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Ghosts of Cambodia

5/31/2014

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Phnom Penh, the capital of Cambodia, had lots to visit. Nicolle and I saw the Royal Palace, and inside that the Silver Pagoda. We perused the night markets, walked down Norodom Boulevard and were impressed by all the monuments, went to a yoga class and even found a gourmet chocolate shop to indulge our sweet tooth.  What left the biggest impression on me, though, was the site of the Killing Fields and the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum.  

I didn't take any pictures; I didn't want to be distracted from the gravity of what I was seeing. A picture is worth a thousand words, though, so there are a few scattered throughout this post - ones I found online that spoke most to me. 

I'm all about light-hearted fun, but I think neglecting the dark, uncomfortable parts of history means we aren't learning from them. I hate to think that all that suffering was in vain and humanity will continue this cycle of torment. Maybe I feel Responsibility tugging at my sleeve.  I guess it's been on my mind a lot lately, especially now that I'm so close to going home (the date on this post may say May, but we all know I'm about six months behind…). While traveling the world, you see so many people you want to help, circumstances you want to make better and ignorance you want to change. I meet a lot of people who are genuinely making a difference - by volunteering, by teaching, or by having family and friends donate to a website they set up so they always had something for the little kids they met along the way (that one really impressed me). It makes you think about your own impact on the world. How am I going to leave a mark? How can I take this experience and really make the most of it? How can I begin to help all of the people in the world with so many different but equally urgent problems? I think I now know the answer for me - to be a positive influence for those around me and hope that it ripples out into the world; to make changes by example rather than judgment; to relay what I've seen and the impact it's had on me, in hopes that it impacts someone else, and makes whatever it is more relatable (less foreign and scary) for them. It might not have the same impact as, say, developing an ebola vaccine, but each little bit helps, right?! 

In 1975 (only 40 years ago), the Khmer Rouge took control of Cambodia and held it until 1979. In that time, they managed to kill almost two million of their own people.  In a country of only 8 million, that's one in four. The communist rulers specifically targeted professionals, those with an education, and those who could speak other languages or had any tie with foreign governments (ironically, the leader of the Khmer Rouge, Pol Pot,  studied in France and was fluent in French, as well as his native tongue). They combined Cambodian nationalism with xenophobia (a fear and hatred of foreigners and all things foreign) to target people with Vietnamese and Chinese heritage and any people brave enough to question the government. People were evacuated en mass from their homes, herded to the countryside and forced into collective farms and forced labor camps in an attempt to make the country self sustaining (mainly by growing lots and lots of rice). The Khmer Rouge wanted to close Cambodia off to the rest of the world; to bring back a pure Cambodian people (sound familiar?). They brainwashed children, trained them how to torture by practicing on animals and then made use of their newly acquired skills on prisoners.  Museums, monuments, photographs and stories unraveled this horrible story for Nicolle and I. 



We saw two sights dedicated to the victims of the Kmher Rouge - the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum and the Killing Fields.


The Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum is an old high school that was converted into a prison nicknamed S-21. It's two, three story white washed buildings surrounded by barbed wire. The rooms still house steel bed frames, instruments of torture, shackles, and pictures of some of the 14,000 prisoners, 12 of whom made it out alive. The wooden towers where people were tortured and hung still stand in front of one of the buildings, like guards who never left their post. Barbed and razor wire surrounds the perimeter and the windows are filled with iron bars and more barbed wire. The walls are a stained, dirty yellow and there are brick solitary confinement cells, the size of a small closet, on the ground level. Black and white photos of the dead show the diversity of prisoners - from mother's holding their children to the elderly hunched over with age. Everyone got a photo taken when they entered, many with a pair of eyeglasses, betraying their intelligence and threat to the communist way of life. The later photos show the same people, with now emaciated protruding ribs, dark bags under their eyes and, often, black and blue bruised skin. They're filthy, starved and too often beaten and bloody. This prison was mainly for intellectuals, political prisoners, journalists, foreigners who weren't lucky enough (or chose not to) get out, and whomever else they deemed as a threat. It's eerie to be there, knowing how many people left only after their lungs had taken their last, tortured breath. 
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The Killing Fields were almost peaceful on their vast, now green plot of land with a river running around the back perimeter. Our tuk tuk driver took us through the city to a series of small, rutted dirt roads that made for a bumpy, dust filled ride. As we got out, he told us that his father had died in these Killing Fields. We walked in and purchased the ticket and an accompanying audio guide. There's a big tower directly upon entering, but per the audio guide, we saved that until last, walking though the rest of the grounds first. The sights included sign posted mass graves, the tree they'd slaughtered children against, fragments of cloth and bone underneath your feet, a glass box filled with victims' clothing, black and white photos of people lining up to die, with guns pointed at their heads and a ditch already lined with bodies in front of them - things that should fill the screen of a horror movie, not the history of the 1970's. We walked through this as the audio guide changed between history of the communist movement itself, and stories of the people involved - the prisoners, the guards, the survivors and the dead.  The memorial, the big tower and last sight on the audio tour, houses more than 5,000 victim's skulls. It's a beautiful, white Buddhist stupa complete with Nagas (magical serpents) that slither from the corners. The glass case in the center holds white skull piled on top of white skull. You can tell how some died, noting holes and large indentations. Some even have pieces missing; big, gaping holes exposing the now empty cavity. The audio tour ends as you're circling this tower of skulls, whispering it's last sentiment into your ears:

“This was hardly the first case of genocide.  We never thought it could happen here.  But it did.  And the thing is, it can happen anywhere.  It did in Nazi Germany.  And in Russia, under Stalin.  And in China.  In Rwanda.  In the US, with its Native Americans.  And in Argentina, and in Chile.  Tragically, it will probably happen again.  So for your sake, remember us – and remember our past as you look to your future.”
Those are the images and words that fill my mind when I hear "Phnom Penh." Hopefully this serves as a small reminder that these things still happen in our world today; continue to happen - even given how far  we've come as a people. I post this not to dampen your spirits or darken your day, but with the hope that those with the knowledge of these acts will do their part to keep them in our past rather than allow them into our present or future. Knowledge is power and these small bits here and there can be united to make a big difference. 
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Chi Phat, Cambodia

5/28/2014

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We didn't really have anything planned for Chi Phat other than planning it all when we got there. It's a pretty rural place, so other than a confirmation that we'd have a bed, whether that be a bungalow, in someones spare room or in a hammock, we'd have a place to sleep. We caught an 8 AM bus from Phnom Phen, stopped for a roadside lunch and shortly before two were waiting for a boat to take us the rest of the way. Estelle, a French girl behind us on the bus, heard us ask the driver about our stop and mentioned that she was also going to Chi Phat. She was doing some research for work (travel agent) and had already booked the boat from Andong Tuk. We would have had to negotiate that once we got off the bus, but Estelle graciously offered us a lift on her little green and red motorboat and off we went.

The modest wooden houses that lined the shore thinned out as soon as we launched and until about an hour in, the only other signs of life we saw was one other boat, at least ten times the size of ours, scooping sand out of the river so it could be exported to Singapore. We sat under the tarp to hide from the mid day sun and listened to our internationally accented conversation mix with the rumble of the motor. There were a few other small, wooden houses that popped up here and there, but other than those it was just the rippling blue water beneath us, the lush trees on the bank and the clouds in the bright blue sky. 

After about an hour and a half we headed towards the left bank to a cluster of brightly colored homes and a small wooden dock.  I tried not to fall in as I took the guides hand and he pulled me onto the creaky wooden planks. We followed the orange-ish red dirt road, passing more multicolored homes on stilts in-between patches of bright green trees. The boat driver lead us to the "tourist office", the largest building where all of the tours and accommodations were organized. It was a large home, set slightly back from the road, with a pathway that led to the main room, an open area with tables and a stove, sheltered with a roof but no walls. The owner, an older Cambodian women who spoke decent English and used lots of hand gestures, left us with a binder of options while she attended to Estelle. We decided on the two day, one night, camp at a waterfall trek. 20 kilometers in, 14 out the next day. Two waterfalls. One guide. One cook. One backpack filled with hammock and supplies. Two breakfasts. Two lunches. One dinner and a whopping price tag of $50.25 per person.   

We still had lots of daylight left after finalizing our trekking plans so we rented bikes and followed a village boy, carrying our luggage on the back of his motorbike, to our bungalow. It was a mini woven bamboo hut with a thatched roof, two windows and a porch. The beds both had pepto-bismal pink mosquito nets above them that looked like some version of a girly-girl Christmas ornament gone wrong. The rest of the night was spent riding to, and then swimming and splashing in, a nearby waterfall.  The water was the temp of a luke warm bath,  but the scenery was beautiful and it was a break from the humid air. We hung out for about an hour, went back to the "tourist office" for a delicious dinner of rice and sautéed veggies, then headed back to our bungalow in the dark, using Nicolle's phone as a flashlight to help navigate the bumpy dirt roads on a bike in the dark.  

The next morning, we filled up with small bananas wrapped in rice and a big green banana leaf before being tossed on the grill. It was a sweet treat wrapped in a steaming package and was complimented with our Cambodian (read - "strong!") coffee, sweet potato cakes and standard bowl of rice. It was like some of my favorite breakfasts at home - sweet and sort of like dessert.

We met our guide, Jhom, and our cook, Khay and the French brother and sister duo we would be trekking with while finishing off our meal. We transferred what we needed from our big bags into the smaller ones provided and started on the dirt path out of town, turning off onto a trail before long. The first hour was through a mix of short grasslands and bushes, the kind that leave little thorns all over your pants (thorns that take hours to pick out later and that you still find in the washing machine, and all the clothes washed with them, for another month). During the Khmer Rouge, a terrible regime that killed thousands and thousands of Cambodians, villagers had been forced to cut down all the local trees in an attempt to grow rice fields. It hadn't worked and in depleting all the trees, they'd also depleted all the shade. We'd been given six small, one liter bottles for the day and I was through the first two before we left our first break spot. Between the heat, humidity and my sticky clothes and skin, I couldn't wait to get to the waterfall.  

We headed for a patch of tees in the distance and were finally able to escape the sun's rays. I don't know how much cooler it actually was, but not being directly under the sun made it feel like a big difference. Unfortunatley, we weren't the only ones that liked the cooler temperatures . As we filed into the trees one by one, Jhom told us to watch out for leeches. This was the first I'd heard of the creepy little things, but I guess I can see why they don't advertise them. Jhom he was wearing shorts so he could see them crawling up his legs and flick them off before they bit him. I didn't have long enough socks to tuck my pants into, so I rolled them up and tried to keep one eye on my legs and one on the trail.  I spotted my first leech a few minutes in; a thin black worm looking thing standing on one end and swaying back and forth, using our passing heat to try and hone in. They can attach to anything, your sock, your laces, the bottom of your shoe, and work their way up to your skin (or in-between your shoe and sock and bite you from there), so it's best to just avoid them all together. My second sighting came after a shriek from the French girl. The writhing black predator had attached itself to her leg and she was doing her best to get it off. I felt a mix of sympathy and disgust. My third sighting was shortly after, when I looked down at my own legs to find one attached just above the back of my right ankle. I tried not to scream and failed miserably. I swatted and pulled at it several times before it finally went flying off and back into the forest. Leeches burrow into you with their teeth and their lack of width makes them hard to grab, so it took several attempts of the leech slipping through my fingers before I finally got it off. It was gross. So gross. So, so gross. That wasn't even close to the last sighting, or my own last episode with a leech, but I'll keep the rest of the gory details to myself.

After stopping for lunch at a stream where Jhom and Kay boiled rice, fried pork and sautéed veggies, the trial opened back up and we were walking into grasslands ranging from knee to over head high. There was plenty of fresh, wild fruit along the trail and Jhom and Khay picked a variety of things for us to taste. There were unripe green berries with a hard outer shell and a seed covered in sour fur (that's what you ate). The next, yellow batch was ripe and was much sweeter than the first. We also got some fresh picked bananas, about half the size of those at home, but twice as tasty.  Khay managed to find a Jack Fruit and carried the whole thing the rest of the way. The big, green and thorny oval fruit aren't light, but he set it on his shoulder and carried it the entire way so we could all try it at camp. 

The trail wound back into more of a forest, gaining a little elevation as it went. We passed the waterfall about five minutes before we got to camp, but kept going to get everything set up before cooling off in the water. Camp consisted of two wooden bungalows, one bigger and raised off the ground, the other smaller and without a floor. The four of us guests would be sleeping in the bigger one, while the smaller space doubled as the kitchen and Jhom and Khay's bedroom. We hung up our hammocks, changed and headed for the waterfall. 

The falls were wider than they were high and with the low flow were divided into two smaller falls, connected by a higher dry rock path in the middle. The water was cooler and more refreshing than the day before and was a good way to wash off the layers of accumulated salt. Some of the rocks, about a quarter of the way up, formed a natural tub that was easily accessible with a little climbing. We alternated between soaking, swimming in the pool underneath or sitting directly below the falling water for a little shoulder massage. We stayed in until just before dinner was ready, doing a leech check on our clothes, that had been laying on the bank, before putting them on and heading back to camp. 

Jhom opened the Jack Fruit and we pulled out the sweet yellow pouches, removed the seed from inside and popped the elastically chewy bits into our mouths while dinner cooked. Even with the six of us snacking, the Jack Fruit was so big we were only able to get through a quarter of it. We had a delicious dinner of pork soup with fried rice and bok choy by candlelight, under the canopy of our open bungalow. Afterwards, we sat around on the bamboo benches in the middle of camp and played a word game where we went in a circle spouting out words that started with the last letter of the previous word (so if Nicolle said "elephant", Jhom had to say a word that started with an T). If someone couldn't think of a word, or repeated a word, they had to sing a song in their respective language. It didn't hit me until afterwards, but it was like a vocabulary game for Jhom. He told me later that that's how he had learned English; talking to clients and playing games like this. He was good at it, too. He came up with words just as easily as Nicolle and I did, and some I had to make a mental note to look up the definition for later.  We got to hear Frara Jaka, two Cambodian love songs (I think Jhom really liked to sing), Twinkle Twinkle Little Star from Nicolle and the only Czech nursery rhyme I know.

After we'd all lost and had to sing at least once, we crawled into our hammocks and zipped up the mosquito covers.  I let the noises of the jungle lull me to sleep - the crickets, the water, the occasional snapping of branches or rustle of leaves (those weren't all that calming, but I fell asleep anyway).  

I woke up the next morning not long after the sun peeked over the distant horizon and contemplated the fact that today was my 32nd birthday and I got to spend it waking up in a hammock in a jungle in Cambodia. My day would consist of trekking through the jungle, swimming in waterfalls and really only worrying about staying hydrated. It was a celebration amidst five-and-a-half months of traveling and I got to share it all with one of the most important people in my life, my sister. It was going to be a good day!  

We ate fried eggs over noodles, packed up our stuff and and set off. Rhom was excited to tell us that we weren't going through much jungle today, so we weren't going to have to worry about leeches. This path was more inhabited and we saw houses on stilts scattered here and there while we walked back to the main road. Luckily, the first half of the morning was cloudy, so even though it was still hot, we didn't have to walk in the sun. Today was only 14 kilometers instead of 20, so we wouldn't be walking all that long anyway. We again headed into knee to head high grasses to have lunch and a refreshing dip in a waterfall that turned out to be the same waterfall Nicolle and I had visited the day we got there. 

After another swim and lunch we started the forty five minute walk to town. There was a sugar cane juice stand on the side of the road about half way in and we stopped to buy a cup. The long sticks of sugarcane go into a grinder with a big wheel on one side where the cane is crushed and the juice is funneled into a glass. I'm not really sure how to describe the taste. A little like sugar water maybe, but that makes it sound bland and it isn't. However it's best described, know that it's refreshing and yummy. We also got to meet Khay's daughter and sister in law, who were running the stand. They didn't speak any English, but we all communicated through Jhom. After a few pleasantries they had Jhom inform us that they thought our white skin was beautiful (and they loved Nicolle's teeth). There seems to be a cultural obsession in parts of Asia, at least the countries I've been to, to have the most pale skin possible. There are whitening agents in everything - sun block, lotion, cream, everything you rub on your skin. Apparently, that's one of the three main standards for beauty - light skin, long hair and a little waist. It's funny that even in a tiny little village in Cambodia you come across self imposed, silly standards of beauty. 

We shared a bed that night in the upstairs rooms of one of the home-stays in the village. Most of the family wasn't there, and it was late by the time we checked in and showered, so it was almost straight to our room and to bed. The next morning was another hour and a half beautiful boat ride back to Andong Tuk to catch a bus. The same wonderful scenery surrounded us as we went the opposite direction on the river and said goodbye to my favorite part of our adventure in Cambodia. 



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Angkor Wat

5/20/2014

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May 20th 2014

I am finally here. I cannot believe I am finally here. After 40+ hours of travel time, I am about to land in a place I have never been before, don't know much about, and was never really sure I'd ever see. It is finally starting to sink in and feel real. It didn't feel real when Jana and I first started to discuss travel plans; it didn't feel real when I made the decision to quit my job and travel; it didn't feel real when I purchased my plane ticket; it didn't feel real when I was saying goodbye to my friends and family, and it didn't feel real during my first or second flight; but now it is finally starting to feel real, five minutes before the plane is going to land. Here we are: Cambodia.

The first thing I notice when I step off the plane is the humidity. It hits me like a brick wall. If it's this hot at 11 o’clock at night, how hot will it be through the middle of the day? The second thing I notice is that there are about a thousand thoughts racing through my mind. Will it be easy to get my visa? Will I need the local currency to pay for it? Did my luggage make it here? Did Jana make it? Will the transportation I arranged to get me to the hostel be waiting? What will our $6.50 a night hostel really be like? What is this vacation going to be like? What will the culture be like? Will I enjoy my time here? Is the food going to make me sick? You get the idea: the list really just goes on and on...

As the passengers all find our way into the airport, the visa process begins: I hand my passport to a desk agent along with $20, step aside, wait while different people examine my documents, and it takes about ten minutes for me to get an official approval. That's it. I now have an awesome looking, one-month, single-entry visa to Cambodia in my passport, and I can continue on my way. I step outside and realize it's a smaller scale of what goes on at every airport. Taxis, buses, cars, and people are waiting for their friends or relatives. There are security guards, people holding up signs, and tuk tuks (every airport, right?) waiting right outside the door.

I see a man who is holding a sign that reads “Nicolle Novak”. He asks me in broken English if my name is Nicolle Novak and whether or not I am staying at the Bliss Villa Hostel.  I say, “Yes,” make my way over to his tuk tuk, throw my bag in, and off we go! It was my first tuk tuk ride and it’s an experience I’ll never forget. Since a tuk tuk is open to the outside, I’m able to see everything that is going on around the city. I knew Southeast Asia would be very different than any other place I've visited before, but didn't quite know what to expect. Halfway through the ride, I realize I couldn't keep the smile off my face. Here I am, in this place that is totally foreign to me, riding a tuk tuk, knowing I'm on my way to see my sister. I try to take it all in during the ride. Every single thing I am seeing is so new. Here are a few of the things I notice along the way: a lot of people are in the street, even at 11pm; there are feral dogs, mopeds everywhere, huts, nice hotels, cheaper hostels, dirt roads, paved roads, trees, water, markets, mopeds, stands, tuk tuks, cats, and did I mention mopeds? There are a lot of them!

After about a 10-minute ride, I finally arrive at the hostel and pay my driver $6. I quickly check in, make my way upstairs, and knock on room 202’s door. My sister answers. It is Jana!! It's hard to describe the excitement I feel at finally seeing my sister. She left for her yearlong adventure on December 26, 2013; and today is May 20, 2014. It has been five months since I've seen her in person. She has been traveling the world while I have been at home in Utah. Enough of solo travel for her, it is finally time me to join her and for us to start having some adventures together! These are the memories that will last a lifetime.

We pick up right where we left off at Jana’s departure last December. Obviously, we are not only sisters, but we are also best friends. I begin babbling on about my flight, what we are going to do, what I am looking forward to the most, how hot it is, how I packed too much stuff, how heavy my bag is, and how nice it is to see her again. I realize she is nodding off, only saying "hmm" every few minutes, and here I am, not even able to think about going to bed. Realizing that she traveled from India earlier today, I figure we have both had long travel days and that I should let her sleep and try to get some rest for myself.

I look around the room and can't believe what a mess I've already made. As so often is the case, the one thing I really need - my pajamas in this case - is at the very bottom of my pack. This means that I must take everything out of my pack just to be able to go to bed. This is one of the many joys of living out of a backpack for a few months. I get into bed and a mixture of exhaustion, excitement, and a 13-hour time difference make for a rather restless night of sleep.

 Thursday May 22, 2014

This is the morning we are going to see Angkor Archeological Park, a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Here, the number of visitors approaches 2 million annually, and today, Jana and I get to be counted among those visitors. Angkor Archeological Park contains the magnificent remains of different temples, built in the 12th century, of the Khmer Empire. I know this is a place that many people only dream about going. Yet, here we are.

The alarm wakes us at 4am. We decide to bike to Angkor and see the sunrise over the Angkor Wat temple. Long story short, we become lost on our way to the ticket office and we don’t make it to the park in time to see the sunrise. The first temple we come across is Angkor Wat. Angkor Wat is the best-known temple here and we are about to go explore it for ourselves. The Khmer King Suryavarman II built this temple in dedication to the Hindu God Vishnu in the year 1113. Angkor Wat is a small-scale model of the cosmic world. The five towers rising in the rear of the temple correspond to the five peaks of the mythical mountain, Meru, which is situated at the center of the universe. The outer wall symbolizes the mountains at the edge of the world, and the moat symbolizes the oceans beyond.

The vastness of this temple is noted before we even cross the moat. It’s hard to describe what it feels like to see something as impressive as Angkor Wat for the first time in person. Every single thing I notice about the temple, inside and out, is amazing. Every aspect of the temple is magnificent in its own right: the lions posted outside the entrance to protect the temple, the supporting columns visible throughout, the engravings and carvings on many of the walls, the views of the surrounding area from the highest towers of the temple, the crumbling steps leading up to these towers, the vast number of statues, and the way the sun hits the stone and seems to rise in such a magnificent way over the temple. This place really is incredible and it’s hard to take it all in. The beauty of it attracts one’s attention, but at the same time its complexity is distracting. It is clear everywhere and in everything that the builders attended to every detail; it’s all so intricate. It’s hard to imagine how something this grand could be built in the 12th century. Nothing I’ve seen in America, in all it has built since its discovery in 1492, compares to the magnificence that is Angkor Wat, which has now stood for more than 800 years.

In short: I could go on about Angkor Wat for hours. Instead I’d just like to tell you a little bit about my own experience and hope I excited you enough to visit for yourself one day. It is clear that this temple is a powerful symbol in Cambodia, as I believe it should be.

We hop on our bikes again and make our way over to the area known as Angkor Thom. We are treated by the presence of a few monkeys on the side of the road, and I enjoy photographing a few of them. In fact, by the time we left the little apes, there were some 75 new photos on Jana’s camera. As noted in the pictures above, one little guy even tries to get away with my water bottle. He decides, however, after a few attempts that it is too heavy for him to carry. We continue on our way and come across a long bridge, which boasts 54 demon statues on the left and 54 god statues on the right, making a total of 108 mythical beings protecting the city of Angkor Thom. Angkor Thom was the last capital of the Khmer Empire and was built as a living space for priests, military officials, and administers for the kingdom.

After we pass through the gate of Angkor Thom, we park our bikes at what is most well known within the city walls: the incredible temple called Prasat Bayon. There are no ropes or people forbidding our access to anything we might want to see. We are free to roam and discover as we’d like. Jana and I take full advantage of this opportunity. There is a kind of hallway made of doorway after doorway, and we step through them into a vast open plaza. We explore the area, which is full of what look like rock cairns, narrow walkways with low ceilings that require us to crouch to walk through, stairs that are less than up to code that we climb, and viewpoints with no safety barriers or nets. Once we make our way to the upper terrace, we are looking at the thing for which Bayon is best known: the famous ‘smile of Angkor’. Thirty-seven stone towers have survived through the ages, and each of these is about twenty feet tall and has four gigantic, smiling faces - one face on each side of each tower. They are rather large and exquisite faces, each with lips curved upwardly in a slight manner, which gives the impression that the faces are smiling and happy. We can’t help but wonder: who do these faces represent?

We make our way over to a shaded spot on the terrace and sit for a moment to relax and cool down. We notice a family that is taking pictures of their baby boy. They look over at me while I’m resting, and they hand me their boy. It is clear they want to have photographs of their son with the white lady. I agree to the photo and they snap a few pictures of their son while he sits on my lap. He is fine for a moment, and then he wants to go back to his mother and begins to cry. I try to bounce my knees and tell him that it’s okay, but he is done. Jana snaps a picture of the two of us, which you can see above in the slideshow, and I hand him back. They don’t speak any English and we don’t speak any Khmer, so we nod and laugh and they continue on their way.

This is my first experience with someone being fascinated, if that’s the right word, with the color of my skin and showing it in an obvious way. I just think that, if allowing them to take a photo of light-skinned me with their baby will make them happy, I’m happy to let them do so. Jana and I laugh about the situation and get back to trying to take in all of the smiling faces of the statues in front of us. We walk around the towers and try to take in the details of each face. They seem to be the same face repeated on every tower: thick eyebrows pointing slightly downward, eyes that also seem to point downward in the center, and a nose that seems a little large for the face. The lips on the faces seem to smile in a way that conveys serene happiness. We are starting to realize why this competes with Angkor Wat as a favorite temple. The faces we are seeing all around us provide such a majestic feeling. You can’t help but feel happy when all you see is smiling faces. These stone faces have just that effect on us.

 We then hop back on our bikes and make our way over to another famous temple, Prasat Ta Prohm. While Ta Prohm is the most out-of-the-way site we will visit, it is another must see. Ta Prohm is a sight that many people have probably seen without realizing it. This temple was the site at which Lara Croft: Tomb Raider was filmed and is often referred to as “the Tomb Raider Temple.” I prefer the other name - the Jungle Temple. Ta Prohm is unlike any other site we have seen because, rather than control the growth of everything in order to preserve the structure, nature has run its course here. Most other temples are cared for in a way so that the trees/grass/growth are cut back so as not to interfere with the integrity of the structure - but not here. This leaves us with the incredible sight of trees growing into the walls all over this temple. We stumble upon the well-known tree wall, and it is unlike anything we have ever seen. It truly is a sight to behold. The tree is massive. The size of a single root is bigger than most tree trunks. And don’t merely picture a tall tree growing next to a temple wall, as this would be an underestimation. The roots of this tree are entangled with the stone pillars, thereby giving a sense that the wall and tree are one. The roots are intertwined in such a way that gives the impression that the tree is climbing up the wall. The trunk of the tree extends high up into the sky, and, from there, the branches find their place up in the sky perfectly among the clouds. It is such a delicate yet powerful symbol of nature merging with architecture. After taking many pictures and trying to soak in this beauty, we realize how exhausted we are and decide it’s time to head back to the hostel. We stop for some rest and a coconut drink and then bike back home.

As I sit down that evening and reflect on the day I have just had, I realize how incredibly lucky both Jana and I are. We have just had a first-hand experience at touring Angkor Wat Archeological Park, a site that is unlike anything we have ever seen and probably will ever see again. The world is big and beautiful, and I’m extremely glad to be able to cross this magnificent place off my list! Be sure to add it to all of yours… While a picture is worth a thousand words, seeing it first hand is far better.

Thanks for taking the time to read my post. I hope you have enjoyed reading it just as I have enjoyed writing it and sharing my experience with you!

Thanks to Jana for sharing her blog with me and asking to write about our experience together - now I will have this piece of writing to look back on for the rest of my years.



Nicolle

***

A few things I didn’t speak about in my post above, purely because I didn’t want this to be too long for readable entry:

My desire to photograph every single thing I see constantly competes with my desire to take it all in and let my memory serve on its own.

The heat. I have under exaggerated just how hot and humid it was during our time in Siem Reap. There is a reason that the high season here runs from November to March. I will never go back in the heat of the summer.

Biking during the hottest time of the year through Angkor Archaeological Park is a terrible idea. Pay those tuk tuk drivers whatever they want to drive you around. Being under their covered tuk tuks and out of the sun for the time it takes to get from one site to the next is priceless. We learned this the hard way.

Getting yelled at from the vendors while they are trying to sell ice-cold water and coconuts. It always went something like this: “Cold water lady……” “Whatcha want lady?” “I have what you need…”. We were continually getting yelled at, even from across the street, any time a local selling something spotted us.

Angkor Archaeological Park is massive. It is much larger than what I anticipated. You could be there for three full days and I don’t think you’d be able to see all of the temples/sites. There are a few we visited and many more that we passed by that I didn’t discuss in my post.

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India

5/20/2014

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India, for me, is divided into two parts - the month at the ashram and the month spent exploring the northern part of the country. 

The ashram was an incredible experience. The yoga was physically (and mentally) challenging, the schedule was rigorous and my body found a flexibility and comfort in poses I've never known it to have before. I shared my room with a witty, deliciously sarcastic British girl who knew how to make the long days seem shorter. I learned how to get myself into (and safely out of) a headstand and now have the base to keep practicing for the scorpion. I made a friend who gave me the incredible gift of seeing an Indian wedding. I taught my first yoga class. I got life lessons from Luis and Anand always made me smile. I learned how to use yoga to enrich my life. 

It wasn't a cake walk. I struggled through the early morning wake ups, the routine, the pranayama (breathing exercises), the stress of so much yoga in so little time. But, besides that it gave me a Sivananda Teacher Training Certificate, it also gave me a basic understanding for India as a country. I learned about the culture, the people, the religion and the food. I got to interact with Westerners and Indians alike and feel out the differences for myself. I gained a handle on what was appropriate and what wasn't. In short, I got to interact with lots of cool people, all day, every day, while learning about yoga, India and Hinduism. 

And then I flew to Delhi. Vibrant, intoxicating, intense, particular, beautiful, overpowering, stunning, affectionate, apathetic, bewitching, parlayzing, severe, humbling Delhi. 

I realize that all of these words are powerful and sharp, but nothing about India is dull. I also realize that many of these are contradictory, which also somehow describes India perfectly. 

India has been, and will most likely remain, the most difficult part of my trip. That's not saying I didn't have lots of good times and memories (Dharamsala, dance nights at the ashram, chai and street food, paragliding, the incredible sights and the even more incredible people).  But, India was different and hard. Not in a bad way, in the very best way. It was exactly what I needed and craved on this year of self discovery. It pushed and I did my best to push back with at least equal and opposite force. Sometimes I succeeded. Sometimes I didn't. But that's when you learn how far you can go; how pliable the body and mind are; how much they can withstand and adapt to. 

I cried more in those two months than I have since or yet. There were days I wanted to spend completely alone, doing nothing; oblivious to the amazing culture and sights around me. I felt home sickness like a physical ailment a Dr. could diagnose; like I had eaten something rotten and it was literally knotting up my insides. It was always there, even on the best of days, a shadow in the background. My senses were constantly being pulled in one direction or another - the smell of spices, the taste of dust in my mouth, the feel of the mid day sun on my neck or someone pulling at my sleeve to try and get me to ride in their tuk tuk rather than the hundred others pulled up to the sidewalk. You can't escape the fact that you're traveling, that you're somewhere different, that you've been away from home for months. 

But, that's a part of traveling. Or, at least, what I want a part of it to be for me. Not always, but enough to remind me why I'm here in the first place. It's reminding yourself how lucky you are for everything you take for granted on a daily basis. It's feeling all those things you read about but never truly experienced until you are actually in the middle of it. 

This all sounds very dramatic. That isn't my intention. I had countless great experiences in India between the things I saw and the people I met.  I think it's a magical and different and enchanting country. When people ask me about my favorite places, India always makes it high on the list. Its sights alone are incredible, but when you combine that with the history, culture, religion and people, you can't help but fall under its spell. It was surprising also; different than I expected in many ways. Parts of India were very modern. New Delhi, for example. When I packed my bag for the last time in Kathmandu, I put all of my shorts and tank tops into their own compartment, thinking they would hide in the recesses of my Osprey the whole time I was there. They did, but I noticed more freedom, in Delhi specifically, than I would have thought. At the ashram, we went swimming in a t-shirt and shorts so we didn't offend the locals. In New Delhi, I saw young Indian women wearing short shorts and tank tops. That wasn't the norm, but I was surprised to see the new and old, the modest and not so modest fusion. I had expected saris everywhere and only seeing the skin of hands and faces. Many women were still wearing traditional kurtans, or a mix of the top with a pair of jeans, but it was much more Western than I thought.

India is also a land of contrast. There are people bathing in litter filled streams across from beautiful high rise apartments. There are five star restaurants and tap water you can't drink. You can spend hundreds of dollars a night in a hotel, have a chauffeur drive you to the sites, and only glimpse the poverty surrounding you, or, you can live on $30/day, including hostels, street food, some sights and several cups of chai.  It's totally up to you, your budget and the experience you're looking to have. There are tuk tuk drivers and shop owners trying to overcharge you. There are dirt roads, people peeing and sleeping in the streets, dust and pollution in the air, people littering without a second thought, no personal space and bodies everywhere. I learned, while in India, that personal space is something you create in your mind. It's a figment of your comfortable imagination. There really is no such thing. There's poverty. But, there's also a sense of community that's sometimes lost with our white picket fences and locked front doors. These people know each other. They help each other. They sit and drink chai with their neighbors. I'm not saying we don't have that at home, but when you've got the luxury of running water and clean streets, you've also (often) got the burden of social norms and wondering what your neighbors think. I guess you see that here too (you probably see it everywhere), but I think the issues are different, more basic. I think that also leaves time for the more simple pleasures. 

I feel like, because I have so many people ask me about it, I should address how I felt safety wise. I never felt unsafe. I'm sure there were people in India who didn't have my best interests at heart, but you can find that anywhere. Being a single, solo female traveller, you learn to be cautious. In Kathmandu, there was a beautiful, freckle kissed, naturally wavy blond haired British girl who told me about the Indian man on the train behind her rubbing the front of himself all over the back of her. It makes your skin crawl to think that people assume it's ok to touch you without your permission. The thought of being in a foreign country and having a man touch me inappropriately gives me instant sweaty palms. I'd be terrified. But, the truth is, that that can happen anywhere. On a side note, I did notice that blonds got so much more attention than dark haired people. The more pale skinned and light haired you were, the more blatant the stares and gawking. I barely drank, and when I did, it was a glass of beer or wine with friends I'd gotten to know. I was usually sight seeing with other people and when I wasn't, I definitely wasn't out after the sun went down. I'm not saying that in parts of the country, women aren't viewed much differently than what I'm used to. They are and I don't agree with it. But, that's a whole 'nother issue. I write this because I know people who've turned India down on the basis of safety, and I think that's a shame. Be smart, like anywhere else, and you'll probably be fine (like anywhere else).  

I feel like this is more stream of consciousness (scattered and disorganized) than a regular blog post, but I have so many thoughts and memories from India and the next one keeps surfacing while I'm in the middle of plucking up the last and putting it down on paper. I just want to do my best to get it all down. India really is amazing and I want to do it justice. 

If you ever get the chance to visit, take it with a running leap and arms wide open. Know that's it going to be different and uncomfortable, but beautiful and wonderful at the same time. Realize that discomfort is part of the experience. Embrace it and you'll come out a better person in every way possible. 

I promise. 
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Paragliding in Bir, India

5/16/2014

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No one signed up for paragliding that day but me , so when I got to the tourist office at 8, it was just Bunty and I. 

"Since it's just the two of us," he said, "we can take one of the motorcycle for rent, instead of the car, if you want." 

While the thought of riding a motorcycle in India left me a little terrified, I couldn't really say no. When was I going to get an opportunity like this again? Plus, we weren't in or near Delhi, or another heavily populated area, so there wouldn't be the amount of people/bikes/cars on the road that there was in the city. I only momentarily battled my more cautious side before nodding my head in agreement. 

I picked the red bike (I'd be more descriptive, but I know nothing about bikes) and Bunty grabbed me a helmet, shrugging off my suggestion that he have one also. I was giddy with a mix of excitement and fear when we started the two hour journey to one of the top paragliding sights in the world. I tried to play it off like it was no big thing, but each time we rounded a curve or sped up, my heart raced and Bunty sensed my fear as my grip on his side or shoulders tightened. At one point he actually leaned back and told me not to worry - he was a good driver and he'd been driving bikes for a long time. That did little to curb my squeezing, but I did enjoy the thrill of riding the curved roads by buddhist temples and through a mix small towns, forests and hills. It was a sunny day and with my human wind shield and nano puff the temperatures were great for a morning ride. We dipped through the green into the lower elevation, passing military bases with speed bumps we didn't slow enough for. My tense nervousness melted away as I got the hang of being the passenger and eased into swaying with the bikes movements rather than resisting them. He did know what he was doing, and I just needed to enjoy the wind and the scenery whizzing by.  

We ended the steady climb into Bir with mountains rising in front of us, heading both east and west as far as the eye could see. We stopped at the paragliding office and I signed my life (and the companies responsibility) away. There was an Indian family there; two teenage girls, and their parents, who were also paragliding. They all piled into the company van and we followed them to the landing spot in the tourist park. 

Bunty introduced me to my guide, Sohan, and explained that I was a special customer, a friend (after my stay in his hotel and our two hour bike ride) that wanted the full experience. I cleared my throat and they both looked my way. I wanted a little clarity on what the "full experience" meant. He must have seen the skepticism in my eyes because he reassured me that I'd be fine, but I'd be getting the VIP treatment. I wasn't sure what VIP in a paraglider meant, but I'd find out soon enough. 

We watched a few more people land (smoothly, thankfully) before our guides, the other family, Bunty and I all piled into the jeep taking the dirt road up the mountain in front of us . I imagine these guys drive this road several times a day; every day that the weather/season allow for their sport. Even though I'm sure they knew the road well, I was still terrified at how fast we were going. We went around and around to the top, leaving our seats with each pot hole, speeding up for the straightaways and tapping the breaks late and hard on the blind turns. I was the only one that seemed to notice. Maybe it was my slightly frayed nerves from the bike ride there, or maybe I'm getting old (say it ain't so!), but I was excited to climb out of the jeep, and onto ground I wasn't speeding over, when we finally reached the top.  

We walked on the well trodden path to where we'd be making our running take off. I surveyed the uneven, rock and pocket filled hillside and wondered how I was going to manage running down it without falling. I watched Sohan unpack the glider and expertly lay it out it, proficiently, attentively, carefully. The two girls took off before me, running down the same hill I would be without missing a beat. 

Sohan called me over to the readied glider and I put my feet into the harness and raised it to my waist. My arms went through the straps and I felt the weight of the pack. Bunty took a few pictures and I wished I'd had a long sleeved shirt to throw on under my jacket as the wind wipped around. Sohan assessed the glider one more time before attaching it to himself and then attaching himself to me. I started to get nervous as I again gauged the pocketed, uneven hill and my chances of making it down without tripping. 

"What if I fall?" I asked. 

"Don't stop." He replied. 

"Right, but what if I trip."

"Just don't stop" he repeated. 

"Right, well, falling on my face with you and your heavy glider on top of me isn't exactly part of the plan, but I'm not the most graceful person I know," I thought to myself. I only had time to think about it for a few more seconds before a guy materialized next to me, supporting my arm while Sohan told me to run. He waited for my lead and we jogged off the top of the hill, starting the descent, my feet and eyes on the ground. Luckily, before I had time to tangle with the earth, my feet lost the resistance of the ground below and peddled in the air. I shifted back into my seat, felt my stomach cartwheel and my face break into a smile as I realized I was flying. 

Being that free in the air is a pretty amazing feeling. I never got very good at whitewater kayaking, but that's the most similar rush I can equate it to. In a kayak, you're as close to the water as your'e going to get without actually swimming through the rapids; you feel each and every wave; the cold water hitting you from every angle; you're intertwined with the river you're paddling through. Paragliding is the same - you feel each cold and hot pocket of air as you glide through it; the wind and the guides arms are a symphony of synchronized movements, one responding to the other to keep you in the air; your legs dangle below you, hundreds of feet above the ground; you get a whole new perspective; you're manipulating the wind and your glider to get you where you need to go; you're there, free but focused, trying to concentrate on the movements, not the danger involved.

We descended and came back up to above the level where we'd started, making this loop time after time. The wind was blowing softly, but Sohan was constantly moving one arm or the other to keep us level. I watched as over and over again the valley and trees below got a little bigger and then receded as we went back up to and above our starting point. My stomach lurched a little each time we were sideways. We waved to the people watching and Sohan yelled something to one of his co-workers below, looping the same small area again and again until he was sure he'd gotten the point across (he was yelling in Hindi and I have no idea what he was saying).  

We were able to talk a little on the flight and when I said that I'd glided in Switzerland he asked me to tell him about it. I told him it had been in the picturesque town of Interlaken, surrounded by mountains and while beautiful, the ride hadn't been like this. We hadn't looped around and back up to a higher elevation and the ride had been much shorter. He said that, with the right wind, he could spend hours in the air, and pointed out a mountain, far in the distance, that he could get to on the best of days. Apparently, that was part of the competition that was held here each year. That and tricks that were awesome to hear about, but that I didn't necessarily need to be a part of. After he was satisfied that we'd looped back enough times to make me feel like a VIP, we started our final descent down into the valley. 

We banked down to get a better look at the area and Sohan pointed out where a solo glider had gotten caught in the wind and fallen into a tree, simultaneously tangling himself into the branches and his cords.  I could tell he couldn't find the right English words to describe this comical event to me, but  he did let me know that his friend was fine. I pictured my paragliding friends, Mikey, Matt or Ben, in a similar situation and knew that none of them would ever live it down. I'd wager to bet this guy was in the same boat and still receiving lots of harassment over the incident. 

As the landing area came into view, Sohan asked how I was feeling and if I was enjoying myself. I responded with an enthusiastic yes and then he asked if I wanted to do a flip. I hesitated only long enough to realize I couldn't say no to this either and responded with a slightly less enthusiastic yes. His arms moved in a series of quick movements and my stomach, and the glider, responded as we turned upside down and back to right side up in a matter of seconds. I had to make an effort to not clamp my eyes shut. I didn't and got to watch as the sky switched places with the ground and once again was above me as we righted ourselves. My palms were sweaty and my stomach kept turning upside down and back to right side up even though the rest of me had stopped, but I loved it. I didn't necessarily need to do it again, but it was great the first time :)

We landed without any mishap, me lifting my legs and Sohan taking control as we slid in and he ran, dropping to his knees at the last moment.  I was giddy and disoriented from the ride and I stumbled with my first few steps, using Sohan to stabilize myself. 

As I waited for Bunty, I got to meet the owner of the company, a constant participant in the Paragliding World Cup. He'd grown up here and been all over the world paragliding, making his living by bringing his sport back to his country and sharing it with other Indians and foreigners alike. 

Bunty and I got some lunch with Sohan and one of the other guides before heading back. They tried to speak in English for my benefit, but lapsed back into Hindi when the conversation was above their skill level or when they were addressing each other. I was again reminded of friends I have at home - never without a smile, easy going and carefree, good at what they do (paragliding and just life in general) and living with an obvious passion for life and adventure. I enjoyed being in their company and watching their conversation and interaction, even if I couldn't understand what they were talking about. 

After our late lunch we started the journey back, making pit stops at two Buddhist temples, a Hindi shrine and one of Bunty's favorite cafes for a quick chai. We got back after dark and I couldn't thank him enough for being a great guide and going above and beyond with the bike, the temple pit stops and the VIP treatment. 

It had shaped up to be a pretty memorable day! 
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The Golden Temple and the India/Pakistan border

5/10/2014

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Luis and I decided to take a one night trip to Amritsar to see the Sikh Golden Temple and watch the flag lowering ceremony at the India/Pakistan border. The bus was at 6:00 A.M., but it left from lower Dharamsala and we were up in McLeod Ganj, so it was a 4:30 wake up call to catch our taxi. We met in front of my hotel in that still darkness that precedes the sunrise, eyes droopy and day bags slung. 

The bus was the regular city sort and we shuffled into our hard twin seats with the locals.  There was enough room that Luis and I had our own benches and I dozed the first two or so hours of the six hour ride, in and out of that interruption filled, open mouthed, upright seated sleep that isn't all that restful. I was glad to get any kind of sleep though, through the shuddering lumber of the bus and the semi-constant blare of the drivers horn.  Once we got back into the lower elevation (heat and smog) it became increasingly uncomfortable and with the combination of a lack of sleep, the heat and driving back into what I knew was a big, engrossing city, I ended the ride sweaty, hungry and irritable (sorry Luis)! 

We got off the bus and were followed around by a taxi driver that pretended we didn't answer "no" every time he asked if we needed a ride. Instead, we bargained with an elderly driver with a green motorized tuk tuk.  We hadn't booked any accommodations and hadn't eaten anything other than the few snacks we packed, so food and a bed for the night were high on our to-do list. The driver dropped us off before the traffic for the Golden Temple became more of a hassle than the price we'd agreed upon was worth. We walked into a small restaurant where the owner sat us under the fan and  ordered deliciously fried bread and curry so I could eat my way back into my more pleasant self. 

The owner helped us find a reasonably priced hotel and after checking in we took an hour for some much needed R&R. Refreshed, we walked through the half-paved, half-dirt roads crowded with people, restaurants, lassie shops and stray dogs to the Golden Temple.  We weren't far and it was maybe ten minutes before we were swapping the city landscape for the white, marble surrounding walls of the temple. We entered from the South and sat down on one of the benches to take off and check our shoes. The marble floor had been soaking up the sun all day and was hot against our feet. We half ran/half hopped to the covered shoe check where we traded our shoes for a small coin with a number etched on it. I watched as the man placed mine into a small cubby, hoping I'd get the same pair back when I returned. We then followed the green, scratchy mats of fake grass to the stream that preceded the archwayed entrance. We washed our feet in the cold, refreshing water and covered our heads with the cloth provided, then walked under the marble archway to the inner walkway and the sight of the Golden Temple, directly across from us, in the water. 

There were half naked men bathing in the water and both men and women walking the prayer lap towards the gurdwara (place of worship) in the middle of the pool. Orange Koi shared the water with the bathers, men in turbans and long white robes walked around with swords hanging from their waists and the Indian women, with their saris, filled the temple with all colors and shades of the rainbow. We made our way slowly to the side opposite where we'd entered, observing the people walking by, the families sitting in circles on the ground and the beggars resting in the shade. Some had round bellies that contrasted sharply with the rest of their skin and bone frame. I guessed they'd recently eaten the free meal of rice and daal offered to anyone that visited the temple. 

The gudwara itself was magnificent. The gold leaf covered top half glittered while the bottom, made of sparkling clean white marble, stuck out against the blue water and the multicolored clothing of the people walking behind it, on the bridge or worshiping just outside its doors. It had looked freestanding from where we'd entered, but walking around, the bridge that linked it to our path came into view. We reached the bridge, ducked under the ornate golden doorway and followed the crowd onto the middle isle, sectioned off from those going in the other direction by golden banisters and hand rails. We reached the Akal Takht, the "throne of the timeless one" and again followed the crowd, this time weaving in and out of those actually worshipping.  I stopped and watched the people prostrate and pray when I could, but with the flow of those around me it was hard to stand in one spot for more than a few seconds. I nestled myself into a corner for a minute or so, momentarily losing Luis to the crowd. I focused my attention on one of the men kneeling in front of me and the golden gate in front of him. He was wearing a blue turban, a white robe and had a wiry black and white beard that reached to the middle of his chest. His lips moved, although I couldn't hear his voice, and he swayed gently, back and forth, the surrounding world lost to him. I lost myself also, in watching him, coming to when a women walking by bumped into me. I  continued around the rest of the building, looping in and out of the doorways to similar scenes of worship and caught up to Luis before we walked back across the bridge. 

Back on the main walkway we were given prasad, a blessed food offering, on a banana leaf. The sweet yellow food tasted and looked a little like pound cake, although granier and slightly more ooey and gooey. We walked back to find our shoes where we had left them and headed to our hotel in enough time to get an early dinner before heading to the India/Pakistan border. 

Our hotel offered a guide service to the border and we booked it because I wanted some insight into what I was about to see, even though it was 500 INR (roughly $8), and we could have gotten a tuk tuk there and navigated our own way in for 100 INR (~ $1.50). 

Our guide told us a brief intro about what we'd be seeing and pointed out some sights along the way. There was a university, a military base and lots of farm land. Luis and I interrupted him frequently to ask a question or get clarity on something we didn't understand. He passed the rest of the hour by telling us about his life, where he grew up, where he learned his English, how he became a guide, etc. 

When we got to the border, he parked the car and told us to follow the crowd; he'd be in the car waiting for us. I thought he was going in also, but he mumbled something about foreigners and Indians having to sit separately and said he'd be at the car, ready to answer all our questions when we returned. There was a separate entrance for foreigners, but eventually we all got funneled into the same security line and led to the stadium like seating enclosing the road that ran out of India and into Pakistan. 

We sat on the bottom row of the bleachers, cramming into the only places we could find and waited for the ceremony to begin. The border patrol were dressed in Kakhi flood length uniforms decorated depending on their ranking and topped off with a red hat carrying what looked like a splayed fan on top. There were some announcements made in Hindi and the guards began to randomly pick Indians from the  crowd to run up and down the street carrying the Indian flag. There were mothers with their children, solo women and men and older couples all showing their pride, trotting to the border and back carrying their national flag. We all cheered them on as their families stepped out to take pictures and they waved both to them and to the crowd in general. 

The guards stopped calling people down and collected the flag so they could line up and perform their overly aggressive border dance. There was stomping and rigid waving arms combined with a series of yells and walking front kicks. The jerky movements matched the series of stomps, grunts and bellows. There faces were a mask of anger and contempt and I felt like I was watching a war preparation rather than a flag lowering ceremony. Seriously, the testosterone was running high. The Pakistani guards had their own combative dance and the two forces met in the middle when the gate opened. The flags were lowered simultaneously and loud music came over the speakers as the gates closed and the official ceremony came to an end. The crowds started to dance and eventually spilled from the bleachers to the street, dancing, shouting and smiling. All the militaristic gestures were replaced with snapping fingers and swirling hips as everyone transitioned into party mode. 

Eventually, the music stopped and the crowds dispersed as we all walked back to whatever mode of transportation had gotten us there in the first place. We got back in the car and I peppered our guides with questions, slowly coming to the understanding that he didn't really know that much about the border crossing, at least not enough to answer my questions. He knew more about the few landmarks on the way and the regurgitated description of the flag ceremony than any real meaning behind it. He had a funny habit of answering questions he didn't know with stories from his personal life, so we did get an insight into life for a twenty-something in that area. 

He dropped us off in a section of the city with a fair amount of restaurants and we found ourselves a Southern Indian place to have some of the coconut infused cuisine we'd grown so fond of in our month at the ashram. We finished eating and flagged down a bicycle powered rickshaw driver to take us back to the hotel. We paid him for a ride, but still got out and walked (and helped push!) to the top of the one uphill portion of our journey, then hugged the side of the street as we merged into traffic with the larger, faster vehicles. It's a wonder I made it out of India alive… 

When we got back to the hotel, I went almost directly to bed, still lagging from the early wake up and change in environment. Luis went back to the Golden Temple at night. He showed me his pictures in the morning; it looked beautiful lit up against the night sky and reflecting off the pool around it. 

That afternoon, we hopped on the same bus, heading in the opposite direction, and wound our way back into higher, cooler, calmer Dharamsala.
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Dharamsala

5/1/2014

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I took an hour and a half flight from Delhi to Dharamsala to meet Luis, Anand and some other ashram folk that had also migrated North. The air cleared, the people thinned and the temperatures dropped as we climbed from the airport into upper Dharamsala and a little town named McLeod Ganj. The mountains always have a calming effect on me and this was no different.  India can be almost paralyzing in it's bombardment of every sense you have, of you as a person, and I needed to de-frazzle for a few days. 

Lower Dharamsala is the biggest area of this "hill section" of Himachal Pradesh. It houses the airport, a school, some shopping and the other commodities needed in a town. Upper Dharamslala is divided into McLeod Ganj, Bhagsu and Dharamkot, all nestled into the mountain, each a little higher and offset from the last and all connected by a series of dirt roads easily walked or traversed in a tuk-tuk. The higher you got, the quieter it got. 

We were all in different guesthouses, but our small group would meet to explore, eat, drink chai and gossip about the ashram. It's interesting to hear everyone's version of how they found themselves studying Sivananda in Kerala and how they relate it to the world around them. Yoga and meditation, along with hiking, are all the rage in this pocket of India and we'd go as a group to guided morning meditation at the Tushita center, a yoga class in one of the three areas or along the trails to get a better view of the surrounding mountains and the city below.  Hari, another ashram alumn, converted a roof in Bhagsu to a yoga studio and we practiced there a few times. He'd made a make shift tent out of multicolored blankets to keep out the sun and enclose you in your world of yoga. I've never practiced in anything like it, but it fit - he used what he had to make what he needed and it came together in a kaleidoscopic mass of blankets and colors, like a subdued circus tent where we all practiced headstands and tried to remember to breath. 

Dharamshala is near the Tibet border and has India's biggest population of Tibetan refugees and a Tibetan Monestary frequented by the Dalhi Lama. He wasn't there during my stay, but a few people from the ashram made it there before I did were lucky enough to meet him. I got an email from my friend Ran, an amazing guy who takes nothing for granted and reminds anyone in his presence, just with his smile and joy for life, how lucky we are to be here and see the things we see, that he'd gotten to meet the Dalhi Lama in Dharamsala. I felt honored he wanted to share that with me, and if anyone deserved an experience like that, it's Ran. I settled with walking prayer laps around the temple, soaking in it's peace and calm and discussing the differences between Buddhism and Hinduism on the park benches of the acutely manicured lawn with Luis. 

Megan, Luis and I took one day to hike the biggest of day hikes in Dharamsala - Triund. It's the gateway ridge into the snow covered Dhauladhar mountains.  I met Megan at the Moustache Hostel in Delhi before her 10-day meditation course at the Vipassana Center in Dharamkot. Luis had done the same course, in a different place, right before coming to Dharamsala so I got to listen to them compare notes on 10 days of 10 hours of meditation. They also couldn't speak and were supposed to refrain from eye contact for those 10 days.  It sounded really, really, really intense. I was glad when I could make it through 20 minutes at the ashram :)  

The hike was only about three hours up and Luis made fun of my trekking poles until his knees had had enough and he had to rent a walking stick for the way down. We'd hired a guide because we were unsure of the trail and with the three of us splitting the cost it didn't come out to that much. He led the way and we followed, walking first on the road, then through a forest, mingling with other people and ponies carrying supplies, and kept going until the trees thinned, the trail steepened and we reached the top. There were guest houses and tea huts along the way and we stopped to have chai and take pictures of us doing headstands with the sun and mountains behind us. It was a mellow, slow paced day of hiking with lots of breaks, chai and chatting. The top was a ridge line with people, sheep and a beautiful view of the Dhauladhars in front of you, Dharamsala behind and paragliders in the air. We sat at the top taking it all in, eating Daal Baat, and breathing the cool, crisp, fresh air.  There were tents scattered here and there, and if I had it to do over again, I'd rent what I needed and spend the night there. Next time! 

There are so many other little things I loved about Dharamsala - Hiking to waterfalls with my book, friendly street dogs everywhere (except when they barked all night long), Luis, Anand, Emily, Megan and Katerine, the "Japanese Samuri" that would randomly walk into restaurants and play music for tips, learning more about Tibet and its people, sharing a bottle of local dandelion wine with Anand, a huge room with a view and a king sized bed for $6/night, learning first hand that goats wag their tails when they're excited (just like dogs), getting Spanish lessons from Luis so I can visit in Mexico, seeing a monkey pull a newspaper out of a garbage bin and open it like he was reading the New York Times (except that it was upside down), spending an entire rainy day watching movies in a cafe with Anand and Luis, the conversations about anything and everything, getting book recommendations left and right, hearing philosophies and thoughts on life from new friends I admire and getting to know them over cups of chai or Korean, Chinese or Indian food. There's more, but you probably get the point. 

I was in Dharamsala for almost two weeks total, with one side trip to Bir for paragliding and one to Amritsar to see the famous Sikh Golden Temple (those get their own post). This was, by far, the most relaxing part of my time in India. I needed it, too, between the constant demand of the ashram and the constant stimulation from the rest of this incredible country. Dharamsala is one of those places you lose time in; one of those places you could stay in and never want to leave. Travelling, in it's own way, can be stressful. You're somewhere new. You're observing customs you don't understand. You're trying to translate broken English or a smatter of hand signals. You're going through your "How I got here and what I'm doing traveling" story with new people every day. Dharamslala was different; it was my comfort bubble in India. It was the mountains, yoga, sleeping in, reading and making more than just two day friendships. 

I look back on Dharamsala with a smile on my face and an overflowing heart, both for the place itself and the people I got to share it with. 
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Agra (the Taj Mahal), Jaipur (snakes and camels), Udaipur (lounging)

4/22/2014

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Bill and I left Delhi in the hot afternoon sun and took an air-conditioned bus to Agra, home of the famed Taj Mahal.  We checked in late, arranged a tuk-tuk for the next morning and went to our rooms, agreeing to meet in the lobby at 4:30 AM to catch the sun creeping up over the horizon and behind the Taj. 

My alarm didn't go off and I woke up to Bill lightly tapping on my door. Ooops… We weren't late enough to miss the sunrise, but we did have to hurry into our tuk-tuk (with a daisy patterned seat cover) and speed away, as fast as the little engine would take us. We filed into line with the rest of the tourists and when the gates were finally opened, we got through quickly, being split into males and females and going through our respective metal detectors. 

You couldn't see the Taj Mahal from where we entered, but walking a little ways and around the corner, we turned to see its massive white marble structure on our left. It's even more magnificent than it looks in all the pictures. Its reflection off the waterway and the tree lined red sandstone paths guide every part of you, your eyes, legs and imagination, to one man's grandiose memorial to his deceased wife.  As we walked towards it, stopping to take pictures along the way, we realized we weren't facing East, and instead of seeing the sun rise behind the mausoleum, we watched as the side lit by the sun's rays changed from white to  shimmering gold. It was impressive enough that neither of us really minded. We took it all in, commenting on the grand building, the grand gesture and how lucky we were to get to see a new day begin here.  Once we got closer, we realized that the marble wasn't all white, like it had looked from a distance, but different shades and colors of earth tone, decorated with prayers in calligraphy and mostly floral designs. The four sides are the same; all perfect images of each other.  We explored every where we could (the inside was sectioned off), taking it in from all sides, angels and lighting before wandering off to explore the other mosques, buildings, courtyards and gardens in the grounds.  

I'd seen in my guide book that we needed to visit Joney's Place because they had the best cheese and tomato jayfelles (toasted sandwiches) so we sat down after leaving the Taj, the only ones in the small, six table place and ordered the specialty with masala chai. The chai was good and the sandwich was better. It was buttered and greasy, the way things aren't supposed to be at home but you let it slide on vacation. Bill ordered one more round and we polished it off before heading back to the hotel so we could grab our bags, stash them in the back of our rented tuk-tuk and see the Baby Taj (Itimad-ud-Daulah) and Akbar's Mausoleum. Bill, famous for his jumping pictures, wrangled me into one at the Baby Taj. We had to take several  before we got our timing right (much to the amusement of the crowd around us and the Inidan man taking the photos.) We headed from there to our next bus, a cramped and overly air conditioned overnighter to Jaipur. 

Jaipur had a little more to see and we spent three days here, exlopring the Amber Fort, Jantar Mantra, Hawa Mahai, charming a snake and riding a camel. I even had enough time to find a book store and get Shantaram (very good book, set in India, that I highly recommend!), which I kept seeing on all my hostel bookshelves.  I got to explore Jaipur's Central Park and switch between running and the free in-park yoga classes. It's nice to be somewhere for a few days and integrate yourself into regular life! 

We saw the Amber Fort first. From the tuk-tuk we wandered along a lengthy, switch back winding walkway overlooking a garden and lake (and filled with men selling decorative umbrellas, one which I bought). When we reached the ticket counter, we decided on an audio tour and spent the next few hours walking through the four courtyards. Upon entering the first courtyard I backed up to get a good view of the Sheesh Mahai (Mirror Palace) and take a picture. A family of Indian tourists thought that I was trying to take a picture of them and the all lined up in front of me, eager to be in the forefront of my photo. 

Each courtyard had its own attraction and we looked at the detailed elephant carvings, the flowers on the ceiling, the lattice windows, temples, mosaics and sculptors and even climbed to the second and third floors to explore the top, outer sections, tipping a young guard to show us the next point on our audio tour when we lost our way. It wasn't tipping so much as him demanding payment after showing us our way, but such is life in India. 

Out of the last exit from the fort, sitting almost hidden in a corner was a snake charmer with his basket of snakes beckoning to us as we walked out of the arch way exit. Bill had already charmed a snake, but I was new to the biz, so we put a hundred rupees into the man's bamboo collection jar and I sat down, sharing his blanket, but as far from the basket he was eying as I could. Bill played camera man while tha charmer handed me a flute and started playing his own while lifting the lid off the basket with one hand. Slowly, rhythmically, the cobra began rising out of the basket, keeping it's eyes on the flute and it's player. Once it had uncoiled what it thought an appropriate length, most of it still curled up in its whicker basket home, it continued to sway along with the music, going side to side in a slow, trance like dance. When I started to play, I threw off it's rhythm and it turned ever so slightly in my direction, contemplating the new sound. I wouldn't say I was playing as much as I was making random, out of tune squeaks, and I don't like being stared down by snakes, so I stopped and let the snake settle back into it's rhythm with the charmer. After he played our 100 INR worth, he stopped and purposely aggravated the snake, allowing it to strike at him to show that he had been de-fanged and didn't pose any real threat. I don't really like aggravated snakes either, so I watched this display from my feet, off the blanket. We thanked the charmer, once the snake was safely back in his basket, and were on our way. 


On our tuk tuk ride back to Jaipur we pulled over to get a picture of the Jal Mahal, the Water Palace in the center of the Man Sagar lake, and noticed a group of camels on the other side of the road, saddled up and waiting for a rider. A camel ride was on my checklist for India, so we walked across the street and Bill bargained with the men while I picked out my camel. They got him to sit on all fours and I crawled on the saddle, a little nervous about the temperament of this particular camel. Bill warned me to hold on, and as the camel lifted his two front legs I grabbed the front of the saddle to keep from tumbling backwards. His back legs came up next and I was straight rather than slanted, now only having to worry about falling off sideways rather than sideways and backwards. The ride was a little bumpy, each step feeling awkward and jolted as the camel stomped one foot after the other on the ground. We both adjusted to each other and the ride become smoother, although not really more comfortable, as we made a few laps around the parking lot. The camel again kneeled down on all fours, sticking his head into the water barrel next to him as I l climbed off his back and back onto stable ground.  
I look like a goober waving from that camel, but I thought I'd add it to the blog anyway… 


Bill wanted to do some souvenir shopping for his family, so our tuk tuk driver took us to a textile factory where they could show us the whole process and we could pick out handmade items from small things like rugs to full blanket sets. I knew I wanted something from India, everything being so colorful and vibrant, and we found ourselves in a several story building, first watching men stamp patterns on to different qualities of cottons and silks, then, after exchanging pleasantries and having our thirsts quenched with Chai, we were shown, one by one, all of the different qualities of bed spreads we could have, and the different kinds of designs. We were there for hours with blankets ceremoniously furled open in front of us, each of us picking the style and material we preferred. We both had our purchases mailed home and we walked out to a happy tuk tuk driver, I'm sure aware of the commission he'd just made by taking us to this particular shop. 

The city palace, Hawa Mahal and Jantar Mantar were on the itinerary for the next day. The city palace was several buildings alternating between pink and yellow. Not as tacky as it sounds (not tacky at all, actually)  but the highlights, for me, where Jantar Mantar and Hawa Mahal. 

Jantar Mantar is a yard full of astronomical instruments built in the early 1700's and used to measure the time, the position of the sun and planets, and a variety of other things. We decided it would be worth paying for a guide and he led us through each of the 14 instruments, giving us a quick run down of what they were for and how they worked. My favorites were the individual sundials, one for each zodiac sign and the Jai Prakash Yantra. The Jai Prakash Yantra is a dome, cut into two and then into sections (so the astronomer could walk into it) that maps out the constellations in the sky based on where the sun reflects off a small ring hung into it. That's really dumbed down (and confusing at the same time?) but, it's basically a pretty snazzy instrument to tell you what time of the year it is! See pics above for a little clarity. 

Hawa Mahal, aka the "Palace of the Winds" is a beautiful, five story pink sandstone palace. There are thousands of little windows looking out that were used to provide the royal Jaipur women with a glimpse into normal life, since they never went out in public. It's a beautiful yellow and pink with lots of round, soft domes and lookout towers. There were nooks and crannies everywhere and had I had a book I would have sat and read for a while. The inside courtyard had a fountain and you could see the entire city, in any direction, from the wall along the top. The outside of the Hawa Mahal, facing towards the main street, was the most interesting. It was pink, rounded window stacked on top of pink rounded window until about the fifth window, where the small golden ornamentation on top of the last domed peek hole met the blue sky. It reminded me of a giant, pink organ (the kind you would hear during Catholic mass).  

In Udaipur, what I fittingly heard described as India's Venice, it was too hot and humid to do much other than lounge. We took in the main sites, the City Palace and the Jagdish Temple, but other than that, we hung out at the hostel by the river, got to know the other guests there and really only left to get food and do the minimal amount of walking. It honestly was just too hot for much else.  We ordered lassies on the balcony, looked out over the water, shared travel stories and commiserated about the heat and humidity. We did walk along the winding, narrow streets to find some delicious, cheap street food, but mostly it was two days of relaxing and trying to stay hydrated through the temps. It's a beautiful city and you can get lost staring at it from a rooftop, or into the water from a balcony, so it was the perfect place to sit and do just that. 



Bill's two week vacation from work was over and he had to head back to Mumbai while I caught an overnight bus back to Delhi to make my way up to Dharamshala. It was nice to have been able to navigate the trains and cities with a friend rather than solo. I wouldn't trade this individual experience for the world, but it's enjoyable to share your thoughts with people in the moment, especially when you're staring at something as wondrous as the Taj Mahal. 

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An Indian Wedding

4/19/2014

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I kept hearing, over and over again, that I had to get myself invited to an Indian wedding. 

"They're so great!" everyone said. 

"There's nothing like them!" they exclaimed.

"You just have to go to one!" I heard if the fact that I was going to India ever came up in conversation. 

So, I started dropping hints at the ashram (shameful, I know). Whenever someone asked what my plans were for my extra month in India, I'd mention that I was heading up North to see the Taj Mahal, learn a little about the culture and way of life and, if I was lucky, get to see an Indian wedding because I kept hearing how incredible they were. I continued on with this ulterior motive laced string of comments until one day, Devesh's smile brightened at the prospect of helping a friend and he mentioned that he was going to a wedding in Delhi shortly after we left the ashram. He said I could come with him like it was no big thing. I'd heard that weddings in India are a "more the merrier" kind of event, but his casual offer caught me off guard, even after all of my hint dropping, and as I came to my senses I stumbled over my words trying to make sure that the family would be alright with some random person they'd never met before attending their special day.  He assured me that he was close to the bride's family and the bride and groom themselves, and they wouldn't mind at all. 

Traditional Indian weddings span seven days. It seems like most weddings are now just a weekend affair, with modern, busy life getting in the way of everyone taking a week off to observe all the older traditions. There are ceremonies from each side of the family., especially if the families are from different regions and have their own set of customs. India has a lot of culture. There are 29 states, each with their own language and expectations of what needs to be included in a wedding ceremony. This bride and groom, Supriya and Rikesh, are from two different regions so they had a lot to include. This wedding was a three day long affair, although the planning, much like at home, had been going on months and months. Devesh is neighbors and good friends with the bride's sister, Smita, and her family, and was playing an integral part in the planning and organization. On top of herding guests, making phone calls, coordinating transportation and stationing himself wherever he was needed, he become my guide into the celebration as well. There was the brides family reception on Friday evening, the traditional Henna tattooing on Saturday and the actual wedding on Sunday night, and I had an invitation to it all. 

Devesh, Nalin (brother-in-law of the bride) and Catherine (Devesh's business partner) picked me up Friday evening around eight and we were off to the Golden Tulip Hotel for the bride's family reception. We made a few stops for something forgotten but needed, a bathroom break and a little bubbly to smooth the flow of the night and wedding frazzled nerves. Weddings are, after all, hard work. Following a green hued, lit up walkway to the courtyard behind the hotel, we walked onto a grassy area filled with purple tablecloth covered tables and white, floral patterned chairs with buffet tables to one side, a canopy of lights down the center and a stage for the bride and groom on the far end. 

The reception was relatively similar to other wedding receptions I'd been to. There was a table for gifts, a beautiful soon-to-be bride to fuss over and people catching up with those they only see on never frequent enough special occasions that bring together distant relatives and childhood friends. The bride and groom entered from the back followed by their priest, who was Indian but had flown all the way from San Diego (where the groom grew up and currently resides) to be able to give parts of the ceremony in English. He chanted and sang to the Gods I'd learned about at the ashram with the couple and their family on the stage  as we all gathered around to watch and listen. The rhythm and tone washed over me and I relaxed into observing these two people begin their lives together, surrounded and supported by those most important to them. 

The evening ended with dancing, a few alcoholic beverages and all the current Indian hits from the band. I wish I had some video footage, because those Bollywood dance moves are amazing!  

I headed back to my hostel that night and had to miss the Henna tattooing the next day due to some prior plans. I saw it on sari clad guests all throughout the ceremony on Sunday though and wished I'd been able to join in on the decorating.  Next time… :) 

I spent a little extra time getting ready Sunday (i.e. - I actually put on some mascara) and was outfitted in my new blue and bedazzled kurtan with the pink leggins to match. This time, when we reached the Golden Tulip, it was earlier than it had been Friday and the bride wasn't quite ready. Devesh led me to the hotel room where Supriya was preparing and I couldn't believe my luck. I'd met her once and I got to be there, watching her get ready and fret over her already beautiful self. She had her sari on and more jewelry than I'd ever seen anyone wear at one time. I can't imagine how heavy it all must have been. Later, she actually needed help down the staircase because everything was so weighty. Besides the necklace and head and nose jewelry, her gold and green sari was also covered in jewels, and I can't begin to guess at how much it all weighed. I asked if there was anything I could help with and she mentioned that she was starving and hadn't eaten all day. Devesh and I left to find her some food and I got my first glimpse of the beautiful inner courtyard where dinner and the ceremony would be held. There was a staircase that led down to the tables and chairs and although the space was smaller than the one from two nights before,  there were again buffet tables (this time one on each side) and a stage, this one elevated with a red and gold canopy in the center, where the ceremony would take place. 

Devesh, after getting Supriya some food and handling other, official wedding matters,  came to tell me that the groom would be making his entrance soon, and it would be something I'd want to see. He casually mentioned that most grooms enter on horses, but Rikesh was coming in on an elephant. Well, three elephants total - one for him and his sister and two for other members of his family. The elephants had people sized woven baskets on their backs and were making their way down the street outside the hotel, flanked on either side by a band. All I could think about was how busy the street had been when we had driven down it. How were there three elephants walking down it right now? But, somehow, there were, with an entire band and wedding party cheering them on.  We watched as the painted elephants marched down the street and turned into the hotel's driveway, where they posed for pictures and, one-by-one, knelt down to let their passengers off. 

A little while later, after the guests had arrived and were milling about around the tables and adjoining room, Supriya came down the stairs to much deserved Ooooing and Awwwing. She looked stunning - like what I imagine from an Indian princess in centuries old stories. There was so much tradition, dress and jewlery walking down those steps that she had to be helped on both sides by a sister.  She made her way slowly down the steps, her eyes alternating between the steps below her feet and the crowd, smiling all the while. 

Supriya walked into the room off the side of the courtyard where Rikesh was waiting and they made their way to a red and gold couch where they'd be taking pictures with their guests. Their priest welcomed everyone, said a blessing to the couple and the line for congratulations formed. Every female around me was dressed in a beautiful, colorful sari. Every color and shade of the rainbow was in that room, lined up to take a picture with the bride and groom. The dark long hair, Bindis, bracelets and henna tattoos added to the  detail and exotic air. Devesh took my camera and I got in line with some of his friends I'd met to be included in their group picture. I said my congratulations to the bride and groom, still amazed that they were so willing to open up this special day to a complete stranger, having no idea how much it meant to me to be able to see how this display of devotion and love is practiced in a place so far from my own home. 

After pictures, and before the final wedding ceremony began, dinner was served outside. All the tables were filled with different, delectable Indian foods and delicious dessert. The food was mostly Northern Indian, with lots of spice and sass, color and sauce. There was a chef with a little double burner stove and clay pan that made fresh roti on request. There was spiced paneer,  different kinds of vegetarian curries, Indian and continental snacks, some Chinese food, South Indian food and all of the appropriate accompanying sauces and pickled (read: spicy) vegetables. The food was, surprise surprise, delicious.  I tried to get a tiny amount of everything I was trying, but even with my attempts at minimalism, the food on my plate was hanging over the sides and piled into a mini food mountain by the time I was done. Turns out I wanted to try it all.  And, I enjoyed it all. I didn't, however, notice the spice until I was nearly half way done. It was the subtle kind that accumulated in your mouth slowly, with each bite, until it builds up to a small fire that burns your tongue and cheeks.  I tried to douse it with water, but it lingered long after I was done with my mountain of food. Devesh guided me to the dessert table and introduced me to all of the delicious options I could try.  Some I'd had before, but most I hadn't and like before, I piled a little of everything on my plate, not filling it quite so full this time, but only because there weren't as many platters as there had been with the main courses. I tried each one and Devesh shared the plate with me, telling me a little about each dessert and what it was made from. Mmmmmm…. Indian mouth watering goodness…...

After dinner I watched as paper lanterns were given to the guests and unfolded. Once the square piece of paper had taken the shape of a lantern, a small tea light candle was placed inside the wire frame at the opening and lit, building up enough heat over time to eventually float away and join the stars in lighting up the night sky. We all got in on the action and soon the sky above us was filled with our little lanterns. I only saw one catch fire, having been tilted too much when the flame was lit. The owner dropped it as a growing orange flame crawled up the side and the paper started to brown and shrivel. It was given a wide birth as it writhed on the ground and a few men stepped on the burning mass to stomp out the flames, leaving some ashes and a few white pieces of paper that had escaped the fire. I stood watching, taking pictures to document this trend that I thought I should bring to life in the US (hint… hint… Nicolle and Steve) until Devesh came over with an folded lantern and candle for me to try. He took the camera and pictures as Suchitra, Anurag, Gautam ji and his wife Shaurya held the opposite edges to make sure mine, too, didn't catch fire and it lifted into the sky like it was supposed to. Luckily, only the tea light caught and once enough hot air accumulated, my lantern floated away too, joining the others in the sky, making little yellow dots that got smaller and smaller until they eventually disappeared all together. 

After the lanterns, we waited for only a little while until we were all asked to sit, and the groom, along with the priest, went up to the stage. They waited there for the bride, who's sisters, in the mean time, stole the grooms shoes and began bargaining with him for their safe return (a traditional custom). I'm not sure what the final tally was, but eventually, he got his shoes and they got a little something on the side. As part of the bride's family in my sisters upcoming wedding, I'm pre-warning Steve to watch his shoes - I like this tradition and I could use a little extra dough  :) 

When Supriya made her entrance, Rikesh was hidden behind a sheet so he couldn't yet see his bride to be.  As the priest preached in Sanskrit, the bride and groom both looked into the cloth, waiting for it to be lifted. When it was, their parents gave their blessing to the pair in turn. In the middle of the couple was a small stack of wood that signifying purity. Circling the fire seven times, performing the Saptapadi, is done while the priest chants the seven blessings for a strong union. The couple stood and circled the flame, him leading her around and then, on the seventh and final turn, her taking the lead. They sat then, together, on a couch facing the crowd and were officially man and wife. 

Throughout this ceremony, I sat between Devesh and Atul and they answered my ceaseless questions about Indian weddings and the different traditions, what was happening on stage and how this would differ from other weddings in the country. They took turns answering and explaining what was going on, the significance of the actions and translated the words. 

At about three A.M.  the wedding ceremony was over for the friends of the bride and groom, but the immediate families still had their regional customs to perform and they all retreated into the hotel to carry out these traditions in the comfort of their smaller, more intimate rooms. Devesh wandered through the remaining guests, seeing if anything was needed, and called a cab for our small party. I left feeling the late hour looming over me, but even the time couldn't take away the amazement and gratitude for what I was lucky enough to have just been a part of. 

The ride back to the hostel was quite, everyone lost in their own thought. It was late and we (I, at least) were tired. I crept into my six bed dorm room, changed out of my kurtan and feel asleep to the thoughts of painted elephants, Indian princesses and a rainbow of saris. 


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Delhi

4/17/2014

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I flew to Delhi a few days after the course at the ashram ended. I was worried about transitioning from those tranquil surroundings to a lively, bustling, people filled city so I decided to stay in hotel, rather than a hostel, for the first week. It was 900 Indian Rupees ($15) to stay at the "Cottage Yes Please" hotel in Pahar Ganj, an area of New Delhi famed as the "backpackers part of town" with lots of character, street food and a bazaar full of vibrant Indian clothing and souvenirs. The street food was delicious (and cheap). There was somebody making a different spice filled, mouth watering delicacy on every corner - samosas, channa (stewed chickpeas), parathas (flatbread) and many more with mango lassies or chai masala, made in seasoned copper pots, to wash it all down. The clothing was as appealing to the eyes as the food was to the taste buds. It's full of patterns, designs and colors (the clothes, although sometimes the food too). It's all breathable and comfortable, the way loose clothes that let the air blow through them are made to be. Delhi summers are sweltering and they've figured out the wardrobe to cope.  

Shopping in India, at least at the stalls and little shops on the streets, can be overwhelming. At the very least, it takes some getting used to. Unless you're in one of Delhi's malls, there's always someone at your side trying to show you anything and everything you might be interested in. Sometimes, it's before you even make your way into the store. It's not a bad way to shop, just noticeably different from the mostly hands-off approach in the US. That being said, it leaves you with the opportunity to get almost anything at a fabulous price. I say that, aware of, and accepting the fact that foreigners often pay more than locals. I thought my $4 for a pair of pants was great until I watched an Indian lady next to me bargain down to $2. I couldn't understand what she was saying, but when she paid half of what I just had I glanced at the shop owner, who glanced at me, watching, and shrugged. It's kind of just how it goes. 

Because I knew Delhi would be my home base for the rest of the stay in India and because I had lots of boring, everyday things to catch up on, I did some sight seeing on my first stint here, but was mostly checking things off my to do list while trying to simultaneously get used to the culture and new surroundings. Internet at the ashram had been slow and unreliable on the good days and nonexistent on the bad, so there was a lot to catch up on - Skyping with family and friends, paying bills, the blog (I'm blaming the ashram on the fact that I'm so behind. It has nothing to do with being a bit of a slacker by nature...), etc. I also needed to get some contacts and a hair cut. Yup, travelers have to do the everyday stuff too. I wish I had an adventurous story about getting a haircut by an Indian man on the side of the street with a straight razor (I'm not even sure if you can do that), but, I don't. I went to a salon instead. The classy kind I wouldn't spend the money on in Utah. Shampoo, cut, blow-dry and style for $10. Mmmmm hmmmmm! Probably 10x the amount I could/should have spent, but it was worth knowing that my nonexistent Hindi skills wouldn't leave me with any bald spots or two inches of hair.

So, my first few days in Delhi were spent walking around trying to check things off that to do list. There was a cafe with wifi directly across the street with a mix of Indian and continental food and I spent my fair share of hours there trying being productive (and wasting time surfing the internet). Most of my mornings started off at the cafe, getting breakfast (eggs everyday - I missed them after a month of lacto-vegetarianism), checking email, going through photos, etc. A few times I took the metro into the New Delhi Mall area and walked around, trying to find somewhere to buy contacts, checking out the shops and stands and going to a yoga class. I noticed, in those first few days, that walking around solo, I got approached by a lot of men trying to sell me a tour, find me a tuk tuk, take me to a tourist office, organize buses, trains, and whatever else they could think of. Being a solo female traveler, I don't really love being approached by random men. None of them were dangerous; just trying to get some money out of a tourist. It was always during the day, in crowded areas, with lots of other tourists and locals around. I made sure to stay out of dark alleyways. I never felt unsafe, just a bit annoyed. It became a challenge to stay polite. The conversations usually started with "What are you looking for?" or "Can I walk with you to practice my English?" and my responses went from agreeable to "Actually, I'd prefer to walk alone. Thanks." Again, it's all part of the experience.

I did, even with my long, mundane to do list, get to see some sight seeing before I left Delhi for Agra (the location of the famous Taj Mahal). Akhil and Shubhangi, both friends from the ashram who live in Delhi, offered to take me out one day and show me their town. I was supposed to meet Akhil early that morning for a yoga class at a Sivananda center, but got turned around on the metro and ended up heading in the wrong direction for a couple stops. There was also construction on the track and I had to switch trains once I finally was going the right way. Needless to say, I didn't make it to yoga. But, I did get to have breakfast with Akhil's family (nicest people ever). Aside from feeding me, I got a look into the lives of an Indian family, interesting conversation, a lovely shawl as a welcome gift and a satisfied tummy. 

We had time to see Qutb Minar and Humayun's Tomb that day and later in the week Bill (new friend from the Moustache Hostel) and I went to the Red Fort and wandered around Old Delhi.

All three sight have Mughal architecture in common and share the same red sandstone, domes, vaulted gateways and detailed ornamentation.  At Qutb Minar, one of the UNESCO World Heritage Sights in Delhi, the entrance fee was 250 IR (Indian Rupees) for me and 10 IR for Akhil and Shubhangi. 25x. Sheesh. It was worth every Rupee, though. It's a complex with the ruins of ancient temples and mosques, a tomb and the main attraction, the Qutb Minar (tower). The Minar stands almost 250 feet tall (73 meters) and has five stories, each with its own  balcony. Unfortunately, we weren't able to climb the 379 steps to the top because the tower has been closed for decades (horrible story about lights going out and a stampede). Looking up at the red marble and sandstone, you can't help but be impressed by all the intricately designed sections. The red sandstone is carved with verses from the Quran and (what looks like) some kind of floral pattern. The monuments here are like nothing I've ever seen before. These had Muslim and Hindu influence and what I'd been seeing in Nepal was all Buddhist. The designs, the building material, the architecture and the religious influence were completely different. There wasn't a column or surface that wasn't lovely in its own way. The carvings were complex and absorbing. Even the ruins with no carvings were interesting enough to warrant a thorough exploration. It might have been the age, or the way the differently colored protruding stones had aged, or any number of other things. Whatever it was, I could have looked at it for hours. 

The company also had a lot to do with why I enjoyed myself so much. Akhil always has a smile on his face, often after a clever (aka smart-ass) comment and Shubhangi let me in on the gossip filled world of her girlfriends like I was one of them. It's nice, when traveling, to hear the stories and exaggerated dramas of friends and relate them back to your friends.  I miss hearing the day to day of what's going on at home, so it's nice to hear a version of it, even when it pertains to people I've never met.   

Qutab Minar was also my first experience with people asking to take their picture with me. Akhil and Subhangi laughed in the background as I stood there being chummy with people I'd never met for the sake of their picture. The first time, I thought the girl was asking if I would take a picture of her and her friends and when I said yes and reached out for the camera, her friends hurried to stand next to me while the other one backed up to get us and the monument all in the same frame. I couldn't do anything but smile. It's funny to me that someone who doesn't know me wants to take my picture. Akhil later made the comment that that's the reason so many white people like to come to India - we all feel like celebrities while we're here :)  

After a week in the Yes Please Cottage I moved to the  Moustache Hostel, also in New Delhi, but cheaper by 250 IR and an easier place to meet people. Case in point, I met Bill, an engineer working and temporarily living in Mumbai, based out of Dubai and from France. Did you follow all that? We both had the same general plan of seeing a few more things in Delhi then heading to Agra, Jaipur and Udaipur. We booked some air-conditioned buses, spent one day seeing the Red Fort and wandering around Delhi and then headed to Agra to see the Taj Mahal. 

But first, I was invited to, and attended, an Indian wedding...  




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