Working on the Final Post

It's now been over a month since I've arrived back in the continental United States--and I'm still not sure how to wrap this one up (probably because I don't really want to...). Rest assured, I'm trying to find the words to describe my last couple of weeks on the road, and the adjustment process that is coming home.

I Am Somewhere...

On a beach in Thailand. Last week. I'll be thinking long and hard about what has gone on for the last 8 months while I soak up some sun, read some books, and contemplate a life after travel. I'll hopefully put up some pictures when I get a chance, but probably won't blog again until I get home.

Dawg and Pony Show

Flights from Calcutta to Bangkok to Hong Kong. Trips to the airport, over and over again. You'd think this stuff would get tiring, but after seven or so months of doing it at least once a month, it has become the norm. And not once have I failed to become excited in the moments leading up to a change in landscape, climate, or culture.

I spent my final days in Calcutta at the Chandak residence, sans my buddy Ankit. His parents offered to host me, and upon finding out that most of the guesthouses wanted a ridiculous amount of money for me to stay there, I accepted (No matter how nice anybody ever is to me, I still find it hard to accept hospitality). After my sweet train ride from Darjeeling in First Class (It's a cultural experience, right? It was also the only seat that I could possibly get... Luxury out of necessity, you know?), I accompanied Ankit's Dad to Calcutta's version of Green Lake for a walk in the park. I'm pretty sure that nobody there had ever seen a white guy exercising in the morning before, which earned me a look or two. They helped me pass the day by feeding me excessively, making sure that there was no Indian style food that I had not tried. Finally, on the last day, Ankit's mom helped me gain access to a block printing 'factory,' upon learning of my obsession with fabric and art really...



I finished out my time in Calcutta by running last minute errands and doing my best to soak in the last bit of Indian culture I could before landing in Bangkok.

An aside: There is no better picture of a city than the one shown on the ride from the center of town to an airport out in the suburbs. India's is probably the most fascinating of any place in the world. The poverty, the smells, the colors, the construction, the living conditions, the massive amount of people, the old and the new--everything--just provides such stark contrast. One moment you're gawking at a brand new billion dollar high rise, and the next you realize that some kid is cupping his testicles in order to not crap on himself RIGHT NEXT TO THE SIDEWALK! How would you like to dodge traffic while you do your business in the morning? Anyway, sorry to be so graphic, but it's there, and it's something you should know about...



Anyway, I landed in Bangkok then made my way downtown to meet up with my girlfriend's other friend Katie, who lived in the most ridiculously sweet apartment 26 stories above downtown. Upon arrival we stormed out into the city and just soaked up everything possible--I had to, I only had about 24 hours before another flight to Hong Kong. Fried roaches were eaten, Durian fruit was tested (It is AWFUL, a combination of yogurt texture with a smell of piss and cardboard, plus a taste too terrifying to describe), and lady boys were turned down (I suggest you Google it...). The next day consisted of eating myself silly at the market, and neatly placing all unnecessary things in a corner of Katie's apartment before I flew to Hong Kong to meet my good buddy Jon Lee.

About three or four weeks ago, I found out that Jon would be in Hong Kong. I considered it a sign, and almost immediately made plans to fly round trip from Bangkok in order to make it to HK before he left. You see, I worked with Jon for a year doing student government stuff at UW, and he quickly became one of my best friends--I think we share the same pursuasive, sheister-like, characteristics at time. Regardless, it was on in Hong Kong.

As soon as I landed we stepped right off into the city and to its Beer Festival, which happened to conveniently be going on downtown. I was immediately shocked by how immaculately kept the city was, at how many incredibly tall buildings it has, and just how many people I saw at 8pm in the evening. It was like being in Bangkok with how clean it was, and like being in India with how many people there were... I guess you could say it made for a smooth transition.


Here you can see one of the many Hong Kong food stalls, conveniently placed in eateries known as food court. The orange stuff in the bottom of the picture is pig intestine on a stick. I had it, and it tastes exactly like a pig farm smells. Think about it...

After some reminiscing, conversing with some expats and other business folk in the area, and a little bit of eating, we went back to the Hong Kong projects (it's Jon's term) to sleep. When we woke up, we ate again--twice. The first time it was Dim Sum, the traditional Chinese brunch--an assortment of freshly made finger foods similar to the Spanish tapas in style, but incredibly dissimilar in taste, texture, and well, everything else. We felt it appropriate that I look at the menu and choose since I was the visitor. Being unable to read Cantonese, aside from thinking the symbols look like things, I picked at random. As a result, I was able to try about four things I would NEVER eat in the states... Below is myself eating the ultra savory chicken feet.



The eating continued: more chicken's feet, spare ribs, suckling pig, goose, duck, wonton noodle, tea, more tea, tripe, squid, coagulated pigs blood (below, it looks like ice cubes!), and so so so much more. Fortunately for me, Jon knew the city like the back of his hand--when the museums were free, where you could have the 10th best roasted goose in the world, how to know if the shrimp you were eating in the wontons was fresh... pretty much everything I cared about.

I think that I secretly realized I was growing up on my second night in Hong Kong, as cheesy music blared over the loud speakers in Kowloon Peninsula--one of three major parts of HK--as the light show went off across on the island of Hong Kong (All of the big business buildings have lights that go nuts during this thirty minute music show; think discotech). Maybe it's that the end of my trip is looming in the distance, or the fact that my friends are starting to get married, get jobs, and basically just settle down. For some reason, I think it's harder for me to accept because I've been gone while everything else moves forward for everyone else. Even though I'm constantly doing something, learning, changing, etc. it's kind of like time has stopped for me, while all of these things happen to my friends. Of course, inevitably, I'll go back, and like riding a bike, it will feel like I haven't missed a step.


The thought provoking light show of Hong Kong...

Over the final days we continued to explore the city--art museums, boat rides, trams, trollies, malls, more food courts, wwwwwwwaaaaayyyy more food, hard rain, markets, and the horse races. I wish I could explain more about it, but a kid's got to keep some things in store for once he returns home...


It was only appropriate that I talked Jon into trying to take an artsy photo while we were at the art museum. In his defense, the lighting was horrible...


The pig's blood tastes like iron... It's bottom right, on the same plate as the liver. This is a basic Chinese meal--the hot pot--where you cook everything in boiling water.

The incomparable Mr. Jonathan Lee and myself taking in the horse races...

From left to right: (L) Everyone in Asia, (R) Me... I only kid... sort of.

Finally, I've kind of wondered if people are nicer to strangers because of the opportunity to make a good first impression, and why comfort can be measured by the ability to make fun of someone to their face, or open up a refrigerator that isn't yours. What do you think?

Calcutta, Kolkata... Who Gives a...

An example of the perfectionist qualities that haunt me... in my constant attempt to explain it all.

So after many (maybe two, or one and a half) attempts at trying to write about my time in Kolkata, I find myself unable to patter away at the keyboard and put my experiences into words. It's definitely not due to a lack of inspiration, or things to write about. Instead, it's almost too much to put into words. I think it's a common trait amongst each and every one of the moments or complete experiences that I could deem my favorite times, or unforgettable. If anything, I think that I resist writing about such things, because I know exactly how frustrated I'll get typing a single line, erasing it, writing a single line, striking a line through it, rewording, rephrasing, and adjusting, in order to explain why something so simple was so meaningful, or to catch all of the details in a overly extravagant evening of Kati rolls and Cricket. But here I go...

So before I came to India, my girlfriend put me in touch with one of her friends--Mr. Ankit Chandak. For four years, Ankit and I roamed over the same red bricks, through the same hollowed halls, and choked down the same (well almost, he's a vegetarian...) cafeteria food at the Husky Union Building at UW. And in those four years, we never once met. He did, however, get along with Jess well enough, to be kind enough, to invite me to stay with him and his family in Kolkata while I was vagabonding around his country. Not even thinking about the possibility that we wouldn't get along, I started exchanging messages with him through facebook, accepted his invitation, and booked a flight from Jaipur to the Big K. I don't know if I was starved for friendship, in need of someone who can understand my Husky Spirit, or excited to see a city through the eyes of someone who knows it like the back of their hand. Truth be told, it was probably a little of everything. Either way, I embarked upon this portion of my journey full steam ahead, just figuring that the best would happen--and it did.

I woke up way too early on the morning of the 11th to catch the from Jaipur to Kolkata. Of course, being the American that I am, I realized that I probably didn't have to get to the airport two hours early, as all I really needed to do was shove my way to the front of the security line at the last minute like everyone else. After weaving my way through some pretty auspicious security checks, I made my way to the boarding gate where I'd reside until the next bum rush. As I sat comfortably in my chair, I looked forward to seeing a familiar face (we never met, but I had seen his photo on facebook, haha...) and pondered why in the hell Indians don't listen to the airplane attendants when they say, "Please keep your seat in the upright position..." (Was it because she was a female? Culturally, do people not like listening to instructions? Does the standard 'upright' not mean the same thing here? I probably, and way too pensively, thought about the matter for a while longer than I should have, then went back to wondering what it would be like seeing things from a different perspective.

An Aside: There are few things more awkward than sitting in an airport in the morning, being attacked by mosquitoes, and doing your best to kill each and every one of them until you realize that you're sitting in between Buddhist monks (who don't believe in killing things--I think).

The plane landed smoothly about thirty minutes ahead of time, and the Spanish pilot received a standing ovation from the rawkus crowd. We departed the plane, and promptly proceeded to wait for our luggage for around an hour. I was cool with it, as I didn't really see a Husky t-shirt in the mob surrounding the arrival gate (think pink carnation), and it would give me some more time. After snatching my bag, I snuck to the internet cafe to try to find Ankit's phone number. Of course, after I paid way too much to check my email, I bumped into Ankit. We promptly said our hellos, shook hands, and were off to the car--being followed the entire way by a woman who noticed I was white at the very last second. I'm pretty sure she banged on the hood too... But alas, it was a lovely Mother's Day afternoon and we sped off into the steamy afternoon in search of Orchids--Ankit's Mom's favorite flower. Of course, like all good kids, we forgot to get the flowers and then arrived at the Chandak residence empty handed... I met the immediate family and was made to feel at home almost immediately (a trend that has continued to this very moment). Ankit and I went back out for the day, grabbed the most amazing tandoori kebabs I've ever had in my life, had my first beer in a month, and finally remembered to get his mom the flowers. Life in Kolkata was good--almost perfect. Now, we just needed to figure out what to do for the rest of my days there...

Fortunately, my newfound friend Ankit prepared a list. After some banter, we got off topic and like all Sagittariuses (we have the same birthday!), we promptly dispatched the list in favor of playing it by ear. It was eventually decided that we would head to his family's under-construction rice mill and then to the flour mill in the morning. It was here that I found out just how big of a deal Ankit really is (proof directly below):


At only the young age of 22, Ankit already has a company named after him... His brother is pissed too... I only kid... I think.

After a severe sneezing fit, I was ushered out of the flour mill and into an air-conditioned car where we'd travel right back to the Big K. I'm pretty sure that Ankit wondered if I was bored--or overly heated--from our visit to the mills, and I did my best to let him know how much I truly appreciate seeing things that are otherwise impossible to see. You know, at least for a simple backpacker such as myself in a foreign land where people typically want bribes to show you anything of interest. Plus, when in the hell am I ever going to be able to visit a flour mill or learn about all the thought and planning that goes into a construction project in India? It was intense, and I never realized how much thought really has to go into the taxes, tax breaks, the environment, the workers, the heat, watering the cement of a newly constructed foundation--everything. I was also amazed at what kind of thought has to go into the humanitarian side of things (if that's the appropriate word for it) when running a business in India. A lot of the workers sleep on site, men and women work side by side, and little kids wander around without guidance. It was interesting to see what Ankit take on a lot of these things were--especially having seen things from the American point of view for four years. All in all, it was a wonderful and thought provoking opportunity to learn something I wouldn't have pursued otherwise.

We then spent the afternoon in a hookah bar gorging ourselves on nachos. That is, after all, the Indian thing to do, right?

The day was concluded with a romantic cruise consisting of three dudes on a boat in the river, gazing at the Howrah bridge from afar. The sunset was an incredible signal to the end of my first full fledged, non-jet lagged day in Kolkata, and I was eating every second of it up...


There is nothing like a romantic cruise on the river, with three dudes, and a pocket full of fatafat (I don't know how to describe the taste of this Indian candy aside from slightly putrid and satisfying)

We then played video games, and I relished the opportunity to be a real boy again. An honest, breathing, bleeding (it was an intense game), real boy. It's funny how quickly you forget about the little things that comforted you, almost every day, until they're put right back in front of your face.

Sometime before floating down the river, we decided to get tickets for the following evening's cricket match between the Kolkata Knight Riders and the Delhi Dare Devils of the newly formed Indian Premier League. Cricket, as I have seen and have been told, is the stuff of legends here in India. There is not a child that doesn't play it, or an adult that can't rattle off every single rule of the game to a confused American in the entire country--or so it seems. The match itself would also take place in the fabled Eden Gardens, which is perhaps the most famous of all Cricket stadiums in the world (I'm just repeating what people have told me. I don't know a damn thing about cricket.).

Upon slowly rolling out of bed, we jetted out into the steaming hot Kolkata morning to see the sights and catch a Bollywood movie--Tashan. The sights were interesting, but it was too damned hot to really appreciate much, except for some of the artwork inside of Victoria Memorial. Plus, it was yet another opportunity to be looked at by many of the Indian tourists who found me more interesting than the paintings. Which, might I add, is starting to become pretty flattering, really (I mean, how else should you take it? I'm pretty sure that there is absolutely no malice involved; you can tell by the huge shit eating grins on peoples' faces when you say hello!). The movie was classic over the top Bollywood, with unreal song and dance sequences of bikini clad women in the rain on Greek islands. From what Ankit translated for me, I gathered that the story was supposed to be somewhat of a Quentin Tarantino style action flick where all of the characters' lives were intertwined somehow and the story was told through subplots. Either way, despite the fact that it was in Hindi, I got the point and came away thoroughly entertained. It was awful and cheesy. We snagged some Kati Rolls (street food) that would later be the death of me, and mentally prepared ourselves for the game.

Another Aside: I think that one of the highlights of my time in India has been being able to hang out with Ankit and his friends--which include his cousins. It's be pretty refreshing to see a family so tightly knit, and it was just a positive experience in general for me to hang out with these American-educated young Indians and get their perspectives on the differences between our cultures, education, working abroad or at home, etc.


The fabled Eden Gardens Cricket Stadium: Home of the Kolkata Knight Riders. This woman would not sit down, and yet nobody tried to fight her...

At Eden Gardens...

You don't truly know India until you've gone to a cricket match. It's not the first step, and it's not the last, but it's certainly essential in understanding the culture. At least, that was my take after spending a good three and a half hours watching the Kolkata Knight Riders overcome a deficit by providing one of the greater bowling (=pitching) performances that has ever been known to man (as I was emphatically told at least 15 times by Ankit and his friends... haha). It was there in Eden Gardens that I saw the other side of India--the testosterone fueled, hormonally charged, star-crazed, overly impassioned, and sexually frustrated side. It was probably one of the only times I've ever seen multiple--around five--fights amongst fans of the same team. It wasn't a result of the match situation either, but rather because people wouldn't sit down. The most ridiculous moment came when a policeman came up the aisle to stop the fight and chastise a man for standing in the way of an elderly man, only to then stand in front of the very same elderly man. This my friends is a representation of all that puzzles me about this lovely curry flavored country. Anyway, the match was a thriller, though I spent the majority of my time trying to understand what in the hell was happening--how scoring worked--and sucking down water in order to avoid the inevitable dehydration. I was unsuccessful at either, and proceeded to feel nauseous 10 minutes before the end of the game. I was later told that I didn't end up missing anything too thrilling, though I'm sure there were more than a few small riots that could have entertained for hours...

My final day consisted of recovering from the dehydration by going to a hot and steamy marketplace to search for hand printed cloth and some ungodly colored linen in hopes of making sweet pajama pants. Ankit's mom helped me accomplish both before I passed out, and we ventured back to the Chandak home where I would crash and prepare for a train ride to the north and Darjeeling.


A torrential downpour in the streets of Kolkata...

Ankit's family sent one of their drivers with me to the train station to help make sure that I got on the train. No, it wasn't because they knew I was totally inept at handling such situations as simply getting on a train, but rather I was waitlist 20 on the Darjeeling Mail. I basically had no shot to get on the train that I HAD to get on in order to get to Darjeeling by the next afternoon. After about thirty minutes of frantically running up and down the line trying to find out who we should bribe, we found nobody. So what did I do? I just got on the train and hoped for the best. As lucky as I am, I found a berth on the second class sleeper and asked around to see if anyone was sitting there. When the car manager came by I started fabricating a story only to find out that he didn't speak English. Luckily a man sitting across from me was willing to translate the story that I was making up and even more luckily the manager bought the whole thing. There I was, in the middle of a country known for it's clever swindlers, swindling my way out of paying baksheesh (the word for bribery). I had paid too much already to be on the waitlist, and figured that I shouldn't pay anymore... When in Rome, right? Anyway, I made it to Darjeeling alright and lived happily ever after--until the power went out.

I'm back in Kolkata now, and fly off to Bangkok tomorrow, where I'll turn around and fly to Hong Kong a couple days later. I'm really really sad to see my time in India come to an end, as it's a place that I've seriously come to love in such a short period of time. A lot of this has to do with the Chandak family and the amazing hospitality that they have shown me while visiting. I don't think that there has ever been a point in my life where strangers (not complete ones thanks to facebook) have made me feel so comfortable in their homes. They've helped me accomplish my goal of drinking chai, eating every possible type of Indian food there is, and basically gorging myself in all things Indian. In a country known for making people lose weight, I am pretty sure I've gained it--which goes to show the dedication that they had in ensuring my good time. I seriously cannot thank them enough, and it's not even because of the fact that they were good to me, but rather that they're just good, kind people in general--and that goes for the whole family. However, I know that I would feel the same way had I not seen the side of India that I've seen while in Kolkata and also in the north. The people, places, trains, etc. have all played a tremendous role in overwhelming my senses and actually inspiring me--creatively, mostly. I don't know, it's just different here. It's a place that you have to see, and should try to see from all angles and sides; through first class trains, second class trains, rickshaws, air conditioned buildings, buildings with no fans, from tall buildings, from the streets, from the rivers, etc. The place is just pretty damn sweet.

But yeah, that's what I've got. Now, I'm off to pack and read about traveling in India, oddly enough.

I strongly recommend Paul Theroux's Great Railway Bazaar if you ever get a chance to read it.

Kolkata, Calcutta... Who Gives A...

I've kinda left out a five day span in Kolkata from my blogging, as a result of a power outage that wiped out my attempted posting. Also, internet isn't very good up here in the hills of Darjeeling, so pictures will be coming later--I promise.

Just a Month

As the thunder clang outside, and the rain fell hard against the aluminium--I spelled it right in the Indian-English sense--roof of my guesthouse, I finished reading my book in the hillside city of Darjeeling, slightly stupefied by the fog, and aloof as a result of too much sleep. My bed, a three inch thick mattress (if you could ever call it that), was just comfortable enough of a place for me to sleep a little too long today, and I couldn't think of anything better to do than read. In fact, it's all I wanted to do after the whirlwind that has been my time in India... From Delhi to Jodhpur, from Jodhpur to Jaisalmer, Jaisalmer to Jaipur, and off to Kolkata via a plane from Jaipur, just before the bicycle bombings that rocked the city. All the movement (not just my own) can, after all, make a guy pretty sleepy.

I arrived in the city (I'm always inclined to say town when somewhere is located in the middle of nowhere with nothing around it. However, aside from some of the villages that dot the countryside of India, there is seemingly nothing else but a city. A giant ant farm of individuals weaving in and out, ducking and dodging, gliding and maneuvering, moving their respective grains of sand as they carve out the paths of their every day lives... Absolute insanity, inside of a neatly kept box. I swear.) of Siliguri, at the New Jalpaiguri train station, where I was set to meet my friend Ankit's cousin Ayush, who would take me to their family home where I could shower and eat breakfast. This was before, of course, I would be taken by a private driver to the Orange Valley Tea Garden on the outskirts of Darjeeling. Posh living, I know. It's a very different side of India than what I had really come to know in my initial days, and something that I struggled to get used to, mostly as a result of the way I've lived for the last seven months. The struggle, as all great ones are, was internal, which meant that I could pretty much just roll with it on the outside while the battle was waged within. Besides, it did offer me an opportunity for a type of comparative analysis otherwise unavailable to me without the generosity and overwhelming hospitality of the Chandak family. But I digress...

I don't know if there is a more beautiful way to experience the trip from Siliguri--situated at the base of the rolling Shiwalik hills that are home to the many tea plantations--to Darjeeling than by car. One can take a ride on the Toy Train, but six hours of slow, methodical movement pales in comparison to the swiftness and privacy of a car after a good ten hour train ride. Plus, you can stop for chai (who cares about the environment right? I kid... though, the train is probably worse...). After a swift hour and a half, I descended upon the glorious Orange Valley Tea Garden, where approximately 600 Nepalese immigrants were gearing up to pick tea leaves and the views--my gawd--are absolutely breathtaking.


The town of Darjeeling...


The hill that I slid down...

My time at the OVTG, however, was short lived. Aside from a couple of lunches, and a couple of walks down the strikingly steep slopes, I was only able to spend a few hours gawking at the hillside. I made the mistake of agreeing to go with these two young financial auditors to Mirik--another hillside town--for an hour that turned into four. On the bright side, I was regaled with stories of murder threats from businesses who had fudged numbers and risked being turned in (think, cut in two and thrown in a river). All in all, it was interesting and a wonderful opportunity to do something that I had really wanted to do for a long time. There really isn't any way to describe waking up at 4am and walking through the hillside while being stared at by some Nepalese tea leaf pickers who burst out in laughter every time you slip down the steep, wet hills...

Now, I'm done with my book, and am looking for another to help me slowly and peacefully live out my final days in India--a decision made after numerous struggles to obtain a visa to Bangladesh, which is another story in itself--before an adventure to Hong Kong via Bangkok. I have one month left before I come home. It should be a good one.


And the sun sets on my time in India... A place I will surely visit again...

The Stare Express

I laid in bed, in Jaisalmer, after one of the wildest sandstorms I have ever been a part of (only the second one I've ever been apart of (this week)), staring at my ceiling fan. Despite the fact that it seemed to be working just fine, and that my window was open, it seemed to be making my room warmer. I eventually gave up wondering, and just gave in to the fact that the heat was winning, and I should probably just begin my day...


You can't get away from the heat... Unless you seek the shelter of a sandstorm.

The fan and the hot room serve as a perfect analogy for India. Constantly, things appear to be working, only to end up providing a less than perfect result. And vice versa. Nothing here is consistent with what I know, and ultimately I find myself perplexed over such simple things as the various stares and smiles I encounter during an average day. I don't really get it, I don't really understand it, and it's those two facts that help me maintain a certain level of patience with the absolute chaos and disorder--combined of course with the multiple, incredibly good, people that you have the opportunity to meet.

I took the audio tour of the Mehrangarh Fort in Jodhpur. It was simple, educational, thought provoking, and fun. I didn't care that my 20 minute walk had left me drenched in sweat, or that I had been followed by two different Rickshaw drivers who were trying to lure me into their rides for a swifter movement uphill. I got there early, and just enjoyed it: the views of the city and camel racing track, the absolutely stunning intricacy and craftsmanship of the buildings, and so much more. Shortly thereafter, I found myself lost in the twisting and turning alleyways of the Blue City , but was eventually set on the right path by a kind tailor who seemed pretty set on trying to sell me some Ali Baba pants. I told him I didn't have time, as I actually did have to meet up with a friend of the hostel owner to be 'shown around.'


A picture of a guard in the Mehrangarh Fort. I think that his name was Tariq. Either way, he was a pretty jovial fellow...

I was pretty sure of what this would entail. I told the guy that I wanted to find some block print cloth, because I could sew, and was interested in taking some home. I told him that I wanted nice quality stuff, but that I was a student, didn't have a lot of money, etc. Despite this, I knew that my words had fallen on deaf ears, and that I would be led around like the Westerner that I appeared to be. Of course, I was right, and off we headed into the humid afternoon. First stop: A suit shop. Where he got the idea that I wanted to buy a suit, I don't know. I tried, with increasing persistence, to explain that I only wanted block print fabric, or at least some electric blue linen. He agreed, but told me that we needed to stop at his friends convenience store, where we would enjoy some chai and a casual conversation. He slowly, but surely, introduced his companions to me, one by one, so that I could make sure to remember everybody's name. It didn't really even matter, as after the moment introductions were done, they all started to chatter rapidly in Hindi, ultimately leaving me out of the conversation--one of the more rude things that people can do. I kind of just laughed it off, and enjoyed the fact that I was inside an air conditioned building for the first time since I had arrived in India. The chai arrived, and I declined, as I was kind of sketched out and put off by my hosts complete lack of consideration. He eventually paused every now and then to talk with me about random things like American girls and drugs, sketching me out even more. Eventually, his cousin started passing around little black beads for each of the men to put in their tea. After scouring my brain for what it could be, it dawned on me: Opium. At that point, I tried to do what I could to overtly express the fact that I wanted to get the hell out of there, and eventually just walked out and hopped in a Rickshaw. When I got back to the hostel, I packed up my stuff and got ready to get out of Dodge and head west to Jaisalmer.

I didn't end up leaving until the early morning of the next day, because the train was full the night before. Either way, I was kind of glad to relieve myself of the awkward experience that was Jodhpur and get on with the trip. I boarded the train, after being unable to figure out which car was S4 (posted absolutely nowhere), sat down and sighed. I offered some crackers to the members of the Indian Armed Forces sitting next to me--they appreciatively accepted--and I had made some new friends. Unfortunately, they weren't in my compartment, which was shared with two starers, who either were so incredibly fascinated by my wild hair and height that they could do nothing but keep a straight face, or else they wanted me off of their train. For the next seven hours in the dust and heat, I sat there, while they stared at me. I offered a biscuit, they stared (after accepting of course). Nothing could crack the intentness of their new (or old) habit.

After finally arriving in Jaisalmer, I was greeted by Saruk, the manager of the Artist Hotel--a cooperative developed some odd years ago through the teamwork of an artist colony and an Austrian expat--and was led away on a motorcycle, down the beaten path, to a little peace and quiet. I was the only person staying at the hotel, which allowed me an opportunity to be alone, something I've finally started to truly enjoy.

The town of Jaisalmer is on the edge of the Thar Desert, and close to the border of Pakistan. It's widely known as the Golden City, because of the way it's buildings and Fort blend into the sand from a distance. It's also got a reputation for some badass camel treks into the proximate desert, and it's Bhang Lassis (think marijuana shake). It's quiet this time of the year, there's no pollution, and life just seems to roll by at an easy pace. It was just what I needed after navigating my way through three cities easily described as human ant-colonies.


The main entrance to the fort of the Golden City of Jaisalmer


The Fort in Jaisalmer is supposedly the only 'living' fort in the entire world...

In Jaisalmer, I didn't do a camel trek, nor did I drink the mythical Bhang Lassi. I rested, strolled, and picked the brains of any person willing to chat--particularly the Austrian expat that helped start the Artist Hotel. I was keyed in on multiple issues surrounding the artist community, given a brief lesson in the caste system, and discussed the intricacies of Indian spices--something I know absolutely nothing about. It was an easygoing and relaxing experience, that is, until a storm came through.

I woke up about five times in the middle of the night, as a result of dust, rain, hail, wind, broken glass, shear heat, anything--you name it. Somehow, I managed to slumber through the most of it. When I awoke the next morning, all of the straw roofs of each and every house that surrounded the building was blown off. Bricks and morter, reduced to piles on the still soft ground. Yet, despite this, everything seemed to be fine. People were smiling, playing music, and picking up the pieces. I was kind of in shock. If that happened in the US, everybody would stand around and talk about what to do, before not doing anything... Though it made sense to me, it seemed... illogical? I don't know how to explain it. Most things here have defied what I know about the 'proper' or rational way of doing things... Anyway, in less than a day, things were cleaned up, roofs were reattached, and life kept on going. The same girl was still sitting outside waiting for me to walk by so she could ask me for rupees and the sun was just as hot.

I left later that afternoon, on a 14 hour train ride for Jaipur--where I am right now. After my experience on the short jaunt from Jodhpur to Jaisalmer, I was dreading every second of it. I sat down in my seat, and was immediately greeted by a 13 year old boy named Deepa, and a family of four whose little baby couldn't stop staring at me. For once, I didn't mind the staring, and I felt a little less serious. The final ounces of tension fled my body after I was offered a piece of sweetcake, and I thanked the mother in Hindi. The entire train car erupted in laughter and glee that I was trying to learn the language. I answered the general questions, and the family offered me some of their dinner. Then, for the next four hours--until darkness fell--I received a lesson in Hindi from the 13 year old that I won't forget any time soon (though most of the Hindi words were lost on me).

Tomorrow, it's off to Kolkata... Should be a good time.