Filed under: India, Seattle, travel | Tags: Aksherdahm, Pushkar Camel Fair, Rajistan, puctuality, Aksherdahm Temple, Aksherdahm Boat Ride, Vedic Society, indian cultural center, arabic, muslim, Pushkar, Rajistani men, mustache, male earrings, Pushkar fort, tent camping, desert, camel trading
The cab, uncharacteristically, is right on time. For a culture that admits that punctuality is not high on the agenda, this is a really punctual cab company. We’re heading to Aksherdahm Temple, which is about a two hour drive, and the driver speaks no English. While this is a fairly straight-forward trip, this doesn’t make things easy—we do a lot of hand-gesturing, and I’ve been instructed that if and when we get confused, I am to call Mr. Pal, Abhishek, or Shubhendu, tell them what I need, and then give the phone to whomever I’m interacting with and they will explain. That’s pretty sad, pretty helpless, and pretty optimistic that someone who has a phone put in his hand by a foreigner doesn’t just bolt. But what the hell.
Filed under: India, Seattle, travel | Tags: office, office humor, lifetime channel, femal humor, Russel Peters, Agra, Aksherdahm, Taj Mahal, Pushkar Camel Fair, Pushcar, Rajistan, obvious humor, COke
Today the honeymoon was over. It’s been an adventure this entire trip; though I’ve had to work, the exotic location and the cultural differences have kept things interesting—but today I started to get used to this. The more time I spend in this culture, the more I realize that, while the people may speak a different language and adopt different customs, we’re very similar.
After breakfast and driving to the office, I sit in a work station that I’ve adopted for the past few days. It’s adorned with the usual woman’s decorations, including a printout of some of those Lifetime Channel-esque sayings that have to do with the general frustrations of being a woman. Gems such as:
- If it has testicles or tires, it’s going to give you trouble!
- A 14 diet is a great way to lose-I’ve lost 7 days already!
- Sometimes you just need a night out with the girls! And some drinks!
This kind of stuff, as is pretty obvious, is really not my cup of tea. And anything that accentuates every sentence with an exclamation point is almost always the type of humor that makes me want to stab people, which is to say, it’s just obvious office humor. Someone has a case of the Mondays! Take an obvious joke and throw and exclamation point on there, and it’s the literary version of slapstick. Isn’t that wacky—BaZOW! So it’s funny to see that the humor I find so universally annoying is, in fact, universal.
Filed under: India, Seattle, travel | Tags: camel, camel bites, camels, chai, Chuck E CHeese, indian Chuck E Cheese, indian food, office, study, tea, tea time, teatime
One of the most difficult things for me on this trip has been the loss of my anonymity. When I travel I always spend at least some time alone; I like to lose myself in where I am, maybe talk to some locals, or at least just walk around by myself without talking—just watching and listening. And I take pictures—as anyone knows—lots of them. I take pictures obsessively; they are the window to my past, and I document places and events in specific details. Items I use every day, local animals and plants, the front door of the place I stay—all these things, as inconsequential as they may seem to a normal person—are very important and get documented.
But I am self-conscious about this process. I find that I can only do this well in a moment by myself—when traveling companions are busy with something else, or when I am off alone. When I take the picture—as strange as this seems—it’s a moment of vulnerability for me. It’s me showing my desires, and my thoughts, and to have a stranger or even a friend see that is very uncomfortable for me. When people see my pictures they often comments on their style—and frequently add something like “I didn’t even see you taking these!” That’s not by mistake.
India is by far the hardest assignment for me yet. I can’t find a moment alone here; there is always someone watching. There is always someone watching because there are more people than the US in 1/3 of the space. There is always someone watching because I don’t have the ability to go off alone as I don’t speak the language. And there is always someone watching because I am, despite my best efforts, on display. I look different, I speak differently, and I’m very tall (by comparison)—everyone watches me when I go somewhere, and it is in those spaces I would like to take photos.
Another reason that I have difficulty taking pictures is that I don’t really photograph people all that well—it feels invasive, even though few feel that way about it. But I feel voyeuristic and when someone notices I’ve been taking pictures of them and smiles, I feel as though I’ve been caught doing something inappropriate. On one level, I feel like by treating these people as props I’m marginalizing them; it’s like they’re a backdrop for my cultural exploration; a novelty item to snap a shot of before I head back to my rich life in Seattle. Oh look, a shanty with children playing in the dirt—click—what a marvelous specimen of the Indian poor. It feels wrong.
Filed under: India, Seattle, travel | Tags: blackberry, Gurgaon, Skype, cow, cows in the road, cultural differences, keeping up with the joneses, indian culture, indian work attitudes, indian life attitudes, karma, communal aspect of eating, south indian cuisine, technical support, lady fingers, seafood, gulab jamun, jalebi, kulfi, saffron, pushkar fair, camel rides, miscommunication
Surender is back, and so are the cheese omelets! Though I ask him how he is feeling and wish him better, our interaction is still limited. But I got a smile, so that’s something.
This morning has consisted of calls. I made a work call to check in and see how things were going back in the department in the US, called my parents briefly to check in, and then spent the better part of the morning typing up work materials and talking to Regis. While the telephone is pretty pervasive here, I find that Skype has much better voice quality, and what’s better is that the other end has a webcam, so I can actually see the face that Regis is making when I say something characteristically stupid. That and she ain’t hard on the eyes. It’s the little familiar comforts that help when you’re away.
But it feels good to see her, and while Surender comes in to make breakfast we switch to typing so that he doesn’t think I’m talking to myself. I have a disconnected feeling here; I still can’t get my head around the interconnectedness of the world through travel and electronic information exchange. I guess I’m still somewhat primitive in that I assume that since I’m talking to and hearing someone, they must be close by. Though the plane ride was long, actually holding the idea in my head of being on the other side of the world is too difficult. Add in the fact that I can call anyone at anytime, or talk to Regis in realtime, and my mind and feelings start a tug of war. People’s words are close, but physically they are not—it seems incredibly simple for everyone but me.
Abhishek picks me up to drive me to the office and I’m pleased to see that his crisp business attire has been replaced with jeans and a polo, which looks a little more in line with my polo and linen pants. The range of dress at the office is interesting—from graphic tees to starched white shirts, though unlike the US, no one seems to judge, and clothes are not necessarily indicative or rank. Revise that; they are not.
Today is the commuter’s Day of the Cow. Cows are in the road all over the place, and Abhishek doesn’t break his speed, but rather weaves in and out of them like a slalom racer, giving each cow the traditional Indian 3” of clearance. The first couple of times this scares me because I am convinced that the cows would spook and run like the ones in the states. The don’t so much as look at us. They just stand there, staring ahead, as little wheeled metal boxes accommodate their casual lifestyles.
Filed under: India, Religion, Seattle, travel | Tags: krishna, ganesha, New Delhi National Museum, New Delhi Archives, Indian era, Indian dynasty, Khorta, south indian, roti, shanties, sari, Buddha, art of buddha, Buddha depictions, laughing buddha, roman buddha, snuggie, bedel, chewing bedel leaves, guest welcomes, welcome customs, friendship gestures
The only reason to wake up this morning is the possibility of Surender having gotten better or the cleaning woman, and neither of those things happens until 8:30 at the earliest, which is still a little early since our activities last night ran until 1am.
But nonetheless I do what I can to be prepared, and by 9:45 I deem it safe to assume that Surender isn’t coming and that I can make myself breakfast once again. I really worry about making him mad, so I’ll be damn sure to clean up after myself when I’m done. Maybe he will think the eggs have just disappeared.
The eggs themselves are a bit of an ordeal. There’s only one left in the fridge, so I take one from the dozen in the pantry and hope like hell there isn’t something really wrong with them, or that they aren’t months old. Breakfast, I decide at the end of my meal, is a success.
I work on some work stuff for a bit, attempt to place some calls, unpack, and randomly step outside on occasion. It’s a slow morning, but I again allow for this since I’m still not feeling entirely well, and it was a late night last night. At 11 I proudly take a shower, having mastered the art of turning on the switch for the hot water heater. As I am finishing the doorbell rings and I know it’s the cleaning woman. Always when you’re in the shower.
I leave it be since there’s no way I can get to her in time. Then I dress, make some tea, and take a call from Alam. Alam invites me out to brunch, which I eagerly accept. I genuinely enjoy Alam’s company—he’s got a great sense of humor, and aura of calm, and a full understanding of how confusing this culture shock is the first time around. His sympathy is clear when he asks in the car whether Shubh and I had had continental or Indian last night. “I figured you wouldn’t want either in a row,” he explains. I opt for south Indian, since I am, in fact, in India and feel like I’ve been a little wimpy so far.
Alam converses with Rhea, who jumps about in the back seat. She eagerly replies back, and I catch bits and pieces of the conversation. It’s either that some Hindi words are the same in English, or they’re inter-dispersing English words—I can’t tell, but it’s a bit like catching words and phrases as one tunes a radio.
Filed under: India, Religion, Seattle, travel | Tags: India, jet lag, wild parrots, pigeons, delhi, old delhi, travelers sickness, minar, red fort, open air market, delhi driving, crossing the street in delhi, beggars, terrorism threats, pickpockets, food illness, Hindu temple, gurdwara, krishna, ganesha, kirshna parade
I am deceived. I wake this morning after a solid 8 hours of sleep and feel pretty good. Until I step out of bed, that is. It was like the end of a long scuba dive—you feel good in the water—but the party’s over when you climb up onto land. This is what it feels like when I get out of bed.
Everything still aches, and the fullness of my weight is immediately realized by every cell in my body; even my hair hurts. And I feel start to feel sick again.
As I walk downstairs I realize how much I’ve come to love the floors here; I’ve been reading an Indian culture book in bits and pieces and have now learned that it’s common to not wear shoes in the house, so I’ve taken to walking around barefoot. The feeling of feet on extremely smooth, clean marble is really nice. I’ll have to remember to reenact Risky Business later, sans prostitutes.
Filed under: India, Seattle, travel | Tags: Gurgaon, India, malls, german tourism, tandoor, tandoori, travel, jet lag, exhaustion, cooks, urbanization, pomegranate, highway, traditional indian food
This morning does not go well. I slept out of pure exhaustion rather than comfort, which isn’t to say that the accommodations weren’t comfortable—the mattress is hard, which I like, the room is cool, which I also like, but my main problem is the discomfort I am in from sickness/jet lag/sleep depravation. I slept hard, but around 4am local time started waking up periodically because I was in so much discomfort, and would then drift back off to sleep. The noise outside kept tricking me into believing there were people in the apartment; at worst, they would kill; at best, I was late and Surender was already here making breakfast. I feel very safe here with the guards and the gates, but just the same it’s hard to believe that those burly latches across the doors are a decoration.
The other sounds—pigeons cooing and cows mooing—cause me to wake and wonder where the heck I am periodically. Sometime around 5:30am local time I give up and just get up. And I feel terrible. I can’t breathe and have pretty bad lung congestion. Stuffy nose, headache, queasiness. You name it. I take a bunch of medicine and drain the rest of the water I have, then set out exploring the apartment.
One of the things I did not notice last night: that every large window here leads onto a balcony—and I explore these at length today. The red sun is peaking through the haze as I step outside onto the overlook, scaring several pigeons away. I’m sure the pollution isn’t helping things with me either; the smog is thick. Directly below me is a lot of construction—most of Gurgoan (or at least the business district) is 3 years old or younger. There is a lot of building going on around here.
Filed under: India, Seattle, travel | Tags: New Delhi, Gurgaon, Business class, packing, syringe purchases, Immodium, tums, Pepto Bismol, Delhi Belly, water sickness, water sterilization, safe things to drink in India, food poisoning, Indian driving, driver
I am unprepared to fly today, though the adrenaline of waking up this morning jets me out of bed. I’m leaving for New Delhi in 6 hours and I have yet to pack. I tend to be a procrastinator—scratch that, I’m a huge procrastinator, it’s just that putting off the inevitable packing frenzy usually means I forget something like toothpaste when I’m traveling to the East Coast for the weekend. Such forgetfulness does not make for a good trip when traveling to an underdeveloped country on the other side of the world. As it is I already feel like I’m bringing too much superfluous crap.
Sitting on the plane writing this, I am currently packing 5 books, several sets of “work clothes”, travel clothes, any toiletries I may need for the next month, and a portable pharmacy that would impress Hunter S. Thompson. The main reason, as anyone who’s heard anything about India, is that I’m fully prepared to get very, very sick.
Historically I don’t have the strongest stomach, so traveling to a country known for spicy food, waterborne illness, and general intestinal disease probably wouldn’t have been my first choice, but I go where the company points me.
So when I awoke this morning I set out to obtain every imaginable precaution against the inevitable. The Oracle says you’re going to kill your father and marry your mother? Not if I run away! So I head into Safeway to cheat fate. Once there, I shop at a sprint (since I have 90 minutes to pack before I leave), run up to the express checkout, and drop my provisions on the counter. They include: a maximum strength bottle of Tums, a bottle of Pepto Bismol, Airborne, Robotussin for the annoying couch I inconveniently developed last night, a box of granola bars, and enough Immodium to ensure that I won’t need a restroom until August. Alone this is a distressing grocery order, but when thrown onto a conveyor belt by an agitated man who is obviously in a big hurry, you can’t fault the checkout guy for taking a step back and looking alarmed.
The next step is to get to the pharmacy. In addition to the recommended gastrointestinal salvage items for India travels is the somewhat menacing recommendation that travelers bring their own syringes should they need an injection during their visit. Given the rampant disease in the country, this doesn’t seem unlikely. This time, however, I decide to wait outside the store for a minute before approaching the pharmacy counter in the sweaty, anxious, wide-eyed state I am in to inquire about getting syringes.
Filed under: Seattle | Tags: Destroyed in Seconds, morbid humor, raccoon problems, urban chickens
Admittedly, the day ended much better than it had begun, singing Johnny Cash songs with Dono as we drove back from visiting Pasay, who was just back from Iraq, and his wife Edney, another close friend. After a great night of making hot dogs, drinking a few beers, hanging out, playing with Pasay and Edney’s big beautiful lab Trot, and almost singeing Pasay’s eyelashes shut with an exploding lighter, we’d decided it was time to head home when half of us had fallen asleep on the couch watching “Destroyed in Seconds”, which is exactly the type of show it sounds like.
The morning left room for improvement. I was running late, throwing things into a backpack in a vain attempt to catch the last express bus to work when I heard Willis wake up and start shuffling around. As I came around the doorway I saw him standing in the kitchen “What up, picklesmoocher?” I said matter-of-factly. It was more of a statement than a question, but Willis just kind of stared at me. And he kept staring—I thought he was trying to think of a comeback, then was just spacing out, but after a solid 5 second pause I could tell something wasn’t right. “What’s going on?” I asked.
“Have you looked outside yet today man?”
I hadn’t. So I walked over to the back door and looked out into the yard, which was covered in a thick layer of feathers. Following the trail across the yard my eyes stopped at the heap of blonde feathers by the picnic table. Glenn.
