clouds. I never wanted to leave.

I feel like I spent half of my travel time wondering why I am paying so much money to torture myself and the other half wondering how I got so lucky to have these amazing experiences. India certainly keeps you on your toes.

For my last night in Hampi, Greg brought over a guy named Allister from his hostel and we all sat down with Moin for some beers. At one point, Allister started talking about how crazy it would be if animals drank in bars, then said that they would probably start excluding some animals in a sort of species-racism. It lead into an elaborate story about penguins picketing against species-ism. It was at that point that I knew we would be friends. The beers led into rum, which led into an intense philosophical discussion that I seem to enjoy having when I am barely coherent.

Morning came too soon and, of course, I was late for my bus. I grabbed my bag and ran down to the boat. I gave them 100 rupees to go right away and similarly over-paid my tuk tuk driver with the qualification that he get me there as fast as possible. Nothing talks like money in India. As I watched the time slip by, and as often happens with unbelievers, I found myself praying to whatever god would listen that the train would be late. All I am asking is that India be reliably Indian, I wished with everything I had. I was almost 10 minutes late by the time I desperately ran into the train station. A man was standing there, and noticing my frantic state, said that the train was late and would arrive at 10:52. Thank god...or Shiva maybe.

As I sat there waiting for the train, a man walked over and said "Can I be your boyfriend?" "No." "Oh ok," he said and walked away...this is happening.

Bollywood Stardom

Mumbai, India (April 20-23)

We arrived in Mumbai in the morning and after a sad goodbye to Charlie, I took the train to the Salvation Army guesthouse and checked in. It was the most no-frills place I have stayed with no screens in the windows or even sheets, but it is definitely the cheapest place in Mumbai.


At the hostel, I met an Australian named David and then we met Ilsa at lunch and Victoria at dinner. Victoria was really into the Taj Palace hotel, which is this really fancy and famous hotel in Mumbai. I suggested that we go in for a drink and check it out. The prices would have been expensive in Toronto at almost $8 for a non-alcoholic drink, so I decided to spring for a fancy one rather than spend $6 on a soda. It was this strange milky drink with rosewater, rice, small tapioca beads, and something that looked and tasted a bit like grenadine. It was an interesting experience, but to be honest even if I could afford it, I would never want to stay there. I enjoy the adventure of staying in my seedy little holes in the wall and I would never give it up for a boring and isolated stay in that castle right in the centre of so much poverty.

I was talking to a girl in Varanasi about this Indian obsession with status and shows of wealth that seems to permeate the culture. I am not saying that the caste system and their beliefs have no effect on it, but I also think a lot of it is just them trying to stand out in this sea of people. With their arms full of bangles and jewel-encrusted saris, I think they are just trying to scream loud enough to be heard amoungst the blaring noise of India. Seeing it in such a different context makes the silliness of it so much more obvious. Watching them strutting around and glittering in jewels while the dalits grab at their feet for 10 rupees to eat. It is funny how being in a completely different culture can make you realize so many truths about your own. I guess we all just want to make a space for ourselves to be seen.

There was a strike at the market the next day so we didn't really get to shop, but we did get to see non-violent resistance in it's home in India. We decided to see a Bollywood movie since I had never seen one. It was called Commando and was entirely in Hindi, but the dialogue was quite irrelevant anyways since you could get the basic story quite easily: Evil man wants to marry pretty girl, pretty girl runs away to get out of marrying evil man, pretty girl is saved by mysterious and strong army man, pretty girl falls in love with army man, pretty girl continues creating obstacles like screaming at a snake when they are hiding right next to the group of evil goons (really is a snake scarier than 10 machine guns?), strong army man single-handedly destroys all evil men, and they live happily-ever-after. It was a sort of Indian Jackie Chan movie with a corny soap-opera-esque love story and a few Bollywood dance scenes tossed in. My favourite scene was when they realized they were in love and there was this five minute sequence of them dressed in fancy clothes circling eachother in the desert and rolling along the beach, which all ended in a climactic hug.

After the movie, Victoria and I decided to check out the fashion market. Three weeks of sleep deprivation combined with the insane heat was not a good combination with the aggressive sales tactics of the fashion market workers. Each shop we passed contributed to the chorus in a sort of twisted round of "Hello, miss, madam, hello, come in, yes, welcome...". After about the 20th shop, I had had enough. "SIR SIR SIR SIR SIR...SEE HOW FUCKING ANNOYING THAT IS." He cowered back into his shop and I decided it was not a good time for me to be in the market. I went back to the hostel to relax and went out to get dinner.

At dinner, a guy asked me if I wanted to be an extra in an Indian commercial. I had really wanted to be in a Bollywood movie so I told him that I would do the commercial if he would get me onto a Bollywood set. He said he would do his best.

The next day, they drove us about an hour and a half from Salvation Army to get to the set, where we waited around for a few hours. Finally, they came in with costumes and dressed the guys up in suits and me up in some whory shoes, a short dress and pink makeup and they straightened my hair. It was the first time I have worn makeup other than mascara and straightened my hair in the previous six months. Then they put a big blue plastic snakeskin purse on my arm. I looked like Barbie. Our scene was basically just us walking hurriedly in front of a green screen. We walked back and forth for about 45 minutes, then were hurried to the dressing room, changed, and rushed out to the car to head back. The commercial was for either zoom or xoom (we don't know), and we don't really know what it was about, but we were told that it would air in the states.

The next morning, we went to Elephant Island to see the caves. They are elaborate caves and Hindu god statues carved into the side of the rock. I can't even imagine how one would go about making such a thing. Some of them were huge!

There were plenty of Indian tourists there as well. We were taking pictures of the caves while they took pictures of us. I still don't entirely understand that. They must be going through their pictures saying: "here is a lion, here are the elephant island caves, here is a white person..." I just started making ugly faces. If you are going to sneak a picture of me without asking, you are not going to get a pretty one.

We rounded one corner and a mother had laid out a piece of newspaper on a bench, where her child was taking a crap like a dog. These are seriously the moments I live for in India. This is happening.

Octopussy and an Impromptu Photo Shoot

Udaipur, India (April 17-19)

I stopped drinking water about an hour before the bus ride, but after the 2 1/2 litres I drank to keep myself from getting heat stroke, it was inevitable: an hour and a half in, I had to pee.


I asked the guys at the front and they said to wait 20 minutes. I was already very uncomfortable, but I didn't have much choice. 20 minutes later I went back up and they told me 5 more minutes; I was getting desperate. I motioned to emphasize that waiting 5 minutes was not an option. They pulled over the bus.

Along the way, there had been plenty of decent looking pee bushes that I had been eyeing, but the place they chose to stop had only one tiny and pathetic looking tree. It was about as much cover as you would get from peeing behind a telephone pole. They pulled the bus forward so I don't think anyone on board could see me unless they really tried, but it was broad daylight so the people driving by in their cars definitely could.

I ran towards my sad little tree, terrified that the bus would drive off with my stuff and leave me stranded there. As I jumped over a fallen branch, I landed directly on one of those massive thorns that are big enough to go right through your shoe and impale your foot. Being stabbed by wood is quite painful, but I knew I didn't have time for pain. I was halfway through peeing when the horn started blaring. I pulled up my pants and ran back.

Stop number 2 wasn't much better. As soon as I felt the bus stop, I jumped out of my seat and ran to the front. I asked how long they were stopping for and they just motioned for me to go. There was zero cover but it was getting dark, so I just ran to a dark corner. Halfway through peeing, the horn started again.

I'm not asking for toilet paper or a western toilet or a sink or a hole in the ground or even walls, but seriously, enough time to actually empty my bladder I don't think is a crazy request.

I managed to make it to Udaipur without peeing my pants or getting left behind a tree somewhere. It was early when we arrived and I was exhausted from not sleeping. I knew 100 rupees was overpriced for the tuk tuk, but I had no energy left to haggle so I took it. He started going on and on about his friend's hotel and I did what I always do when this situation comes up: I looked at him with a look that comes very easily at 6 am when you haven't slept all night and said calmly, "If you take me anywhere other than Lal Ghat, I will get out of this tuk tuk and leave and you will get no money. Do you understand me?" Money talks. That quieted him for a while.

There are times when I look at my behaviour and wonder if it is entirely necessary to be so nasty. I have developed a sort of split personality and I can bust out the nasty bitch at the drop of a hat when I feel it is needed. I have complete faith in my ability to scare the shit out of the majority of African and Indian men. But there are times when it is hard to tell the difference between someone who is trying to mess with you and someone being genuine. Sometimes it is easier to just assume everyone is lying to you, but there is always the risk of being mean to a genuinely nice person. However, every so often I am reminded of why I act the way that I do.

We arrived at Lal Ghat and it was closed and gated up. He began banging on the door and trying to wake the owner up, in between attempts at convincing me to stay at his friend's guest house and convincing me to pay him an extra 50 rupees for the ride. At one point his friend actually showed up and started telling me about the place. But exhaustion actually brings out my natural stubborness. Two people I really trusted had recommended this place to me and I didn't care if I had to sit on the curb for an hour, I was staying there. Finally, my tuk tuk driver successfully woke the guy up and he brought me in to show me a room. The rooms were 300 rupees and really not very nice; I couldn't understand why Carolyn and Henry had recommended it. I asked him if there was another Lal Ghat and his first response sounded like yes, but when I asked him to repeat it, he said he didn't know. I walked downstairs in confusion to ask my driver and he was waiting at the door expectantly.

With barely an acknowledgement of my question, he set off down the road and we reached the real Lal Ghat in 2 minutes. Obviously he was hoping that by waiting at the closed one, I would chose his friend's place. Lying sack of shit.

I settled in for a few hours of sleep and when I woke up, Charlie took me to an awesome breakfast place he had scoped out. We spent the day shopping and hiding out on patios to get away from the intense heat.

At night, we sat by the water and watched the storm smash the waves of the Ganga against the shore and the lightning illuminate the distant mountains. From our little stone balcony, I felt like a ship captain navigating through a hurricane, except it was somehow really peaceful, nestled in that little nook, safe from the chaos outside.

The next day we headed down to the dock for a boat ride down the Ganga. This guy named Rj kept giving us free tuk tuk rides and playing Akon the whole way. Loved him. On the boat, we saw all of the floating temples, most of which just look completely abandoned. We also saw the hotel from Octopussy, which looks amazing. They are really banking on the whole Octopussy thing in Udaipur. They had the boat from it anchored outside, and every night at 7 they play Octopussy all over the city.

After the boat ride, RJ drove us down the street to the cable car that takes you to the view at the top of the mountain. The view was beautiful and you could see all of Udaipur, nestled amoung the mountains. It wasn't raining, but there were random lightning strikes in the sky, which was really cool to watch.

 

We had a few hours to kill until the 7pm showing of Octopussy (I had never seen it so I figured it was a good place to do so), so we went to go get some henna done. I was determined to get some real henna that didn't resemble an awkward alien baby. We found this woman who did amazing henna, then her 13-year-old daughter showed up and finished Charlie's hand while she did mine. The daughter's henna was almost better. She was such a talented little girl.

After the henna was done, she invited us to have some chai with her. We still had 30 minutes and the Octopussy place wasn't far, so I figured we had time for a 10 minute chai break... I had no idea the insanity that was really to come. While they made the chai, they brought me in the back because they said they wanted to take pictures of the henna for her wall. She said she wanted to dress me up and I figured, one sari, no problem. First came the skirt, then a scarf, a top, head beads, necklaces, earrings, lipstick, a bindi...and before I knew it, Charlie and I had been pulled into some elaborate photo shoot complete with mirrors and other props. It seemed slightly twisted how much excitement they got from it, but it was fun despite being slightly awkward at times. For the grand finale, she took over the camera and pulled Charlie in for what ended up looking like marriage photos. We ended up being late, but still managed to see the rooftop screening of Octopussy.

I woke up early the next morning to go to a cooking class with our henna girl and she taught me how to make thali, chai tea, chapattis, and parathas. Her family was so sweet and they even invited me to stay at their house, but I told them I had already booked my bus ticket for that evening.

By the time I got back to Lal Ghat, there was only an hour left before Charlie and I had to meet RJ and go to the bus station. We went early to make sure we didn't miss it because Charlie had a plane to catch in Mumbai, but of course the bus was an hour late. We played around with the street kids there and poured coke into their mouths, which they thought was the best game ever. Just as it started pouring rain, the bus arrived and they lead us on a 5 minute walk through the muddy alleyways in the torrential downpour to get to the bus. By the time we got on the bus, we were completely soaked. The usual bumpy ride of insanity ensued, but I popped an adavan and managed to get a few hours of sleep.
Indian Chai Tea
1. Boil 5 cups of milk
2. Add 5 tsp. sugar, 1 1/2 tsp. black tea, 10 balls of black pepper, 2 balls cardamom, 1 clove cinnamon, pinch ginger
3. Boil 3-4 minutes, strain and cool. Makes 5 cups.

Desert Heat and a Camel Safari

Jaisalmer, India (Apr. 13-17)

When I say the bus ride was insane, I mean that my friend's description of the bus drivers on his blog is really hardly an exagerration: http://travelswithmyshrink.tumblr.com/post/45252945461/indian-public-busses

I spent about 10 percent of the trip entirely airborne and bouncing around in my tiny coffin sized bed, while I was constantly closing the windows as they would gradually work their way open. As if that wasn't enough to ensure I didn't get any sleep the driver literally BLASTED hindi music the entire way and, as usual, frequently banged his horn, which in Rajisthan is this musical piece that sounds like the horn from a clown car.

I had called ahead to my hotel and they were going to pick me up, but by the time I got to Jaisalmer I was exhausted and unprepared for the eminem-style battle with the lying tuk tuk drivers to figure out who was the real Ba. I stepped off the bus without making eye contact, walked over to a curb, and sat down. I was going to let him find me. A man walked over with a sign that said, "Tathy, Canada": close enough.

When I got to my hotel, I immediately went to bed. When I woke up a few hours later and went downstairs to have breakfast, I met Lily. One of the few other solo female travellers I have met while travelling, I immediately liked her. There is a strength and uniqueness that I seem to find with all other female travelers; they are always the most interesting people. She pulled me out of my room in my still apparent post-travel daze and took me to meet Thomas and Charlie Beckett, the guy with the most English sounding name I have ever heard.

They were all staying at Ba's house so we went and bought beers and hung out on his rooftop all day. Before we knew it, it was 5:00 and we only had a little time left to watch the women's festival that Ba had been talking up. We went to the house of the royal family, which we got into for free since Ba knew someone. I had been excited for the women's festival since for all of the other festivals, the women just watch from the sidelines while the men have fun. I wanted to see the women enjoy themselves for a change. Thank god I didn't pay 300 rupees to get in there. All the women just dressed up, did a round around the house and prayed to a statue in the middle and left. That was it apparently. That was the women's festival. Fucking India sometimes.

We went back to the hotel to relax and Ba brought up this desert man to play and sing for us. He was actually incredible. He was a beautiful player and he just put so much emotion into his songs they were amazing. He told us he had been on BBC before. I believe it. The unbelievable part was that he was only 55 years old. Seriously look at this picture and be happy about how good you look.

We all went out for dinner and talked about economics, politics, conspiracy theories, and most interestingly, Ba. It isn't my story to tell so I won't go into detail on the internet, but there is some seriously weird and creepy stuff going on there. He owns a hotel, but has a full house of people staying in his house for free...during low season. I'm sorry no one is that nice. The room was nice and cheap and my only experience with him was him buying me icecream and mango smoothies, taking me to sunset spots, and teaching me about Indian gods. All this despite the fact that I kept brushing him off after what I had heard. Regardless, there was no way I was going off into the desert on a camel safari with him.

I spent the next day just relaxing and writing in my journal while Ba hovered over me buying me icecream and telling me about Hindu gods. In the evening, he offerred to take me to a sunset spot and I said we should go grab the guys first. The sunset spot was actually really beautiful and Thomas was grateful for the invite since, despite how long they had been there for, the guys had never gotten an invite to the sunset spot. When you can keep down the creep factor, it really pays to be a girl sometimes.

Thomas and I went out to find Charlie and get dinner and we ended up meeting a photographer named Henry who was also writing this hilarious blog called "Travels with my shrink". Dark humour, but actually hilarious.

It was day 3 in Jaisalmer and I was determined to finally get my camel safari figured out, since I now knew I wasn't doing it with Ba. I had three different recommendations so I set out into the hot desert heat to check them all out. The first two were ok: one was a bit expensive and the other I got kind of a sketchy vibe from. The last place on my list was Nomads, the place Henry had told me about, but no one seemed to know where it was. When I finally found three different people that seemed to know it and said it was in the same direction, I figured I was going the right way, but majority rules isn't always reliable in India. When I got to the point where no one recognized the name and the directions evolved into, "yes, it might be that way," I figured it was a good time to turn back. When I got back to the fort, I found a guy that knew it and found out it was in the complete opposite direction. He said he was heading that way and would give me a lift for 20 rupees. I told him I wanted to walk. "Ok free," he said.

On the way, he started talking to me about his camel safari and I thanked him and said I would consider it after I looked at Nomads. When he stopped the bike, we were not in front of Nomads. "This is my hotel," he said. "Well I was going to check out your camel safari, but now that you have mislead me I have no interest," I said as I got ready to storm off. He drove me to Nomads.

I wandered up to the roof of Nomads trying to find this Aladin guy, and ended up finding Henry there as well. There was no aggressive sales pitch, Aladin was just himself. He was a big goof and I immediately liked him; there was no competition. The temperature hit 41 that day so the three of us spent the entire day lying out on the roof and basically not moving. That was my first time experiencing heat like that.

Henry was leaving that night to head to Varanasi, but Aladin was trying to convince him to stay and do a camel safari by telling him there would be gipsy dancing on the dunes if he went. "I want that!" I said. He said that was his safari and since I needed to go with other people, he was sending me with his brother's company, which was a different safari. I know it sounds incredibly stupid to head into the desert alone with a man I had known for less that 24 hours, but, I can't explain how, I just knew I would be safe with him, and that safari sounded so amazing. I booked it for the following morning and finally headed back to Mirage Hotel when Henry left to catch his train.

After dinner on the rooftop with Ba, I told him I wanted to settle my bill since I was leaving in the morning. I wasn't exactly gunning to tell him that I was doing my camel safari with someone else, but he just asked so many questions and I wasn't going to lie to him. He and Jay (this other guy that worked there) took the news calmly, but I could hear them screaming below me when I went upstairs to bed. I think they thought that Aladin had poached their sale...not quite.

I woke up early and ordered breakfast from Jay before I headed out. Jay starting asking me incessant questions about my camel safari, which I would have appreciated if I thought it was from a place of genuine concern rather than him trying to stick it to me for not going on a safari with them. At one point, he said "Well you just meet someone for five minutes and think he is a nice guy." Irritated, I finally said "Well I definitely have standards. For instance, I wouldn't go into the desert with you." He chose to ignore this comment and continue on his rant. He was clearly bitter that I hadn't fallen for he and Ba's little show, so I let him give his speech and left to meet Aladin.

While I was sitting on a ledge and waiting for Aladin, this old man came over a crouched in front of me and looked at me in a way I had never seen in India before. It wasn't an asking-for-something look, or an undressing-you-with-my-eyes look, or even a curious I-have-never-seen-one-of-these-before look. It was like the half-smiling stare that Kelly or Annie do to me when they are trying to make me feel awkward. Anyways it worked; I moved.

After a 15 minute Jeep ride through into the desert, I got on my first camel. They are much bigger than I realized; this is no horse. They have to sit down so you can mount them and then they stand up while you are on. I really felt like I was going to fall off the first time they did it.

They are definitely more uncomfortable than a bus, but I don't think they are quite the torture device that people make them out to be. We headed out into the desert, stopping for a few hours for lunch, and made it to the dunes before dinner.

On my way back from going to the washroom, I saw one of the camels didn't have his legs tied and he was getting away. After hearing Carolyn's story about having to take the Jeep back because Ba and Jay lost the camels, there was no way I was letting that happen to me. I looked the camel in the eye and we both started running. It was a real chase. Rocket had smelled the sweet smell of freedom and wasn't going to let it slip through his hooves without a fight, but he didn't know who he was messing with.

With Rocket safely back at the hut with his legs tied, Aladin and I headed out into the dunes to watch the sunset.

The dunes, with their perfect curling golden waves, were perfectly set against the soft blue sky with the misty, golden setting sun. There was something other-worldly about them. Climbing them was like running up the down escalator as the soft sand releases into an avalanche below you. As we sat and watched the sun set, I played with the beetles and tried to pick them up. I knew we were sleeping on the dunes and getting comfortable with the bugs that covered them seemed like a valid priority to avoid a panic attack at bed time.

After dinner in the pitch black (I literally had no idea what I was even eating), we headed back to the dunes to meet the gipsies. And there I sat, on the almost mystical sand dunes, under hundreds of stars, watching their silhouettes sing and dance Khalbelia under only the light from the shining crescent moon.

I am not entirely sure whether to comment on how amazing and beautiful the music was, or how the flute player kept letting his instrument go in the middle of songs to text, or how the girls kept horking in between their singing. I guess you have to appreciate the in-your-face realness of it all, but there is something a bit awkward about being set up in a position so that you have to sit there and watch the texting and horking like it is part of the show.

After a while, the girls started pulling me up to dance with them and, since our styles were a bit different, we exchanged moves. The music was mesmerizing and fit perfectly with the surroundings. We listened to it and fed off of eachother as we circled and stamped in the sand under the stars. I couldn't speak one word to them, but we felt like friends by the end.

After the gipsies left, I settled under my blankets and went to sleep. It must have been 2 in the morning when I woke up to go to the washroom. After I managed to make it down the dunes half-asleep in the pitch black, I finally noticed the sky. The moon had gone and there were just the stars. Thousands of them. I don't think even the Serengeti or Kilimanjaro were that amazing. I was so tired, but I just sat there for a while and stared at them. I couldn't close my eyes.

I woke up at sunrise and headed out into the dunes by myself until I couldn't see any evidence that there were any other people in the world. I could hear the whole desert waking up; I never knew they were so full of life. I just sat out there by myself for a while and tried to save that peacefulness in my head forever.

I met Aladin for breakfast and I sat next to the camels, one of whom was pissing and shitting at the same time, followed by them both peeing in unison and ate my sandy eggs, my sogging sun-melted banana, and my charcoaly toast on my dirty and prickly blanket. The realities of paradise.

While I was eating breakfast, I realized that after I washed them, I had left my underwear drying in the window of my hotel room at Mirage. The idea of Jay and Ba with my underwear wasn't the most pleasant thought. Aladin thought it was funny. I didn't.

That day didn't have the insane wind of the day before which had very successfully masked the horrendous heat of the open desert. I felt like I had sun stroke by the time I got back to Nomads and ended up drinking 2 1/2 litres of water in about an hour.

After an embarassing stop at Mirage to pick up my underwear, Aladin drove me to the bus station to catch my bus. Next stop... Udaipur.

A Hypothetical

So I would be walking down the street and stop at a shop to ask the shopkeeper if he has something I need. "Yes, please", he would say (I don't know why this english error bothers me so much in particular, but I really hate it) and he would say his friend is bringing it and it will only be a minute. It would take 20 minutes and he would use the time with me as a hostage to ask me which country I am from, how Canada is, how I like India, whether I am married, and why I am travelling alone. When my responses are inevitably less than enthusiastic at the two-hundredth time I have had to respond to these exact questions, he would ask me if I hate all Indians.

Despite this rough start, he would begin hitting on me like my opinion doesn't matter, smiling no matter how bitchy and rude I get, and saying with an opportunistic grin that he isn't married either. He would then proceed to tell me what to do, with comments that aren't explicitly offensive but have serious undertones of severe sexism.

Next he would proceed to start preaching about his religion, saying it was the only valid option and trying to convert me. When his friend finally arrives with the item, it would not be what I asked for.

When I storm out in anger and start walking down the street, there would be packs of men staring and smiling like I am into it and taking pictures of me. "What country...", they would begin in the usual manner. This would be broken up only by the chorus of shopkeepers, each beginning their verse as I pass their entrance: "yes...hello...madam...hello...welcome...please come...hello...", and the cars pushing through the crowds and blasting their horns as soon as they are next to me.

It is funny how much you learn about what pushes your buttons when you are travelling. I have been spit on, peed on, shit on; stepped in shit and had my bed shit on; been pushed, punched, slapped on the ass, smacked on the boob, head butted by cows, attacked my monkeys, snarled at by dogs; had my tooth chipped; experienced the coldest weather of my life and the hottest; been scammed; lost my camera, my phone, and my computer charger; been ambushed by cockroaches; and seen two dead and bloated bodies and innumerable burning ones...

But if this scenario ever happened all at one time, you would be hearing about it on the news. There would be few survivors.

Pushkar

Pushkar, India (Apr. 6-12)

Pushkar was everything I needed in my life wrapped in one tiny hippi town. There were lots of tourists, which I needed after Africa; western and even vegan food, which I needed after Mathura; no need for tuk tuks since everything was walking distance; a mellow vibe and less pushy sales people; dance classes; and awesome shopping. Even my hotel staff were polite and said lovely things like "you have nothing to worry about here" instead of the horribly rude people in Delhi; I felt like I was living in a yoga studio. On top of that, it was so small that you ran into the people you knew everywhere. After three months of saying goodbye forever to people after only few days, I can't explain how amazing it feels to be able to run into people you already know. I never appreciated that feeling before. Despite the very odd tourist style where everyone seemed to dress like the lost boys from "Hook", it was the first place that felt like home since Moshi and I soaked up every second of it.

I had been trying to take a dance class or watch any type of dance for five months and something always stood in my way. I was in Pushkar for about an hour when this gipsy woman started talking to me about gipsy dancing. She barely spoke English and I couldn't really understand what she was talking about, but I would have followed anyone who knew something about dance.

She brought me to a hotel restaurant where she said the lessons would take place and introduced me to a girl named Claudia who was taking classes and could finally explain to me what was going on. She told me that they do performances there every Friday night and we scheduled a private class with one of them for the following afternoon. I spent the rest of the day shopping and relaxing because I was still exhausted from the train ride.

The next day I had an amazing breakfast on my rooftop, went to two different gipsy dancing classes, had a vegan lunch at a place called Honey and Spice, and got a pedicure before I went to meet Amir to watch the gipsy dancing show. I was loving my life.

 

The show was insanely cool. They played traditional instruments, danced in elaborate costumes, and there was even a fire breather. At the end, one of the girls pulled Claudia and I up to dance with her. Since she was pulling people up, I figured she would just do something quick and simple, but she started doing all of these elaborate moves that I was struggling to keep up with after only one day of Khalbelia lessons. I don't think I blew anyone away, but I tried anyways.

SIDE NOTE: Pushkar is where I finally figured out what was going on with the cows: they don't have owners. They just basically wander in the streets and people feed them. It is funny that they are holy and some of them look so horrible, I hear, from eating plastic off of the streets. They would clearly be so much better off in fields, on farms. It was strange also that India is the first time I had ever seen an old cow. I never really thought about the fact that I had never seen one before.

Once I started getting really into Khalbelia, I started doing private lessons in the mornings at the gipsy village in the desert where my teacher, Raki lives. The gipsy village is a really interesting place: that sort of decrepid and run-down beautiful that I love to find in really good photography. Her house and dance studio were two of the three solid buildings that were there; Everything else was tents.

Raki demonstrated the moves while her husband played the drums and every so often one of her children or someone from the village would peak their head into the window or door. It took some time to get used to the unstructured style of the classes after years of such formal dance classes, but I started to really enjoy them. I sometimes stuck around for Claudia's class and sat around with the family drinking chai and playing around on the drums. They made me feel like part of the family.

My favourite place to hang out were these stairs by the water that had the best view of the sunset. The first time we went, a gipsy woman sat with us and started trying to sell me anklets. "I already have them", I told her. When that didn't work, she started trying to sell me henna. I looked at the pictures she showed me and they were pretty awful and sloppy. I think her hand was really shaky because she was quite old: not ideal for doing henna. There was no way I wanted that on me. The next time I went, she gave me a big hug and she was so sweet. I just loved her and I couldn't say no. "Just a small one", I said, but she just kept going. And that is how I ended up with my cherry-headed-alien-baby on my wrist for two weeks.

Pushkar is supposed to be a dry and vegetarian city, but it is actually baffling how many places you can find alcohol not-to-mention the number of times you get offerred drugs on the street. That is true all over India though. The run often goes "Boat ride?...No...money exchange?...No...Guesthouse?...No...Hash?Opium?" They are Jack-of-all-trades'.

They had beers at the guesthouse of these Argentinians I met so we spent a few nights there sitting under the stars. I met this really interesting German girl who was a sort of spiritual therapist and somehow combined a sort-of psychic reading or energy with therapeutic discussion. Her and her friend both spoke about how they had been stuck in this horrible place and it had really changed them. I normally tend to believe that those things are a bit ridiculous, but I think anything that can impact someone's life that much is worth considering. Either way, I always find it really interesting to talk to people who have such a different perspective on life.

I met a guy from the UK on my hotel rooftop and ended up going out for lassis that night with him and his two friends. It was pretty dark when we were leaving, so we decided to walk the girl who was staying at the other hotel home. We walked around one corner and sitting at the side of the road was this small burning piece of newspaper that kind of looked like it was from an apocalytic scene. Suddenly, these three children, the oldest of about 6, came running out and started crouching around the fire and drinking a clear liquid of of a massive jug. Then they started breathing fire.

I had seen this fire-blowing trick at the gipsy show before, but that still did not prepare me to find toddlers breathing fire in the dark and winding streets when I turned that corner. We all stopped dead in our tracks and remained there for a while in fear even after the children ran away laughing.

My last full night in Pushkar was some sort of Indian New Years and we wandered the streets to watch the parade. There were lit up floats and people carrying chandeliers, followed by generators to power them as well as people in costume being carried around on thrones. At one corner, they had set up a disco ball and strobe light. When the parade arrived there, it stopped, and all of the men went into the streets and just raged for about 30 minutes, then the parade continued. It was very strange.

My friends from the UK ended up going home early, so I stayed out with a bunch of people I met in town. I don't think it was that late when we left the bar, but by the time we left the streets were completely empty. They were all staying at a different hotel so I said good-bye and wandered off down the dark and empty alleyways alone. This was probably the most scared I have been during my entire trip. I had my swiss army knife thrust in front of me with one hand and my water bottle to scare the dogs in the other as I cautiously made my way around the corners. I was almost home when I approached the big open space in front of the temple, just before my hotel. There was a large pack of dogs there and they started to gather and slowly move towards me, snarling and barking. The only other way there was to take this long circle back through the darkened streets, which equally terrified me; I was going through.

I decided that the usual tactic I used of threatening them with my water bottle might just incite them since there were so many of them; I was definitely not looking to anger them I further. I cautiously made my way around the edge, keeping my eyes towards the dogs and my knife out in front. They continued their barking and snarling, but backed off once I got to the other side and started to walk away. I was actually shaking by the time I walked in the front door of my guest house.

The next day, I was sitting with my friend Jenna when a girl she was supposed to meet the day before wandered over. She explained that she had missed the meeting because she was attacked by a dog and had to go to the hospital to get stitched up and get her rabies shots. I was actually horrified.

I think because very few of the dogs are domesticated, they have gone back to their wild ways. You can see them all sleeping by the sides of the streets during the day, but at night they take over and obviously get very territorial. I used to really love dogs, but I am not a big fan in India.

Jenna and I had dinner at the Israeli food stand and watched the second round of the parade go by before I had to catch my bus out. We met this couple who was travelling through India on a motorcycle and had therefore made some interesting and unconventional stops along the way. The woman said they stopped at this one farm town where she saw a pile of animal carcasses that were being fed on by other animals. WOW India sometimes.

Jenna walked me to my bus and waited with me until it arrived. As I sat on my bed and spent moments fully air-borne in what was, up until that moment, the most insane bus ride of my life, I was definitely the saddest I have been on my whole trip to leave that little town of Pushkar.