I am back in Delhi, having managed to get a cold in the smouldering cauldron of Rajasthan. How the hell do you get a cold in 40 degrees C?! Anyway, I'm tired, my muscles are aching and I have a wheezing cough. I've tried to wash my clothes, only to find that the bleach somehow turned my white shirts pink, something I never knew was possible. Brina and Matt have both gone to the US, so I'm all alone in the apartment.
Even though most hotels in India boast with having "hot water", this very often seems to consists of a mere trickly of tepid slush, which efficiently eliminates any "non-vital pamperings", since by the time you've lathered your hair (1 min), you discover that you'll now have to rinse it all off with cold water. However, being back in the slightly more civilised Delhi, I took the liberty of taking a looong bath, vigorously scrubbing and brushing away two weeks of accumulated filth and grime. Now I almost, almost feel human again.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
death
I've slept badly for the last couple of weeks, my nights being tormented by dreams of death and sorrow, leaving me exhausted in the mornings. Ever since I was 10 years old I have had issues with the concept of death, or at least the one concerning human death. I cannot talk about it, imagine it, or being reminded of it in any kind of way, without feeling the panic creeping in. The knowledge that we don't have any knowledge of what happens in the afterlife, is so hard to fathom, so impossible to grap, that my head starts to spin and I can barely breathe at the sheer thought.
Surprisingly, I don't have any problems with the death of animals. I cannot even watch human autopsies on television, yet it doesn't bother me to dissect a deceased pet. I flinch when I see any sort of human trauma, and I shudder at the mere thought of end-stage diseases of humans, yet the very same conditions in animals only bring out the scientist in me, making treatment plans and diagnostical approaches. Perhaps the idea of death and disease in humans is just too close to home, too close to a not-too-distant future for my own comfort.
In two days I am going to Varanasi, the city where hindus go to die, the city of death. And I have just discovered that my hotel is next to the burning ghat, where most cremations take place. I really don't know if I'll be able to handle all of this.
Surprisingly, I don't have any problems with the death of animals. I cannot even watch human autopsies on television, yet it doesn't bother me to dissect a deceased pet. I flinch when I see any sort of human trauma, and I shudder at the mere thought of end-stage diseases of humans, yet the very same conditions in animals only bring out the scientist in me, making treatment plans and diagnostical approaches. Perhaps the idea of death and disease in humans is just too close to home, too close to a not-too-distant future for my own comfort.
In two days I am going to Varanasi, the city where hindus go to die, the city of death. And I have just discovered that my hotel is next to the burning ghat, where most cremations take place. I really don't know if I'll be able to handle all of this.
baksheesh
Technically it is supposed to be winter in India now, but that didn't stop the thermometer to reach 44,3 degrees C (in the sun), in Udaipur yesterday afternoon. I spent half the day trying to sort out the mess with my camera, which I naturally managed to break somehow (sorry dad...)
"Did you drop it?", the repairman asked me.
"Why not?", I offered, the un-offical Indian universal answer to every possible question.
"Did you get sand in it?"
"Why not?"
Hell, he could have asked me if I had been jumping on the camera dressed as a purple fox, and the answer would still have been "why not", because theoretically that could have had happened. I am known for killing cameras in the most unusual ways: one met it's creator by falling off the roof of a car onto the tarmac of a busy British country road, another succumbed to the sand and rain of Peru. And the others...well, I could go on all night really.
Anyway, first I was told that they couldn't fix the camera, so I went and bought a new one. On the way back, 300 dollars poorer, I bumped into the Indian gentleman from the hotel, who had taken me to the repair shop in the first place. Now I was told that the camera had been fixed, but for double the agreed price. So from having had 0 camera I went to having 2 in a matter of minutes. Now, since I had just bought the new, expensive camera, we went back to the store to return it. A rapid firing of hindi the men between, a sullen expression of the salesman, and the 300 dollars exchanged hands once more.
What I hadn't realised, was that the camera salesman had actually tried to bribe my Indian companion.
"Why are you helping this woman?", the sullen salesman had cried. "I'll give you 1000 rupees if you tell her that we cannot return the camera"
"Why didn't you take the baksheesh", I asked later, just out of curiosity.
"Well, I didn't want you to think that ALL Indians are bad"
"Did you drop it?", the repairman asked me.
"Why not?", I offered, the un-offical Indian universal answer to every possible question.
"Did you get sand in it?"
"Why not?"
Hell, he could have asked me if I had been jumping on the camera dressed as a purple fox, and the answer would still have been "why not", because theoretically that could have had happened. I am known for killing cameras in the most unusual ways: one met it's creator by falling off the roof of a car onto the tarmac of a busy British country road, another succumbed to the sand and rain of Peru. And the others...well, I could go on all night really.
Anyway, first I was told that they couldn't fix the camera, so I went and bought a new one. On the way back, 300 dollars poorer, I bumped into the Indian gentleman from the hotel, who had taken me to the repair shop in the first place. Now I was told that the camera had been fixed, but for double the agreed price. So from having had 0 camera I went to having 2 in a matter of minutes. Now, since I had just bought the new, expensive camera, we went back to the store to return it. A rapid firing of hindi the men between, a sullen expression of the salesman, and the 300 dollars exchanged hands once more.
What I hadn't realised, was that the camera salesman had actually tried to bribe my Indian companion.
"Why are you helping this woman?", the sullen salesman had cried. "I'll give you 1000 rupees if you tell her that we cannot return the camera"
"Why didn't you take the baksheesh", I asked later, just out of curiosity.
"Well, I didn't want you to think that ALL Indians are bad"
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Kafka time
I'm in the city of Udaipur, the impossibly romantic city where a major part of the Bond- movie "Octopussy" was filmed. There are turrets and palaces and temples meeting the eye from every direction, and it is not surprising that the city palace is soon going to be host to another lavish royal wedding.
It is however during times like these, when in places like these, that my self-pity rises to astonishing new heights. It is when being surrounded by all this beauty, that I get acutely aware of my loneliness, and the fact that my "husband" is nothing more than a cheap 7 dollar ring with the brilliance fading fast.
I find myself crying when I should be rejoicing, grieving over my solitude when I should be strengthened by my independence, tears falling for loves lost, loves never had and loves that never will be. The emptiness and loneliness claw at my heart, sharp as a raptors talons, and deepen the already ragged scars that never seem to heal.
I sit here now, with the pains of the past and the present as my only company. I am not religious, or a person of faith, but sometimes I wonder if I'm only but a pawn in a game of the God's in the sky. And the irony is not lost on me, that the harder I fight, the harder I fall victim to the very enemies that I strive to conquer: loneliness and abandonment.
I remember when I travelled through South America on my own a few years back, two months surrounded by scenery un-rivalled in this world. But my memories don't take me to the eerie beauty of the saltlake of Uyuni, or the imposing mountains up at La Raya, or the solemn faces of the Quechua women in their colourful skirts. Instead I only remember nights of darkness, endless hours of emptiness and the stifling feeling that I must have done something horribly horribly wrong to deserve this, to experience all this beauty and wonder with no-one to share it with. In my world, this is possibly the greatest punishment of them all. If only I knew my crime.
you get what you pay for
I left the heaving hippie cauldron of Pushkar yesterday afternoon for the magic of Udaipur, a 6-hour train ride away. It will never cease to amaze me, how Indian trains or buses always seem to arrive 1-2 hours late, despite actually leaving on time. It is a train for godness sake, how can it possibly be that late, EVERY time??!
"Well, how much did you pay for that train ride", quizzed Anwar, my host at the Kumbha Palace hotel who picked me up from the train staton.
"350 rupees"
"And how far would you be able to travel for that price in your own country?", he continued with a spark in his eyes.
"Hm, maybe 10 minutes? But we don't have cockroaches in the toilets!", I exclaimed.
"So what do you expect for that price?! Elephants?! Be glad that you got cockroaches and 6 hours of entertainment that cheaply!"
I can't argue with that...
"Well, how much did you pay for that train ride", quizzed Anwar, my host at the Kumbha Palace hotel who picked me up from the train staton.
"350 rupees"
"And how far would you be able to travel for that price in your own country?", he continued with a spark in his eyes.
"Hm, maybe 10 minutes? But we don't have cockroaches in the toilets!", I exclaimed.
"So what do you expect for that price?! Elephants?! Be glad that you got cockroaches and 6 hours of entertainment that cheaply!"
I can't argue with that...
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
help in suffering
The free veterinary clinic that has come to Pushkar this year is Help-in-Suffering, a charity organisation based in Jaipur. Over 70 animals (50 camels and 20 horses), were seen today, with problems ranging from fly infested wounds, mange, stomatitis and lameness to bloat and colic. I attached myself to the camel vet Pradeep like a leech, not really caring whether he liked it or not, and tried to suck him dry of his camelid knowledge. I didn't really contribute to anything more than looking pretty, but I learnt loads. :)
Monday, October 26, 2009
"holy" pushkar
Pushkar is so holy that any kind of meat, alcohol and drugs are prohibited. Even eggs haven't managed to pass the holiness test. However, according to a rather stoned Finnish guy, the "special lassi" he just had had was anything but holy...
holy pushkar
The sadhus in Pushkar are pissed off. Pushkar is one of the holiest places in India, and every year thousands and thousands of pilgrims travel, walk, crawl several weeks their way to this tiny little town in order to bathe in the holy lake during the full moon festival. There is only one small little problem: there is no water in the lake.
Due to years of drought, the water levels have been decreasing steadily, until the water became so polluted that the government of India decided to clean it up, for the neat sum of 60 MILLION USD. But how do you clean a lake, you might wonder? Well, according to the Indian way, you simply empty it of all the water, and dig it out. The logic of this is completely lost on me, but then again I spend my days with my arm up a cow's arse.
There are a few pools with water left along the former lake shores, but apparently the sadhus simply cannot share the same water as a woman, so they feel cheated out. They have now stated an ultimatum: if there is no water in the lake after two more days, they will leave. The world is holding it's breath.
finding a veterinarian in Pushkar is like finding a needle in a haystack
I spent the major part of the day trying to find the free veterinary clinic that I know is supposed to be here. As Indians don't like to admit that they don't know the answer to your question, I was sent on a wild goose chase around the fair grounds and then back again. Not until close to sunset did I finally manage to locate the charity organisation Help In Suffering, who were in the process of putting up their tent. Tomorrow I will do my very best to get my lazy arse out of bed before lunch time, and hopefully learn more about camels. I'm excited.
chai with the boys
According to some people, this year's fair has only attracted about 25% of it's usual numbers, mostly due to increased travel costs and the bad economy. Walking around the grounds it is hard to fathom another 75% camels and their owners, sprawled over the desert hills.On the very outskirt of the grounds a large group of traditional Rajasthani men have set up camp. Surprisingly, these men have been the most accommodating when it comes to having their picture taken, and today I was invited to sit down and share some chai with a group of colourful turbans. Within minutes I was the major attraction of the area, and suddenly I found myself surrounded by a multitude of other curious turbans who wanted to look at the white girl drinking tea with the boys.
Naturally, nobody knew a word of English, and my hindi only stretches to the extent of the head wiggle. So there we sat, wiggling and waggling our heads together, sipping our tea, and being rather content in the knowledge that despite the obvious language barrier and the cultural differences, a peculiar amity had been born. It was a truly magical moment.
the banana thief
As Brina had told me that the monkeys in Pushkar like to eat bananas out of your hand, I went and bought a bunch after breakfast this morning. I returned to my room, stepped out onto the patio, and before I even had time to blink this big male langur monkey jumped down behind me, made his way into the room, and snatched the bananas right out of my bag. We stood there looking at each other, the banana thief and I, before he gave me a huge, satisfied grin, and calmly rocked out, whilst clutching his trophies in his hand, knowing that he had won the battle.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
conversation
Normal conversation in India:
"Where you from?"
"Sweden"
"Oh, Australia, nice"
"No, Sweden, not Australia."
"Very nice Australia, what is your name?"
"Hanna"
"Oh, Julie, nice"
Now I just say I'm from Timbuktu. It usually produces a puzzled frown, and during that fraction of a second it takes them trying to localize Timbuktu on their mental map, I have already made my escape far far away....
"Where you from?"
"Sweden"
"Oh, Australia, nice"
"No, Sweden, not Australia."
"Very nice Australia, what is your name?"
"Hanna"
"Oh, Julie, nice"
Now I just say I'm from Timbuktu. It usually produces a puzzled frown, and during that fraction of a second it takes them trying to localize Timbuktu on their mental map, I have already made my escape far far away....
Shantaram
I'm currently reading "Shantaram", a semi-true story written by the Australian ex-heroin addict and bank robber Gregory David Roberts, who managed to escaped a high security prison in Australia and fled to Bombay in the beginning of the eighties. In Bombay he became known under the pseudonym "Linbaba", (which by the way is a revered reference to the penis), learnt how to speak Hindi and Mahrati, lived and set up a free health clinic in the sprawling slums, worked with the local mafia, was tortured in Indian prison, acted in Bollywood movies, and fought with the Mujahideen in Afghanistan and other wars, before finally being caught in Germany and sent back to prison. Amongst other things.
In one chapter, Linbaba describes how he discovered the secrets behind, and learnt how to master, the Indian head wiggle. This particular custom of wiggling and waggling your head can mean "yes"or "no" or "I have noticed your presence and you are my brother". And everything in between.
So today I decided to try it for myself: every time I was approached to buy some goods, I just wiggled my head, snapped a short "nahi", and kept on walking. And I don't know if I'm maybe just imagining it, but it really felt like it was the key to a magic kingdom, a world where I was left to my own devices and not bothered anymore. I think I even heard someone ask me if I lived in India!
After this little triumph, I've been jerking my head in that fluid motion more or less constantly. The only downside is that it is making me nauseous, but it is a price I'm willing to pay.
In one chapter, Linbaba describes how he discovered the secrets behind, and learnt how to master, the Indian head wiggle. This particular custom of wiggling and waggling your head can mean "yes"or "no" or "I have noticed your presence and you are my brother". And everything in between.
So today I decided to try it for myself: every time I was approached to buy some goods, I just wiggled my head, snapped a short "nahi", and kept on walking. And I don't know if I'm maybe just imagining it, but it really felt like it was the key to a magic kingdom, a world where I was left to my own devices and not bothered anymore. I think I even heard someone ask me if I lived in India!
After this little triumph, I've been jerking my head in that fluid motion more or less constantly. The only downside is that it is making me nauseous, but it is a price I'm willing to pay.
negotiations
When I finally managed to get my lazy arse to the fairgrounds, it was already late afternoon. I got quickly irritated by all the people who wanted money when I pet their camels, a group of cheeky chaps even tried to make me pay 100 rupees for watching a stallion covering a reluctant mare, whose sharp kicks quickly dispersed the group of men involved in the procedure.
However, after a tip from some other tourists, I invested in a pack of Indian cigarettes, and went over to the other hill, where the people were supposed to be friendlier. I was surprised to see that this was really the case, even those most men still completely ignored me when I asked if I could take a picture. Other times they refused flat out, despite having had a huge camera lens thrust in their face just seconds before, by a, male, foreign photographer.
A few of them got very cheerful when I produced the beedies out of my pocket, and a couple of men even beckoned me over again to hand me back the matches I had forgotten earlier. Still, even though they treated me as their new best friend, as far as I know they could have been saying what a tart I was.
no monkey business
Today I woke up with a migraine from hell. With a throbbing head, I stumbled out of bed to go to my bathroom, only to find my patio occupied by a family of monkeys, who froze mid-motion at the sight of my disheveled appearance. For a few seconds we stared at each other, carefully studying the other for any signs of danger, before the monkeys decided that I posed no threat to them and continued picking fleas off each-other. I sighed loudly, as I know that these animals aren't always as peaceful as they look. Once Brina was held hostage in her room for 30 minutes by a, probably rabid, rhesus macaw in Varanasi, who kept on baring his teeth menacingly and hurling himself at the door everytime she tried to peek out.
My migraine refused to subside, despite a cocktail of various headache medication, until I in a final act of desperation generously applied tiger balm all over my forehead. And voila, 10 minutes later I could open my eyes again. I think I'm gonna buy so much tiger balm now that the custom control in Sweden won't believe that it is for personal use only.
My migraine refused to subside, despite a cocktail of various headache medication, until I in a final act of desperation generously applied tiger balm all over my forehead. And voila, 10 minutes later I could open my eyes again. I think I'm gonna buy so much tiger balm now that the custom control in Sweden won't believe that it is for personal use only.
playing with fire 3
I live in a hotel just on the shores of Pushkar lake. The accomodation is fairly modest, but as long as I get my own bathroom and I don't see any cockroaches I'm pretty ok with it. Last night, after a long tiring day, I was more than ready for my hot shower. I switched on the water boiler and waited. Nothing. No hot water. I waited a little longer. Still no hot water. Instead a sharp, pungent smell started to fill the room, the smell of burning plastic. I looked around the room to find the source, but all I could see was bare light bulbs. A few more minute went by, and the smell only grew stronger. Maybe it is coming from the outside, I thought, as the way of disposing plastic in India is to burn it.
Finally I went down to the reception to ask if they could do anything about the water. The hotel manager came into the room, took a quick sniff of the acrid smell, and turned around to me with a slightly frantic look in his eyes.
"Er, you get different room, ok? Something wrong with boiler I think, yes", he said and ushered me to a much larger room, with a private little patio between the room and the bathroom.
"Look, this boiler working, now you no problem hot shower, ok?"
I finally realised that there must have been a meltdown in the electrical circuits of the other room's hot water boiler, and that I had been a bit too close to electrocution for my own liking.
I couldn't help but feel slightly apprehensive when taking my hot shower, not taking my eyes from the socket just inches away from the shower head. Even in India, turning your hotel guests to cinder is considered a bad thing.
However, that is probably something you have to expect for a 7 dollar room...
Finally I went down to the reception to ask if they could do anything about the water. The hotel manager came into the room, took a quick sniff of the acrid smell, and turned around to me with a slightly frantic look in his eyes.
"Er, you get different room, ok? Something wrong with boiler I think, yes", he said and ushered me to a much larger room, with a private little patio between the room and the bathroom.
"Look, this boiler working, now you no problem hot shower, ok?"
I finally realised that there must have been a meltdown in the electrical circuits of the other room's hot water boiler, and that I had been a bit too close to electrocution for my own liking.
I couldn't help but feel slightly apprehensive when taking my hot shower, not taking my eyes from the socket just inches away from the shower head. Even in India, turning your hotel guests to cinder is considered a bad thing.
However, that is probably something you have to expect for a 7 dollar room...
Saturday, October 24, 2009
more pictures
I'm putting up the majority of my pictures on flickr, so if you feel like wading through over a thousand of pictures from India, New Zealand and South America, then be my guest. :)
many many pictures
many many pictures
small world
Last night when I came back to my hotel in Jodhpur, I was to my surprise met by the young man who had sold me the Kashmir shawls earlier in the afternoon. He looked confused and blinked a few times.
"What are you doing here?'
"I live here, what are YOU doing here?"
"I live here too, my brothers are running the hotel".
We looked at each other suspiciously for a while, and then started to laugh; Jodhpur might be a small town with "only" 800 000 inhabitants, but it shouldn't be THAT small.
Later on I made another, less pleasant, aquaintance with the drunk, who had accosted Brina and me THREE times in Jaisalmer with the words, "I come from Jodhpur, if you see me there you buy me a beer ok?". This very same little man jumped out of the shadows just as I was on my way back from the clock tower, "I come from Jaisalmer, where are you from?", he blurted, thankfully not realising that we had already met way too many times before.
"What are you doing here?'
"I live here, what are YOU doing here?"
"I live here too, my brothers are running the hotel".
We looked at each other suspiciously for a while, and then started to laugh; Jodhpur might be a small town with "only" 800 000 inhabitants, but it shouldn't be THAT small.
Later on I made another, less pleasant, aquaintance with the drunk, who had accosted Brina and me THREE times in Jaisalmer with the words, "I come from Jodhpur, if you see me there you buy me a beer ok?". This very same little man jumped out of the shadows just as I was on my way back from the clock tower, "I come from Jaisalmer, where are you from?", he blurted, thankfully not realising that we had already met way too many times before.
filth
I am dirty, filthy and covered with grime and dust. My white shirt is now almost the colour of sand, and I think I actually walked around half the day with black smears on my face, without anyone mentioning it. I have given up even trying to look pretty, and one would have thought that looking like having being dragged through a muddy field would've been the perfect disguise for a woman travelling on your own in India, but no; somehow the local men see through all the muck and STILL treat me as either a juicy steak to be devoured, or a lesser being whose presence doesn't even deserve to be acknowledged. I am pretty tired of being a woman right now.
Pushkar camel fair
Pushkar is normally a sleepy little town of 13 000 inhabitants. But once a year, depending on the lunar calender, the town suddenly swells to engulf 200.000 tourists, pilgrims, livestock traders and the un-avoidable crazies and hippies, who have all come to witness and celebrate the Camel fair, an event not found anywhere else in the world.
An estimate of 50 000 camels take camp in the desert outside the city, rulefully chewing their cud and ignoring the commotion they create, whilst their owners haggle and barter and socialise, selling and displaying their best livestock. Some camels have even been shaved and decorated in elaborate patterns.
During the week, the camels gradually disappear back into the desert, and the Pushkar fair transforms into a "normal" festival, attracting religious hindus and pilgrims who come here to bathe in the holy waters of the (almost un-existing) lake, culminating in the celebration of the full moon.
The fair doesn't officially commence until Monday, but already today the desert outside of the town was full with camels and serious looking Rajasthani men in their turbans, not to mention tourists who's camera lenses tried to capture the scenery through all the dust. Naturally, I was one of them. I know that there are supposed to be at least 2 free veterinary clinics present at the fair, but I failed to find any of them. And as this is India, I seriously doubt that there is a "tourist office" present anywhere around.
public bus
Today I had my first experience of trying to board a public bus. After 5 hours, 1 auto-rickshaw journey and a bladder on the point of bursting, I finally arrived at the Ajmer bus stand, from where I was supposed to catch the 9 rupee public bus to Pushkar. At first, I stood in line to buy a ticket like all the other good little foreigners, but after a tip from a helpful local, I realised that getting on that bus was going to be a fight for your life.
As soon as the bus arrived, a sea of small Indian bodies emerged out of no-where, and started pushing their way onto the bus without waiting for the passengers onboard to descend. A few simian-like men even managed to squirm their way in through the windows, almost 2 metres off the ground. Women, men, children, old people, young people - there was no mercy. I decided to stand my ground and pushed my way into the crowd, looking for an opportunity to catch hold of the bus frame.
Suddenly I was sucked into the bus, lifted off my feet by this merciless vortex of bodies, and without really actually stepping UP onto the bus, I found myself at the very front, trying to find a place where to place my backpack. A little window opened from where the driver was shielded by the pleb by a sturdy wall, and once again strong hands pulled me through a small opening, placing me on the VIP seats next to the driver.
Outside I saw the confused faces of the other foreigners, who had all failed to board the bus. I couldn't help but feeling a flash of pride and victory. To finish it all off, I got to descend the bus by jumping 2 metres onto the hard concrete from the driver's window, getting a cheer from the locals.
Next time I think I'll just pay for the bloody taxi.
As soon as the bus arrived, a sea of small Indian bodies emerged out of no-where, and started pushing their way onto the bus without waiting for the passengers onboard to descend. A few simian-like men even managed to squirm their way in through the windows, almost 2 metres off the ground. Women, men, children, old people, young people - there was no mercy. I decided to stand my ground and pushed my way into the crowd, looking for an opportunity to catch hold of the bus frame.
Suddenly I was sucked into the bus, lifted off my feet by this merciless vortex of bodies, and without really actually stepping UP onto the bus, I found myself at the very front, trying to find a place where to place my backpack. A little window opened from where the driver was shielded by the pleb by a sturdy wall, and once again strong hands pulled me through a small opening, placing me on the VIP seats next to the driver.
Outside I saw the confused faces of the other foreigners, who had all failed to board the bus. I couldn't help but feeling a flash of pride and victory. To finish it all off, I got to descend the bus by jumping 2 metres onto the hard concrete from the driver's window, getting a cheer from the locals.
Next time I think I'll just pay for the bloody taxi.
indian traffic
I didn't get my driver's license until the ripe age of 28. However, I like to think of myself as a pretty aggressive driver: I have battled the one-way streets of London, zig-zagged my way through 8 lanes of Southern Californian traffic, and I've done quite a few risky overtakes. But I've never ever before witnessed THREE lorries/buses trying to overtake a car all at the same time, not caring that they're heading for a full frontal collision with the on-coming traffic.
The 5 hour bus journey from Jodhpur to Ajmer Indian was a perfect example of Indian traffic in it's prime. A caravan of lorries and buses carrying livestock, goods. petrol and people, all trying to race each other, like kids on a fair ground, driving on the road, beside the road, and on the other side of the road. I lost count of how many times the bus swerved in and out of the lane, evading cows and pedestrians and the odd brave motorcycle, slamming on the brakes with just seconds to spare.
In India, there is only one rule when it comes to driving: the biggest vehicle has the right-away, ALWAYS.
I think that those few hours shortened my life span with a good few years.
The 5 hour bus journey from Jodhpur to Ajmer Indian was a perfect example of Indian traffic in it's prime. A caravan of lorries and buses carrying livestock, goods. petrol and people, all trying to race each other, like kids on a fair ground, driving on the road, beside the road, and on the other side of the road. I lost count of how many times the bus swerved in and out of the lane, evading cows and pedestrians and the odd brave motorcycle, slamming on the brakes with just seconds to spare.
In India, there is only one rule when it comes to driving: the biggest vehicle has the right-away, ALWAYS.
I think that those few hours shortened my life span with a good few years.
Friday, October 23, 2009
jodhpur - pushkar
Tomorrow I'm leaving Jodhpur for Pushkar and the Camel Fair, yay! I'm really excited about the camels, but very bummed that Brina won't be able to make it, as she has come down with a high fever, nausea and vomiting. (Dengue fever?) So far I haven't had any signs of illness, but I think it is just a matter of time really. Give me a few days drinking out of the Ganges and I'm sure my immune system will be begging for mercy.
This means that I won't be seeing Brina anymore, which sucks, because she is going back to US before I return from Udaipur, and I leave India the day before she is supposed to return. :(
In Jodhpur I spent my first night at the Haveli Guest house, which is one of the snazzier hotels in town, but the next two subsequent nights I've stayed at the charming, and less expensive, Laxmi Nivas just next doors, a chilled hippie hotel run by three Indian brothers in their twenties. One even calls himself Romeo, which cracks me up for some reason. So far I haven't seen even one cockroach, something tells me that this luck won't last for very long.
This means that I won't be seeing Brina anymore, which sucks, because she is going back to US before I return from Udaipur, and I leave India the day before she is supposed to return. :(
In Jodhpur I spent my first night at the Haveli Guest house, which is one of the snazzier hotels in town, but the next two subsequent nights I've stayed at the charming, and less expensive, Laxmi Nivas just next doors, a chilled hippie hotel run by three Indian brothers in their twenties. One even calls himself Romeo, which cracks me up for some reason. So far I haven't seen even one cockroach, something tells me that this luck won't last for very long.
the blue houses of Jodhpur
I've now found out why the houses in Jodhpur are painted blue: apparently the colour blue means good luck, and is also the colour of the Brahmins, Indias highest caste. So the Brahmins were the only one's allowed to paint their houses blue. However, to create the paint limestone was added in the mix, and limestone keeps the mosquitos away. So a tripple whammy for the Brahmins then.
bye bye money
Lately I feel like I'm throwing money around me as if it were paper: only in the past 12 hours I've spent over 300 USD on plane tickets within India (I am pretty content with the 20-hour train experience I've had so far, and I don't need another one, thank you very much), and I've bought 2 kashmir/pashmina shawls for something close to a years pay for the average Indian. (but more comparable to a coffee and a sandwhich at the Espresso House in Sweden).
Without having asked for it, I was toured around Jodhpurs old chaotic and crazy alleyways by this dashing young muslim gentleman, who owned a shop selling Indian spices. Naturally, I told him very early on about my husband (we've been married for two years now, and oh - he's a police man by the way), just so that he wouldn't think that I wasn't a respectable woman. (hmmm..)
I was shown some cool old temples, the ancient perfume market (where I bought some lovely smelling neroli oil (for 3 USD) and then I was taken to the Maharani Art Exporters, an 8-story building full of fabrics of all shapes and kind. This little heaven of textiles both sells and makes textiles for the likes of Armani, Kenzo, Donna Karen etc etc, and they claim to have over 10 000 different items. I was even shown a picture of Richard Gere buying 108 pieces of a Kenzo bedspread. Now, this might have all been a part of an elaborate scam to lure tourists spend 50 USD on something worth only a tenth of the price, but I really don't care anymore: the same items would have fetched an arm and a leg back home. And did I buy any spices from my benevolent guide? Hell no! The way I see it, he got a free English lesson, a sneaky look up my skirt when I was going upstairs, and I even gave him a free veterinary lecture on the signs of Rabies in animals. So technically, he should have paid me 100 USD.
Without having asked for it, I was toured around Jodhpurs old chaotic and crazy alleyways by this dashing young muslim gentleman, who owned a shop selling Indian spices. Naturally, I told him very early on about my husband (we've been married for two years now, and oh - he's a police man by the way), just so that he wouldn't think that I wasn't a respectable woman. (hmmm..)
I was shown some cool old temples, the ancient perfume market (where I bought some lovely smelling neroli oil (for 3 USD) and then I was taken to the Maharani Art Exporters, an 8-story building full of fabrics of all shapes and kind. This little heaven of textiles both sells and makes textiles for the likes of Armani, Kenzo, Donna Karen etc etc, and they claim to have over 10 000 different items. I was even shown a picture of Richard Gere buying 108 pieces of a Kenzo bedspread. Now, this might have all been a part of an elaborate scam to lure tourists spend 50 USD on something worth only a tenth of the price, but I really don't care anymore: the same items would have fetched an arm and a leg back home. And did I buy any spices from my benevolent guide? Hell no! The way I see it, he got a free English lesson, a sneaky look up my skirt when I was going upstairs, and I even gave him a free veterinary lecture on the signs of Rabies in animals. So technically, he should have paid me 100 USD.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
playing with fire 2
As the altruistic person I am I have brought my own water filter/purifier instead of contributing to India's massive waste problem by buying plastic water bottles. The filter contains a carbon filter, iodine resin and a cyst catcher, and is supposed to kill viruses, bacteria and protozoa. Or at least this is the theory. This technically means that I am drinking water out of the tap, or filling my bottle up from various "public" taps. Hell, for 100 USD I'm expecting to be able to drink the water of the Ganges!
So everytime I take a hefty drink I feel like I'm living on the edge... Oh the dare-devil that I am.
So everytime I take a hefty drink I feel like I'm living on the edge... Oh the dare-devil that I am.
my future is in your hands
I am a fairly sensible person. I have a scientific mind, and often need to have a logical and rational explanation for most things. Therefore I cannot fathom my secret penchant for all kinds of fortune telling, as this whole genre goes against my instincts of rhyme and reason.
I've had my horoscope cast various times, by different people on the internet, and I still get disappointed when things don't really happen as foretold.
Everywhere I go I try to look up a local fortune teller of some kind. I have had my future read in Coca leaves in La Paz, and I've had an old witch doctor in Bolivia put a "good charm" on me, which interestingly included him placing two candles down my bra, and tying yarn around my various limbs, copping a feel whilst he was at it. As I didn't want this scary old witch doctor to put a hex on me, I went along with his little game until he started to insist on the need for rubbing oil all over my body and giving me kisses for "good luck". (ehr, no). As I've had terribly bad luck in love every since (well, and before as well to be honest), I've always wondered if the old goat didn't hex me anyway, as a punishment for putting my foot down.
Up at the Jodhpur fort there was a palm reader available for consult. Naturally I couldn't resist this opportunity. I only told him my name and date and location of birth etc, before he started to spin his magic on me. Note that he knew nothing about my profession, marital status or similar.
I was told that I have problems with depression (check), migraines (check), and upper gastric issues (check). I am dominant (no shit, Sherlock), ambitious, critical, organised and only take calculated risks (check, check, check and check). I will suffer from high blood pressure and heart disease after I'm 45 (heart disease run in the family), but I will live until well over 80. (most of my grandparents have reached a high age). My work life changed for the better around when I was 26 (started vet school), and I had an economical boom at 30 (starting to work as a vet). I will have gradual increased success at work, and more money coming along at 34-35, but my major time of prosperity will be when I'm 42.
So far so good. On the love life part though, the one that I'm REALLY interested in, the palmist was slightly more evasive. I had had a crush at 16 (who hasn't), I had a love in my mid twenties (nope, early twenties), at 29 (yes = bad), at 31 (yes = bad) and I would find someone when I'm 33. If things don't work out with this person I will have another love interest at 35/36 years of age, or at 39. When I tried to push the subject and asked whether the relationships would be happy or not, the clever little man told me, "ah, I can only read about you, not about anyone else, so it all depends on the two of you together". Clever, very clever.
And apparently I am fertile. Who would have known.
So now I guess all I have to do is to sit back and wait until next year when I'm 33. And if things don't turn out as planned, I will hop on the first plane to Jodhpur and demand my money back.
I've had my horoscope cast various times, by different people on the internet, and I still get disappointed when things don't really happen as foretold.
Everywhere I go I try to look up a local fortune teller of some kind. I have had my future read in Coca leaves in La Paz, and I've had an old witch doctor in Bolivia put a "good charm" on me, which interestingly included him placing two candles down my bra, and tying yarn around my various limbs, copping a feel whilst he was at it. As I didn't want this scary old witch doctor to put a hex on me, I went along with his little game until he started to insist on the need for rubbing oil all over my body and giving me kisses for "good luck". (ehr, no). As I've had terribly bad luck in love every since (well, and before as well to be honest), I've always wondered if the old goat didn't hex me anyway, as a punishment for putting my foot down.
Up at the Jodhpur fort there was a palm reader available for consult. Naturally I couldn't resist this opportunity. I only told him my name and date and location of birth etc, before he started to spin his magic on me. Note that he knew nothing about my profession, marital status or similar.
I was told that I have problems with depression (check), migraines (check), and upper gastric issues (check). I am dominant (no shit, Sherlock), ambitious, critical, organised and only take calculated risks (check, check, check and check). I will suffer from high blood pressure and heart disease after I'm 45 (heart disease run in the family), but I will live until well over 80. (most of my grandparents have reached a high age). My work life changed for the better around when I was 26 (started vet school), and I had an economical boom at 30 (starting to work as a vet). I will have gradual increased success at work, and more money coming along at 34-35, but my major time of prosperity will be when I'm 42.
So far so good. On the love life part though, the one that I'm REALLY interested in, the palmist was slightly more evasive. I had had a crush at 16 (who hasn't), I had a love in my mid twenties (nope, early twenties), at 29 (yes = bad), at 31 (yes = bad) and I would find someone when I'm 33. If things don't work out with this person I will have another love interest at 35/36 years of age, or at 39. When I tried to push the subject and asked whether the relationships would be happy or not, the clever little man told me, "ah, I can only read about you, not about anyone else, so it all depends on the two of you together". Clever, very clever.
And apparently I am fertile. Who would have known.
So now I guess all I have to do is to sit back and wait until next year when I'm 33. And if things don't turn out as planned, I will hop on the first plane to Jodhpur and demand my money back.
survival instincts
Ever since I was 4 or 5 years old I have been a notorious nail biter. I have tried every trick in the book, and every possible foul tasting nail varnish existing to man, with little success.
It has become such a habit that I'm seldom aware of doing it, contrary to popular belief I don't chew on my nails when I'm nervous, it actually happens mostly when I'm bored.
Only on one occasion have I refrained from biting my nails for an extended period of time. This happened when I was lambing for 3 weeks. There was just something fundamentally WRONG about putting my fingers in my mouth after having spent the major part of the day with my hands up a sheep vagina, getting covered in pee, poo, blood and various genital secretions.
Funnily enough I haven't been biting on my nails since my arrival in India. So somewhere very very deep down inside of me, there must live a smart person.
playing with fire
I've spent the afternoon walking around the alleyways of Jodhpurs vibrant old city. There are motorcycles, rickshaws, camels, cows, people, people and some more people everywhere. The majority of shops tend to specialize in one particular thing only, for example plastic bags, or tin cans. The shop next doors will be selling incense. The one across the street might be trading ceramic pots etc etc etc. It is fascinating to watch the Indians practice their craft with skillful hands. I can't imagine having to spend my life doing the same thing, day after day, month after month, year after year. But this is the crude reality to the majority of Indians, and not a choice.
One person who has turned his trade into a huge success is the omelette man, who for 36 years has been making omelettes from a stand next to the Jodhpur clocktower, and is mentioned in the Lonely Planet. In fact, his address is "The omelette shop, near clock tower, Jodhpur".
It might be the world's smallest restaurant: one plastic chair and a rickety plastic table, placed out in front of a sizzling frying pan. The masala cheese omelette was delicious, I will however probably find out pretty soon if this was a risk worth taking, or if I once again have been playing with fire...
cat calls
I am getting used to being stared at by now, in fact I hardly even notice the cat calls and the leery jeers unless they are particularly aggressive. Young kids have an innocent curiosity about them, they often ask my name and seem happy just to get a smile and hello back; but as soon as the boys have turned into teens their tone of voice suggests a completely different origin of interest. I just ignore them and keep on walking. A lot of the times a group of women will look at me, smile, and then start giggling when I return their greetings. I still haven't figured out if they're saying "oh, look at the idiot" or "oh, look how pretty she is". It is probably something in between.
About as efficient as a panda trying to find a mate in the bamboo forest
I'm absolutely amazed at the amount of paper work that you have to fill out in order to get anything done here in India. To get a pay-as-you-go SIM card for your phone, you need your passport, two photographs, your Indian address and your Indian phone number (or something equally ridiculous, catch-22 anyone?!). After having crawled through all this procedure, which by the way takes half a day, the assholes don't even bother to send in your enrollment form, so the phone company promptly disconnects your services and recommends that you contact the seller, which in my case is a tiny shitty little shop in Delhi. Which is not really helping when I am in Jodhpur, 1000 and 1000 of kms away. AAARRRGGGGHHHHH!
Today I decided to be a brave woman and visit a bank in order to exchange some USD to Rupees. First I had to walk 45 minutes to the less "quaint" areas of town, then I filled in some paperwork regarding my passport, my address, my favourite colour, my shoe size and who I last slept with. (well, it wasn't far off). Then I sat there watching these two stone faced gentlemen shuffling my papers back and forth between them for about 30 minutes. At one point I tried to catch their attention by asking if this would take long, just to recieve a glare and a "no", followed by another 20 minutes of paper shuffling, interrupted by the occasional thud of a determined stamp.
Then the bankman took me to a third person, who also had to sign the papers, and then a FOURTH person who finally gave me the actual money.
"This is for your protection", the bankman said. "It is to make sure there is no corruption"
Ehhh, yeeesss... Well, here's a thought: since India is one of the most corrupt countries in the world, it obviously isn't working. I think I from here on will use the ATM's. If and when I happen to find one. But that will be a different story.
Today I decided to be a brave woman and visit a bank in order to exchange some USD to Rupees. First I had to walk 45 minutes to the less "quaint" areas of town, then I filled in some paperwork regarding my passport, my address, my favourite colour, my shoe size and who I last slept with. (well, it wasn't far off). Then I sat there watching these two stone faced gentlemen shuffling my papers back and forth between them for about 30 minutes. At one point I tried to catch their attention by asking if this would take long, just to recieve a glare and a "no", followed by another 20 minutes of paper shuffling, interrupted by the occasional thud of a determined stamp.
Then the bankman took me to a third person, who also had to sign the papers, and then a FOURTH person who finally gave me the actual money.
"This is for your protection", the bankman said. "It is to make sure there is no corruption"
Ehhh, yeeesss... Well, here's a thought: since India is one of the most corrupt countries in the world, it obviously isn't working. I think I from here on will use the ATM's. If and when I happen to find one. But that will be a different story.
jodhpur
I spent the morning at the magnificent Meherangurgh Fort, which towers all over Jodhpur. This fort dates back to the 1500-century, and has never been seiged. There are however marks after cannon balls at one of the gates, and the main gate has fierce looking spikes protruding perpendicularly, as a protection against elephants. Inside the fort the view of the blue roofs below is nothing less than breathtaking, and even the palace itself is a formidable display of the opulence of Jodhpurs former rulers.
For some strange reason, a lot of Indians like to have their picture taken with a white person. According to Brina, this is considered kosher if there are other women in the picture. However, if an Indian man asks if he can take a picture of you, or with you, he could just as well have been groping you. I therefore spent half the morning trying to shield my face from the countless mobile cameras that were pointed at me from groups of adolescent men. Unfortunately, the little buggers were faster than me most of the time. I'm trying to think how my "husband" would react to all this, but then remembering that I actually still haven't even given him a name.
20-second Hindi lesson
As a remarkable amount of people in India speak English, (and a lot of them actually speak it better than the Indians I've met in Britain!) there really is little need to know Hindi.
However, these two words have proven to be life savers: nahi = NO, and bas = stop.
Apart from that, all you need to do is smile.
However, these two words have proven to be life savers: nahi = NO, and bas = stop.
Apart from that, all you need to do is smile.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
first impression of India
Someone, (very clever) once described India as being designed by a 12-year old boy. It is all very loud, and bright and chaotic and funny and dirty and fascinating and exhausting and a bit more loud again. If you have a problem with digesting a thousand and one things attacking all your sense at the same time, then just don't go to India. But if it doesn't bother you to get hit by rickshaws, slipping on cow shit, stepping in urine of unknown origin, getting stared at, having people tugging on your sleeves, trying to think through all the noise, almost suffocating on diesel fumes, marvelling at beautiful women in colourful saris, admiring the turbans of the men, getting hassled, jostled and scammed - then India is your place.
It takes a day to get anywhere, then it takes another day to recover. If I could describe India in one word it would be "exhausting". But so far I'm loving it. Ask me again in four weeks time though...
It takes a day to get anywhere, then it takes another day to recover. If I could describe India in one word it would be "exhausting". But so far I'm loving it. Ask me again in four weeks time though...
alone in Jodhpur
As Brina has gone back to Delhi, I'm on my own for the next few days. So it is going to be just me and you, my three readers, from now on (hi mum, hi dad, hi Irina!) You are my only friends.
private space, hello?
So living in one of the most densly populated countries in the world, you'd think that the Indians had learnt how to respect each other's private space, like in for example Japan. But oh no. Here, if you feel like listening to some music, you just turn on your portable transistor radio, never mind if the rest of the bus don't feel like suffering through Indian make-shift techno. If you need to spit - why not do so out of the window, never mind if your saliva drenches someone below. And if you need to discard your plastic bottle, just throw it out of the bus window, never mind that it might hit the person sitting two places further down straight in the face.
I was 2 centimeters from seeing the news flashing before my eyes: "Unknowing tourist gets killed in freak accident by a flying plastic bottle". It would be either that or "unsuspecting tourist gets killed by a cow who got tired of posing for photographs". This is the cow that decided to charge at Brina about 2 seconds after this picture was taken (she was closer than I):
I was 2 centimeters from seeing the news flashing before my eyes: "Unknowing tourist gets killed in freak accident by a flying plastic bottle". It would be either that or "unsuspecting tourist gets killed by a cow who got tired of posing for photographs". This is the cow that decided to charge at Brina about 2 seconds after this picture was taken (she was closer than I):
getting scammed
I have now been in India for a week, and I've only seen ONE beggar. Apparently people don't really beg here, instead they scam you. Anywhere, everywhere and all the time. Fair enough, to a westerner it is only a matter of a few dollars here and there, but it is a question of principle.
The scams can be anything as simple as trying to get you to pay 200 rupees for each piece of your luggage (the bus ticket itself cost 200 rps), to more elaborate scams where for example a kid persuades you to buy some milk and food (for let's say 150 rupees), but "no madame, I don't want your money", only to sell the groceries straight back to the shop as soon as you turn your gullible western ass.
Brina has learnt most of these tricks the hard way, but we've still been had a few times, paying twice the real price for a rickshaw or a scarf, or toilet paper etc etc.
Once Brina bought a bottle of water for this kid, who promptly started to run away as soon as he got the bottle in his hand. Brina tracked him all the way through the village, and just as he was about to hand over the bottle to the shop owner, she rushed out from her hiding place, opened up the cap and yelled "HA!" in the kid's face. Everyone, including the kid who just got caught red handed, started to laugh.
So even if you catch an Indian trying to scam you, he won't be very bothered by it. He will just shrug his shoulders, smile and go looking for another tourist to fool.
The scams can be anything as simple as trying to get you to pay 200 rupees for each piece of your luggage (the bus ticket itself cost 200 rps), to more elaborate scams where for example a kid persuades you to buy some milk and food (for let's say 150 rupees), but "no madame, I don't want your money", only to sell the groceries straight back to the shop as soon as you turn your gullible western ass.
Brina has learnt most of these tricks the hard way, but we've still been had a few times, paying twice the real price for a rickshaw or a scarf, or toilet paper etc etc.
Once Brina bought a bottle of water for this kid, who promptly started to run away as soon as he got the bottle in his hand. Brina tracked him all the way through the village, and just as he was about to hand over the bottle to the shop owner, she rushed out from her hiding place, opened up the cap and yelled "HA!" in the kid's face. Everyone, including the kid who just got caught red handed, started to laugh.
So even if you catch an Indian trying to scam you, he won't be very bothered by it. He will just shrug his shoulders, smile and go looking for another tourist to fool.
jaisalmer - jodhpur
Trying to get ANYWHERE in India is a matter of patience, patience and having a very stretchy bladder. A bus that is supposed to take 5 hours, with a rest/toilet break, is actually a 7 hour journey with no stops unless you're lucky and the bus gets a flat tire. It is often a choice of either not drinking any water, and risk getting dehydrated in the stifling heat, or quench your thirst, and risk a ruptured bladder. Essentially something between a rock and a hard place.
Brina and I travelled from Jaisalmer to Jodhpur today on the "tourist deluxe"- bus, thinking that that way we would a) leave on time, b) arrive on time; c) be able to pee during the journey. We were wrong, but oh so wrong. The "tourist deluxe" bus is in fact a slightly better quality bus with both seats and sleeper sections, but this doesn't really mean much in India: if the bus has 30 seats, then you have 45 people sitting and another 60 standing in the aisle.
We were the only foreigners on the bus, which seemed to amuse the rest of the, mostly male, company. They were staring at our faces, at our books, at our bags, and then repeating the procedure all over again. And I never thought that watching a white girl applying suncream on her face could be that fascinating, but apparently it is.
Brina and I travelled from Jaisalmer to Jodhpur today on the "tourist deluxe"- bus, thinking that that way we would a) leave on time, b) arrive on time; c) be able to pee during the journey. We were wrong, but oh so wrong. The "tourist deluxe" bus is in fact a slightly better quality bus with both seats and sleeper sections, but this doesn't really mean much in India: if the bus has 30 seats, then you have 45 people sitting and another 60 standing in the aisle.
We were the only foreigners on the bus, which seemed to amuse the rest of the, mostly male, company. They were staring at our faces, at our books, at our bags, and then repeating the procedure all over again. And I never thought that watching a white girl applying suncream on her face could be that fascinating, but apparently it is.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
small pieces of useless information
Fascinating fact 1: there is mobile phone EVERYWHERE in India, even in the remote desert of Thar.
Fascinating fact 2: A camel guide earns about $20 a month. A good camel costs $1000. Brina and I would apparently be worth 5 camels, compared to the 2 camels that a good Indian wife would be worth.
Fascinating fact 3: Indian cows seem to like munching on cardboard
Fascinating fact 2: A camel guide earns about $20 a month. A good camel costs $1000. Brina and I would apparently be worth 5 camels, compared to the 2 camels that a good Indian wife would be worth.
Fascinating fact 3: Indian cows seem to like munching on cardboard
Monday, October 19, 2009
camel safari
Today I got kissed by a camel named Johnnie Walker. I kid you not. Here is proof:
Instead of the standard 2-day camel safari trip, we opted for a one day version without the sleeping under the stars bit. (As I hate camping) We got picked up by our four legged friends at a nearby Oasis, and were then lulled through a boiling hot landscape of sand, sand and some more sand. Thankfully I had been clever enough to buy a scarf and a hat the day before, so I managed to pull off the "Lawrence of Arabia"-look to almost perfection.
As I have never ridden a camel before I was hoping to be able to go galopping a little bit, but unfortunately they only let us trot whilst tied together in a line. Apparently the camels like to run off into Pakistan otherwise, not stopping even at border control. And that is an experience that I can live without.
After several hours we finally reached some sanddunes. As the idiot I am, I tried to roll down along a dune, which only made me dirty and nauseous. Just don't do it.
We had dinner whilst the sun was setting, and suddenly a man appeared out of the middle of no-where selling COLD beer. A perfect end to a perfect day, even though I normally actually don't even drink beer!
Instead of the standard 2-day camel safari trip, we opted for a one day version without the sleeping under the stars bit. (As I hate camping) We got picked up by our four legged friends at a nearby Oasis, and were then lulled through a boiling hot landscape of sand, sand and some more sand. Thankfully I had been clever enough to buy a scarf and a hat the day before, so I managed to pull off the "Lawrence of Arabia"-look to almost perfection.
As I have never ridden a camel before I was hoping to be able to go galopping a little bit, but unfortunately they only let us trot whilst tied together in a line. Apparently the camels like to run off into Pakistan otherwise, not stopping even at border control. And that is an experience that I can live without.
After several hours we finally reached some sanddunes. As the idiot I am, I tried to roll down along a dune, which only made me dirty and nauseous. Just don't do it.
We had dinner whilst the sun was setting, and suddenly a man appeared out of the middle of no-where selling COLD beer. A perfect end to a perfect day, even though I normally actually don't even drink beer!
Jaisalmer
I have to say though, the train ride was totally worth it: Jaisalmer is probably one of the coolest places I've been to. The city centres around an old fort, which unlike the rest of the forts in India, hasn't been turned into a museum. This so called "living fort" is a hustling, bustling cacaphony of colours, smells, cows, narrow mazelike streets and doorways looking like they will take you to Shangri-La.
And so far I've been pleasantly surprised how friendly and helpful the Indians are. Even when you're not considering buying their hand-carwed camels.
the cockroach express to Jaisalmer
Ok, so any train/bus/car that makes 600 km in EIGHTEEN hours really shouldn't have the right to wear the title EXPRESS. Our train from Delhi to Jaisalmer was probably the slowet the train was actually pulled by two donkeys. Who manage to go backwards too, from time tost journey I have done in my life. Not only did we stop at every hut along the road, but I swear tha time.
The whole journey started out by us almost accidentally ending up in Bikaner instead of in Jaisalmer, because as the shining stars that we are, we just plonked our white asses in the first "3A"-class carriage that we saw, not realising that the train was to be divided later. Thankfully, a very helpful Indian gentleman sent us packing and running to the other end of the train, and this time we even double checked that our names were on the list that they slap next to the doors.
Passing by the train I nearly vomited from the stench coming from toilets of the "sleeper class" carriages. Note to self - if possible,always travel first class in India.
Because of the Diwali holiday the train was remarkably empty, or so we thought until 2 hours south of Delhi when the carriage was suddenly swamped with 50 army guys, who were undressing us with carnivorous eyes. They were staring at me as if I were a piece of uncured bacon, and at Brina as if she were a piece of very fine veal. Now, as we're talking about Hindu's here, who both rever the cow and tend to be vegetarian, you might get the picture.
I think I slept a total of 2 hours. The rest of the time I was giving anyone passing by the evil eye. When I wasn't trying to avoid using the toilets of course, which were actually not that bad smell wise. They did however host a fair amount of cockroaches, and albeit small as they were, I didn't really feel like hanging around to meet their parents.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
delhi - jaisalmer
Today Brina and I are catching a train to Jaisalmer in Rajasthan. It will take 16 hours. I'm not completely comfortable with being stuck on a train for that lenght of a time, but it seems like it is the only way to get ANYWHERE this weekend, as all the train tickets out of Delhi were sold out long time ago.
In Jaisalmer we'll try to arrange a short camel-safari trip, I'm totally aiming for a day trip because I absolutely hate camping and the idea of sleeping under the stars in a freezing desert appeals to me about just as much as swimming in a lake of crocodiles. Brina, who is made of much tougher steel than me, thinks those kind of things are fun. Yeah...
As this will be my first visit to the "real" India, I'm getting a bit nervous. I'm completely expecting to be robbed, drugged and ripped off at the first possible occasion. But what scares me the most is the thought of the toilets on the train, I mean, not even European trains have acceptable standards of cleanliness at the toilets, so I'm slightly concerned that I'll just sit there and rather letting my bladder rupture than go pee. It is mostly the smells I'm concerned about, my olfactory senses are quite sensitive and I easily tend to gag/vomit. Now, for someone who spends the majority of their day subject to the plethora of various animal excrements and their adjoining smells, this might seem like a strange thing to say. But for some unknown reason I don't have a problem getting covered with pee, poo, blood or similar - as long as it is from an animal. The human variety is however a completely different story... I shudder just thinking about it.
Matt has already warned me that yes, the toilets are bad and I'll probably get pee on myself regardless on how I do, but that Brina uses the toilets. Then again, she likes camping and thinks cockroaches are "cute", so I think Brina is disqualified for this discussion.
In Jaisalmer we'll try to arrange a short camel-safari trip, I'm totally aiming for a day trip because I absolutely hate camping and the idea of sleeping under the stars in a freezing desert appeals to me about just as much as swimming in a lake of crocodiles. Brina, who is made of much tougher steel than me, thinks those kind of things are fun. Yeah...
As this will be my first visit to the "real" India, I'm getting a bit nervous. I'm completely expecting to be robbed, drugged and ripped off at the first possible occasion. But what scares me the most is the thought of the toilets on the train, I mean, not even European trains have acceptable standards of cleanliness at the toilets, so I'm slightly concerned that I'll just sit there and rather letting my bladder rupture than go pee. It is mostly the smells I'm concerned about, my olfactory senses are quite sensitive and I easily tend to gag/vomit. Now, for someone who spends the majority of their day subject to the plethora of various animal excrements and their adjoining smells, this might seem like a strange thing to say. But for some unknown reason I don't have a problem getting covered with pee, poo, blood or similar - as long as it is from an animal. The human variety is however a completely different story... I shudder just thinking about it.
Matt has already warned me that yes, the toilets are bad and I'll probably get pee on myself regardless on how I do, but that Brina uses the toilets. Then again, she likes camping and thinks cockroaches are "cute", so I think Brina is disqualified for this discussion.
Friday, October 16, 2009
invitation
I have somehow managed to become "invited" to a traditional Indian wedding up in the Himalayas. It is Brina's driver from Jeevasharam who is getting married, an arranged wedding where the bride and groom only have met once before. Originally it was Brina and Matt who were invited, but since both of them are going to be in the US at the time, Brina bluntly asked her boss whether it would be considered rude to ask if I could come in their place (white person as white person = tomato, tomatoe...)
A quick exchanged in hindi between the boss and the groom followed, and then the boss turned over to me with an assuring smile, "yes, he would love to have you at his wedding, but you might not be able to stay at his house". All this time the poor groom looked terrified at the whole prospect.
If I'm going? Hell, yes! It is gonna be me and 600 Indians who don't speak a word of English. I will just smile, say namaste and show them the latest Bollywood moves. How could it possibly go wrong?!
A quick exchanged in hindi between the boss and the groom followed, and then the boss turned over to me with an assuring smile, "yes, he would love to have you at his wedding, but you might not be able to stay at his house". All this time the poor groom looked terrified at the whole prospect.
If I'm going? Hell, yes! It is gonna be me and 600 Indians who don't speak a word of English. I will just smile, say namaste and show them the latest Bollywood moves. How could it possibly go wrong?!
Being a vet in India
Today Brina and I went to her work, the Jeevasharam charity veterinary clinic in southern Delhi. As this is India, the vets there have to manage with a minimum of medications, surgical instruments and diagnostic equipment. A lot of the drugs we use in the western world of veterinary medicine, are just not possible to get hold of in India. And surgical sterility... is simply an issue of wishful thinking, not due to lack of effort, but because there are no reliable autoclaves to get hold of.
The clinic provides both basic and preventative care for all animals in the area, de-sexing the animals is a top priority due to the rapid spread of street dogs/cats/donkeys etc.
Unfortunately, the Indians don't believe in euthanasia, so instead of ending the suffering of a pet that has for example been hit by a car, has septiceamia or eaten something which gets stuck in their intestines (and later cause ruptured bowls), they let them die a slow and often very painful death. To western vets like Brina and myself, this is often very frustrating, because we don't like seeing animals suffering without being able to do anything about it.
I got to do a keyhole flank spay on a dog today, which was very interesting and rather messy, I don't like not seeing what I'm doing! A keyhole flank spay is something we never do in the west, because if something goes wrong, as in if you accidentally drop a blood vessel, you have very little chances of finding it again. It is an "oops" with a big "O". On the plus-side, the wound heals very quickly and the dogs can be released back onto the streets again after only 3 days, compared to 14 with a midline incision.
Next to the clinic was a pretty little hindu temple, with a big Kahuna statue of Shiva and of course - a cow. I just love cows.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
planning
I've spent the majority of the day recovering from my flight, then Brina took me to the local stores to get some food. As her little haven of a flat is located in one of Delhi's more fashionable areas, India hasn't really hit me full force yet. Tomorrow we're going to Brina's work, I'm hoping I might get the chance to do a flank spay on a dog, I've never done one of those before.
I've also enjoyed what I believe might be my very last salad here in India, I don't think other people BLEACH their vegetables for an hour the way Brina does, in order to kill all the germs and protozoa.
We've tried to do a rough outline of our travels for the next couple of weeks, nearly having a major fit at the inefficacy of the Indian train reservation system. Unfortunately both Brina and Matt have to leave for the States at the beginning of November, which means I'll have to tackle India on my own from there on. It might be...interesting...
I've also enjoyed what I believe might be my very last salad here in India, I don't think other people BLEACH their vegetables for an hour the way Brina does, in order to kill all the germs and protozoa.
We've tried to do a rough outline of our travels for the next couple of weeks, nearly having a major fit at the inefficacy of the Indian train reservation system. Unfortunately both Brina and Matt have to leave for the States at the beginning of November, which means I'll have to tackle India on my own from there on. It might be...interesting...
brina and matt
Let me introduce my hosts: Brina and Matt are both Americans, and originally come from Seattle. Brina and I attended vet school in London together, and we also shared a house for 3 years. She is currently trying to save the street dogs of Delhi more or less single-handedly, doing volunteer work at various clinics. Her husband Matt, is a diplomat at the American embassy, and as the super-intelligent creature he is, also fluent in Hindi. As you are.
But let's rewind this a little bit. About 2.5 years ago, Brina tells me that's she's going to Ireland in March for a week, with this great friend of hers from high school (who I had never heard of), and who's currently working at the American embassy in Pakistan, and isn't he cute?! She admits to have had a secret crush on him for years, but as they've always been in relationships with others, they've stayed just friends.
A few weeks later, on her return from Dublin, I pick Brina up from the airport. We haven't even left the Stansted area before she announces that she thinks she is in love and that Matt and her are probably getting married. I'm like "ooookay..., don't you think you might be jumping ahead of things just a tiny bit.". "No, he's the one, I know it". I leave the discussion at that, not really thinking more about it.
Now Ireland was their first "date". A month later, in April, after millions of phone calls and emails back and forth from UK to Pakistan, they meet up in Paris. Where Matt proposes to her by the banks of the Siene. That was their second date.
On their third date, in May, Brina and Matt went to Dubai for a long weekend of loooove.
And on their fourth date, in June, they got married in Istanbul, in front of a small crowd of family and friends who had flown over just for the occasion.
Now, for all of you who think that a relationship like this can never last, I hate to disappoint you, but Brina and Matt are still as bubbly about each other as when I first picked her up from that airport, and they aren't shy about publically declaring their love either. "Matt, you are the best husband in the world", I read on Brina's Facebook status. "Oh I cannot wait to get home to my beautiful wife", I see a few hours later. "Oh, hurry home, I miss you my fantastic husband".
Now, for a long time I thought that this was just a private joke between the two of them with the aim of driving their less fortunate, and single, friends insane. But no. The moment I walked into their kitchen here in Delhi I realised that their love is very, very real. On the fridge, there are little messages scribbled down on a whiteboard: "I love you more than life, my whole world revolves around you", "I cannot wait to go away to Borneo with you, my love", only to name a few.
Their story is almost better than a Bollywood movie, and it makes even a hardened cynic like myself believe in true love. However, I have to confess that I'm still secretly expecting for either of them to suddenly burst out singing and dancing, wriggling their hips and bellies, true Indian style. Something tells me I will be waiting for a long, long time.
But let's rewind this a little bit. About 2.5 years ago, Brina tells me that's she's going to Ireland in March for a week, with this great friend of hers from high school (who I had never heard of), and who's currently working at the American embassy in Pakistan, and isn't he cute?! She admits to have had a secret crush on him for years, but as they've always been in relationships with others, they've stayed just friends.
A few weeks later, on her return from Dublin, I pick Brina up from the airport. We haven't even left the Stansted area before she announces that she thinks she is in love and that Matt and her are probably getting married. I'm like "ooookay..., don't you think you might be jumping ahead of things just a tiny bit.". "No, he's the one, I know it". I leave the discussion at that, not really thinking more about it.
Now Ireland was their first "date". A month later, in April, after millions of phone calls and emails back and forth from UK to Pakistan, they meet up in Paris. Where Matt proposes to her by the banks of the Siene. That was their second date.
On their third date, in May, Brina and Matt went to Dubai for a long weekend of loooove.
And on their fourth date, in June, they got married in Istanbul, in front of a small crowd of family and friends who had flown over just for the occasion.
Now, for all of you who think that a relationship like this can never last, I hate to disappoint you, but Brina and Matt are still as bubbly about each other as when I first picked her up from that airport, and they aren't shy about publically declaring their love either. "Matt, you are the best husband in the world", I read on Brina's Facebook status. "Oh I cannot wait to get home to my beautiful wife", I see a few hours later. "Oh, hurry home, I miss you my fantastic husband".
Now, for a long time I thought that this was just a private joke between the two of them with the aim of driving their less fortunate, and single, friends insane. But no. The moment I walked into their kitchen here in Delhi I realised that their love is very, very real. On the fridge, there are little messages scribbled down on a whiteboard: "I love you more than life, my whole world revolves around you", "I cannot wait to go away to Borneo with you, my love", only to name a few.
Their story is almost better than a Bollywood movie, and it makes even a hardened cynic like myself believe in true love. However, I have to confess that I'm still secretly expecting for either of them to suddenly burst out singing and dancing, wriggling their hips and bellies, true Indian style. Something tells me I will be waiting for a long, long time.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Arrival: New Delhi
I have now landed in New Delhi, India. It is 5 am local time. I thought it was a bit exciting having to pass through a "health check", which basically consisted of answering either "yes" or "no" on a "have you got the piggy-flu"-form, and then walk in front of bored Indian officials with face masks and infra-red cameras measuring the body temperatue. I had to fight the urge to write "yes" just to see what would happen.
As I arrived in the middle of the night I haven't really managed to get a first impression of India yet, apart from noticing that it smells like in Sri Lanka. According to B, this is the smell of cow dung burning. It is not a totally unpleasant smell actually, and I think I'll just have to get used to it whether I like it or not.
It was great seeing B again, I don't think I've seen her since she and M got married on a roof top in Istanbul with the Blue Mosque as a backdrop 2 years ago. It was the most amazing wedding ever, and their love story is something worth making a movie about, and I might consider telling you all about it later when my brain isn't scrambled. Now it is time for bed.
Oh, and I think there is a high risk I might become a consumer of Bollywood movies. They contain enough escapism to even make JR Tolkien jealous, and more kitsch than I though was possible on this side of Elton John.
As I arrived in the middle of the night I haven't really managed to get a first impression of India yet, apart from noticing that it smells like in Sri Lanka. According to B, this is the smell of cow dung burning. It is not a totally unpleasant smell actually, and I think I'll just have to get used to it whether I like it or not.
It was great seeing B again, I don't think I've seen her since she and M got married on a roof top in Istanbul with the Blue Mosque as a backdrop 2 years ago. It was the most amazing wedding ever, and their love story is something worth making a movie about, and I might consider telling you all about it later when my brain isn't scrambled. Now it is time for bed.
Oh, and I think there is a high risk I might become a consumer of Bollywood movies. They contain enough escapism to even make JR Tolkien jealous, and more kitsch than I though was possible on this side of Elton John.
Gothenburg -New Delhi
Ok, procrastination time over. I have to go to the airport now. I think I have my passport...somewhere. I'm not yet fully aware that I'm actually doing this. It probably won't hit me until I land at New Delhi airport and go "holy F"...
spam filter
Now, for any of you feeling like commenting on this blog you are welcome to do so. I have however had to enable to "word verification"-function. The reason for this is because I got tired from the very persistent inviduals, who despite my protests, seem concerned that my penis is not of adequate size. You can all rest assured that it is.
not a child of the sun
Years of travelling has made me realise that it is just impossible trying to "blend in". I'm 1.70, of medium built and with a skin so pale that it would make Edward Cullen look like an extra from Baywatch in comparison. Wherever I go, I get oogled.
Now, I like my skin. It is very soft and supple and goes well will black clothes. But I have to admit that there is something slightly uncomfortable having six apple-sized Thai woman abandoning their work stations and rushing over to where you're standing in the lingerie section with a lacy bra in your hands, just to touch your arms and go "oooh" and "ahhh" and "so welly, welly white".
Being of the transparent kind I am also extremely sensitive to sunlight. EXTREMELY. I suffered from 2nd degree burns as a child and I have managed to get burnt even with SPF 100. I don't melt, but it is not far off. Most often the best solution is simply to stay out of the sun, or even better, don't go out at all. Unfortunately, this makes travelling slightly complicated, and I have therefore had to come up with ways to work around this "sun-issue". In Spain, I became a creature of the night. In California, I just never did any activities that required being outdoors. And in Bolivia, at 4000 metres, I simply bought an umbrella. This worked superbly, until it broke and I found myself in San Pedro de Atacama, Chile, a small oasis in one of the world's driest desert, desperately trying to describe what an umbrella was to the local shopmonger's. It didn't work that well. In India, well, we'll just have to see how I tackle this delicate little problem over there. I have sunscreen with SPF 50, sunglasses the size of a small country, white shirts covering my neck and arms, and I'm going to buy a safari hat as soon as I possibly can. I don't care if I look like and idiot, I'm gonna get stared at regardless.
Here's a picture of B and I, just to give you an idea. I'm actually even sporting a bit of a tan here.
Now, I like my skin. It is very soft and supple and goes well will black clothes. But I have to admit that there is something slightly uncomfortable having six apple-sized Thai woman abandoning their work stations and rushing over to where you're standing in the lingerie section with a lacy bra in your hands, just to touch your arms and go "oooh" and "ahhh" and "so welly, welly white".
Being of the transparent kind I am also extremely sensitive to sunlight. EXTREMELY. I suffered from 2nd degree burns as a child and I have managed to get burnt even with SPF 100. I don't melt, but it is not far off. Most often the best solution is simply to stay out of the sun, or even better, don't go out at all. Unfortunately, this makes travelling slightly complicated, and I have therefore had to come up with ways to work around this "sun-issue". In Spain, I became a creature of the night. In California, I just never did any activities that required being outdoors. And in Bolivia, at 4000 metres, I simply bought an umbrella. This worked superbly, until it broke and I found myself in San Pedro de Atacama, Chile, a small oasis in one of the world's driest desert, desperately trying to describe what an umbrella was to the local shopmonger's. It didn't work that well. In India, well, we'll just have to see how I tackle this delicate little problem over there. I have sunscreen with SPF 50, sunglasses the size of a small country, white shirts covering my neck and arms, and I'm going to buy a safari hat as soon as I possibly can. I don't care if I look like and idiot, I'm gonna get stared at regardless.
Here's a picture of B and I, just to give you an idea. I'm actually even sporting a bit of a tan here.
the woody
B called me at 4 am just to give me the lastest information, and some carefully placed "head-up"-hints. As she has known me for several years, she knows of my "tendency" to worry. In fact, it is not even a tendency, it is whole new character: The Woody Allen.
My worrying streches the whole abyss from "will he call me?" to "will I be seated next to a man with horrible peridontitis who insists on yawning and burping all the way from Singapore to Europe, forcing me to breathe through a glass of orange juice for 12 hours?" ´
I don't like uncertainty. Most of the time I reside somewhere in the limbo-land between dwelling on past nostalgia and trying to predict the future. If I had a crystal ball it would be in need of constant repair. I rarely live "now", seize the day and all that malarkey. The fear of the unknown just gives me too much anxiety.
So even now that I have been warned that people in India tend to stare a lot, even more than you expect them to do, I know I'll walk around worrying that someone has drawn a penis on my forehead.
My worrying streches the whole abyss from "will he call me?" to "will I be seated next to a man with horrible peridontitis who insists on yawning and burping all the way from Singapore to Europe, forcing me to breathe through a glass of orange juice for 12 hours?" ´
I don't like uncertainty. Most of the time I reside somewhere in the limbo-land between dwelling on past nostalgia and trying to predict the future. If I had a crystal ball it would be in need of constant repair. I rarely live "now", seize the day and all that malarkey. The fear of the unknown just gives me too much anxiety.
So even now that I have been warned that people in India tend to stare a lot, even more than you expect them to do, I know I'll walk around worrying that someone has drawn a penis on my forehead.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
you have now been warned
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