End of the Road

See our endgame album at
https://picasaweb.google.com/rmahanic/LastLooksAtIndia?authkey=Gv1sRgCNSJ4Oad2PruTA&feat=email#

We’ve got a day to chill out in Varanasi before our flight home tomorrow—another 32 hour plane ride, door-to door.  Or from hovel to home, if you will.

It would be redundant to exalt the amazing things we have seen, the people we have met and the adventures we have had.  If you’ve been following the BLOG, you know all that. 

We finish, then with a tale of yesterday’s sleazy night train from Katni to Varansi. It points out the more sober side of East vs. West, and why, after two months of Indian immersion, it is time to come homeWe boarded our last night train enroute to Varanasi. It was mid-trip and had already traveled 18 hours from Mumbai. The seats in our com partment were covered in rumpled sheets and blankets and two middle-aged men. They briefly looked up, grunted, and ignored us as we gingerly shoved aside their bedding and tried to find room for our badckpacks under the seats and room on the seats for ourselves.

Now so far, we've had great companions on these overnight trains, both Indians and traveling westerners. People have been friendly and charming, or at least quiet. Not these guys. The man on Roger's seat made a series of loud cell phone calls as he lounges on a pillow with his feet on the seat. Roger and another man squeezed into the remaining room on the seat. Linda's seat mate sat there playing with his dirty feet while listening to his radio, swithching between Indian music and something that appeared to be a Hindi soap opera. He talked on his cell, ate potato chips, and burped repeatedly and loudly, alal Homer Simpson. We gave each other those "What the hell!" looks and tries not to grumble or giggle.

This compartment is AC3, which has bench seats that fold into 3 bunks on each side of a very small aisle. Linda's  buddy decided to go to sleep at 8:00, and folded down the seat, making it impossible for anyone to sit on that side of the compartment. Linda crowded in with Roger, then the jackass turned off the lights in the compartment. Our new mantra became "Last train trip, last train trip..." Meanwhile, the guy from Roger's bench avoided our crowded conditions by going across the aisle and waking up a woman sleeping there so he could squat on the end of her bed and slurp greasy rice thali through his fingers. Charming.

We all gave up about 9:00, and took sleeping pills, hoping for a decent night's sleep before our 6:00 am arrival in Varanasi. We dozed off. So far, so good. 1:30 am, our pal makes a loud phone call, eats a bag of exceptionally crunchy chips, and lets loose with a couple of belches that nearly derail the train. We don't know whether to laugh at the absurdity of it all, or cry in frustration, so we rolled over and tried hard to go to our special place, where an obnoxious stranger can never bother us again. Yep, we're still in India.

Hindu Porn at Khajuraho

See our Kharjuraho Porn album at
Khajjurahu Hindu Porn Album#

Our latest journey after the madness of Varanasi was a 12-hour night train to the famous pornographic temple complex at Khajuraho.  We shared a tuk-tuk from our hotel to the railway station with Paul from Holland, one of our color posse from the Holi celebration.  We found ourselves on the same train, the same car, and the same sleeper compartment.  This would have been impossible to arrange, but like so much of Indian travel things just work out that way.  We soon found ourselves in the company of two young Swedish girls and four or five young Indian guys returning home to Khajuraho.  We have been lucky to attract interesting company wherever we go.  It might have been young Lina and Marriella, though.

The temple complex at Khajuraho was built in the mid tenth century and it contains some of the most bizarre erotic sculpture you can imagine.  Hinduism encompasses the totality of the human condition, and it intertwines the spiritual and the sensual in a way that is hard for our western minds to grasp.  Imagine, if you will, that St. Peters Cathedral in Rome was designed by Larry Flynt and Jerry Falwell.  There.  You got it.

Besides goofing around the porno temples in a most irreverent way, the real fun of Khajaraho was hanging with our new buds and being adopted by one of the Indian guys from the night train —our new best Indian friend Sheshi.  He called to us on the outskirts of town in the late afternoon from his rooftop and invited us in for chai.  As it turned out, the house was full of neighborhood women and kids who were there celebrating a ritual performed on young girls 1 ½ years, where they shave the child’s head and celebrate with singing and dancing.   Sheshi’s family was incredibly gracious, and they invited each of the three women in turn to dance in the courtyard among the colorful saris to the rhythm of the drum and singing and laughing of the neighborhood women.  Linda threw down a few Motown moves.  The crowd loved it.

They invited us to dinner last night (Paul having moved on to Agra by night train), and we had a terrific Indian home experience.  The girls moved on by bus this morning to Agra, and we are chilling out all day with nothing to do but putz around with the BLOG, catch up on our email, and at least ponder some of the contortions depicted on the temple sculptures.

We’ve hired a car tomorrow for the six-hour trip to our last destination—Bandhavgarh National Park, where our chances of seeing a tiger on safari are GUARANTEED, sir!

Home in less than a week!

For Quilters Only...

See Quilting album at

Quilting

For my quilting friends

Throughout this trip, I have been on the lookout for quilts, fabrics, ideas, and inspiration. The colors combinations have been astounding. Complementary color combinations are really common; red/green, blue/orange. Another really common color trend that I see is using a very bright, vibrant color and pairing it with a duller shade, for example, a bright chartreuse green with a dull rust. Some of these combinations are really stunning. I can absolutely see where Jinny Beyer got the inspiration for her color palette. The colors are very dense, deep, and saturated. You see very few pastels.

Fabrics have been a little disappointing, actually, mainly because I want quality cottons. The sari fabrics are fantastic colors, but are chiffons, silk, and blends. As beautiful as the color combinations are, I wouldn't use these fabrics. The cottons don't have the color vibrancy of the saris, and high-quality cottons are rare. Maybe the good stuff has been exported, hard to say. I have found very nice fabrics that have been block- printed by hand, so I do have a small Indian stash now. We're at the end of our trip, now, so I'm not too hopeful about finding anything else that calls to me.

 The stone carving, and to a lesser extent, floor mosaics, have amazing designs that can be used as blocks, borders, appliqué, and quilting designs. Check out the photo album. I'll probably try playing with some of these ideas to see if I can translate a few to fabric. Some are beautiful and very complicated, but a lot of these are doable. Let's think about a quilting retreat after I get home....I'm ready!

Varanasi...Holi Shit!!

See our pictures of Holi at
Holi
See our other pictures of Varanasi 
Varanasi#

A bit of a low point with the crowds and heat and filth of Agra...then BANG! Varanasi and we are back on track.

Varanasi was everything everyone claimed, and more. We saw and did a lot there in just a few days, but a couple of experiences were exceptional. The main event was Holi, a Hindu festival celebrating rebirth in spring. The big activity is spraying colored water on one another, sort of a country-wide squirt gun fight that can ruin your clothes.

Our preparation for Holi began the day before. Jemma, Linda, Roger, LLoyd, and Laurent ( yes, more new bffs ) hit the shops. The boys wanted to wear white shirts, better to show the colors. We found ourselves in a tiny shop in a twisted back alley of the old town. Shrewd bargains were made, and cheap white shirts were in our possession. In a brilliant, never-used-before shopping strategy, Roger, tried on a white dhoti (blousy, trouser- type garment). As he slipped the pants on over his clothes, he said, "Did someone shit in these pants!? Look at this!!" Indeed, the dhoti was less than pristine, with something resembling crap inside. A puzzled Roger then added, "Oh, it's cow shit, and it's from my shoes." Indeed, his sandals were coated with a fresh layer. "I'm sorry, but I still can't buy these, they don't fit." said Rog apologetically. The shop owner replied, "I can't sell them now, you take them for free. Happy Holi." A Holi miracle, if you wish. Next time you go shopping, remember the cow-shit trick. I don't know if Khol's will fall for it, but it's worth a shot.

We met at the rooftop restaurant on Holi morning to prepare for the big event. The hotel warned us not to go out at all, it's not safe for foreigners, no women should go, the people are drunk, we are worried for your safety, blah, blah, blah. Linda and Jemma were still on the fence about going, since they are girls and have common sense. A National Geographic crew was at our hotel  and was going out to document Holi.  Ursula, their Slovenian tour director, reassured the girls, who decided to venture out. Kevin and Paul joined our posse. We mixed our colored powders with water, filled our bottles and totally crappy, useless new squirt guns, took our "before" pictures, and set off.

We went to the ghats (open, river-side stepped terraces) rather that the streets, knowing that we could at least find our way back to the hotel when necessary. Water balloons started splatting, and we thought, "Fun!" We walked toward the main ghat, where there was more action. There was also "police protection" (ha!) there, too. At that time, naive as we were, we didn't know the police were drinking and/or sleeping on duty. The color throwing began in earnest, and we were doused. The pre-pubescent boys were the worst (aren't they always?), grabbing our guns, arms, and breasts, and rubbing color on our faces. Linda and Jemma decide 5 minutes is PLENTY of fun-time, and the gallant men walked the girls back home, assuring their safety. Thanks, fellas!

The guys' adventures continued. When they returned to the hotel, other groups were returning as well, and there was great camaraderie among the Holi participants. Grins all around. Since a picture speaks 1000 words, we'll let the photos tell that part of the story. Roger ran into several people the next day who remembered him as the man wearing a kota with no pants. Oh that Roger....

That same evening our group took a sunset boat ride on the Ganges to the burning ghat. This is the place where bodies are cremated on the riverbank. People travel from all parts of India to die in Varanasi because they believe that dying here frees them from the karma cycle of rebirth, and so they attain Nirvana. Only a few categories of people are NOT cremated; children, pregnant women, and saddhus (holy men) because they are pure, lepers, because they have suffered, and cobra-bite victims because they might awaken from a coma-like state.

Families raise the money for the wood for the fire, and some shave their heads as a sign of mourning. The family carries the body to the river for a ceremonial washing, then places it on the wood pyre and douses it with ghee, clarified butter. A man lights a handful of long grasses from the eternal fire. This fire has been continually burning since before written records were kept here, over 5000 years. The man with the burning grasses walks around the body five times to release the soul from the five earthly elements; water, air, earth, fire, and ether (soul). Then he lights the fire, which burns about three hours. The family watches and drinks chai. We saw five fires burning at a time, and this is done 24/7, every single day.

 Watching this at night was a soul-gripping experience. Our boatman was ready to return us to our ghat, so we reluctantly left. We decided, though, that we needed to return, so we walked back. On the way, we crossed a "river of shit" (our pet name), where the open sewer runs across the ghat and over the steps to the river. Following Paul, Linda cleverly stepped right into a deep spot. Bottled water helped to temporarily remedy the situation, Linda stopped gagging, and we continued on. We then passed a puja (worship ceremony) to Shiva, with drums, bells, incense, fire, and costumed dancers. Of course, we had to stop to watch. Those drums and bells are hypnotic, and we stayed a while. Arriving back on the burning ghat, we just stood, observed, and tried to take it all in. Its not an easy thing to do, with our Western minds and habits. A woman we met at our hotel had said, after three months of Indian travel, you have to open your heart to begin to understand India, it can't be comprehended just with the mind. Amen.

So, a brief summary of this amazing day: colored water fight, minor assault on the women, laughing until our faces hurt, boat ride, death, music, worship, stepping in crap.Yes, we're in India alright!

R and L Share Hotel with Goat

Jaipur Album

Jaipur

Ranthambore Album

Ranthambore

Agra Album

Agra

Shanti Lodge, Agra

Hard traveling.  We may have hit a paradigm shift in our travel standards.  We checked into a hotel in Agra last night (recommended by a fellow-traveler) and decided to improve our position by moving to a better hotel across the street this morning at 6:00 am.  We had to step over a goat up tied up at our hotel’s alley entrance, and we barely noticed.    And as Roger observed, “There may be goat tethered at the doorway, but we can still see the Taj Mahal out the window from our bed.”  Words to live by.

Since our last BLOG update we visited Jaipur. The morning we arrived, Roger was out scouting the neighborhood while Linda slept off an overnight train hangover. He heard an unexpected, “ROGER!”, and spun around to see a couple we had met back in Cochin, last month. At this point, they were our oldest friends in India, so we had a great time hanging out with them. We had a few adventures (monkey temple, parade dancing, and palaces), then had our big splurge to the Tiger Den Resort at Ranthambore National Park.  It may have ruined us for the rest of India.  Clean sheets, functioning electricity, beautifully manicured grounds, swimming pool. Not only did they provide towels, BUT THEY BROUGHT US FRESH ONES TWICE A DAY! Cleanliness was never so exciting.

We did a couple of wildlife safaris and were lucky to see a leopard on one and a tiger on another.  While it was thrilling to see a tiger in the wild (a rather indistinct view of the cat taking a stroll some distance away), the real thrill was the convergence of jeeps jockeying for position to show their guests the best view—a wild ride with shouting and cursing and fender benders.  More exciting than the tiger sighting, to be honest.

Now we’re in Agra-- visited the Taj Mahal this morning, Agra Fort tomorrow, and then a night train to Varanasi for the holi celebration. We are excited, but are getting weary. India has been at this for a lot longer than we have, and it is winning the battle. People crowding into our personal space is less charming that it was a month ago. For crying out loud, stop touching me!! Sheesh!!

Still an incredible adventure, but the grit is getting to us.  And the noise.  And the fights with the tuk-tuk drivers.  We have seen so many incredible things, but consider:  is there a limit to how many women you can see carrying loads of cow shit from the fields balanced on their heads before it loses its charm?  There is!

On to Varanasi!

R and L Badder Than Shaft!

See our album link  for Jaisalmer at

Jaisalmer

In the very early seventies Roger and Delaney emerged from the local first-run theatre in downtown Ypsilanti—the latest James Bond thriller-- and overheard the following conversation:

Brother One: “Whoa.  That James Bond.  He Bad!”

Brother Two: “He badder than Shaft!”

To be badder than Shaft has since been the ultimate travel standard.  Flash forward forty years.  “So John, how did you and Nancy enjoy your North Sea cruise?”  “We were badder than Shaft!” Delaney says, and we know that it was over the top. For all the experiences we have had in India, we crossed that threshold with our overnight camel safari in the Thar Desert.  We badder than Shaft.

Jaisalmer is the camel safari capital of India, and nearly all the western tourists who come here take a camel safari—some out alone with their camel driver for 21 days in the Thar Desert. The town is otherwise typically Rajasthani with a definite desert culture and the nearly constant scream of Indian jet fighters during the day remind us that we are only 40 miles from the Pakistani border.  But it has the enormous Rajput fort and palace and museum, much like Udaipur and Jodhpur and, we assume, Jaipur.  Most of the camel tourists opt for the overnighter.  We arranged to leave a little later in the day (“less camel time,” our tour guy told us), and that sounded ok by us.

We drove into the desert, where we met Bidiya, our camel driver, and our two stalwart steeds, Alex and Jaisal. We climbed aboard, which is no small feat for those us blessed with short legs. Bidiya led us into the desert. We looked much like 5-year-olds who are led in a circle as they sit upon their ponies. We felt a little trepidation as Bidiya chatted on his cell phone as he walked, wondering if this would be ridiculously lame. It wasn’t.

As we rode, the dunes grew larger, the footprints became a little scarcer, and the eerie quiet of the desert wind grabbed our attention. Our ride was comfortable and the stories we’d heard about motion-sickness were blessedly not part of our experience. Shortly before sunset, we stopped at the edge of a dune for the night. Bidiya set to work removing camel saddles and tying the camels’ front legs loosely together so they could graze without getting too far afield. He then set up his kitchen. He found 3 fist-sized rocks and placed them a few inches apart to support a cooking pot, found twigs and small, kindling-sized branches, lit a fire, and proceeded to make us a pot of chai. He brushed the sand out of metal cups and served us the best tea we’ve had in India. More impressive was the dinner he and 3 camel-driver friends (the guys just happened by) cooked for us; a spicy vegetable stew, jasmine rice, and fresh chapattis made on the spot. He insisted on the two of us eating first since we are guests, then the four of them dug in.

 Eating with our fingers as we knelt in the sand at sunset with these gracious men was quite an experience. As we chatted with Bidiya, we found that he didn’t know what year he was born (he looked about 35), didn’t know how to write his name, and had never attended school. He doesn’t own these camels, he is just their handler. Yet he spoke good English as well as Hindi, was bright and had a great sense of humor. It was very strange to meet someone with such an enormously different background from our own, and we still can’t quite wrap our minds around it. Illiteracy is much easier to understand when it is distant and abstract, and very hard when it has an amiable face, like Bidiya’s.

As we sat and talked, a man walked through the desert into our camp carrying a burlap sack. He asked, “Anybody want cold beer?”, and pulled out a few. We had to buy one, I mean, the man walked through the desert!! It should have been a commercial.

Later, Bidiya set out thin mattresses and heavy blankets for us. The stars were the best we’ve ever seen, but we fell asleep before we had much of a chance to look. Fantastic. This is as good as it gets.

“Roger and Linda…they baaad Mother F…”

“Hush your mouth!”

“But I’m talkin’ bout Roger and Linda!”—Isaac Hayes

Udaipur and Jodhpur

Rajasthan! (see album at 

Udaipur

Udaipur..once again, we're afraid to cross the street. Hold hands, look both ways, look down (cow poop, dead rats), look up (low-hanging awnings), listen (horns honking, cows mooing), hold your breath (smells, dust), say your prayers, and go. Drivers here drive faster than in the south and are more aggressive. Gods help us.

Once you are across the street, there are AMAZING sights here. The City Palace, Lake Palace, Jain temples, and begging holy men are incredible to see. Most remarkable are the COLORS. I swear that they have more colors here than we have at home (ditto with smells, but that's not always a good thing). Women in their saris put us westerners to shame. I'm wearing khaki and MAYBE a yellow shirt if I'm feeling frisky. They are covered in magenta, fuscia, orange, reds, saffron, and teal, brilliant combinations. I hope some of our photos capture a bit of this, because it is truly outstanding. They dress like this every day. The saris are covered in gold embroidery, sequins, glitter, and beading. The road crews (see photos) are dressed fancier than Oscar attendees, no exaggeration. Little girls wear beaded satin dresses and they play barefooted in the dusty streets.

Ditto with jewelry. I wear a small pair of gold hoop earrings and a wedding ring (sorry, fellas, I'm spoken for). A 2-year old boy I saw yesterday wore 5-6 bangle bracelets, ankle bracelets on both feet, necklace, and had painted nails. Women often seem to wear more jewelry at one time than I own. 

Rajasthani Road Crew

The Mehrangarh Fort in Jodhpur is truly amazing. We had an entertaining, informative audio tour that was so much better than the "live" guides we've had at other sites. (Actual quote: "This is the up part; that is the down part. This is the new part;. that is the old part. This is the men part; that is.. " you get the idea). The current Maharaja has made a career of restoring the fort and making it accessible to tourists and has done an outstanding job of it. Not a single employee there asked us for money for doing their job.  How western!

Today's excitement- Roger sees a doctor about back pain..sore muscle, Malarone side-effect, cracked rib, deadly disease, who can say? The doctor-sahib, that's who! He says pulled muscle, and prescribed a few pills of undetermined origin, composition and expiration date. Cross your fingers. He can't do a camel ride with a sore back, and Jaisalmer and a camel safari are next on the agenda. Camels are kinda huge and look a little scary, so a bad back MIGHT be a good excuse if we get cold feet. We'll see. We have already decided that a 2-day ride is way too much time on any kind of animal (especially a camel). We're shooting for something shorter and less painful. 

On to Jaisalmer!