Samosa for Breakfast

One year ago today arrived in India on an early morning flight from Colombo. To celebrate the memory, we had samosa for breakfast this morning.

Out There on the Dunes

I was going through some more pics from the trip and came across this shot from our night on the dunes outside of Jaisalmer. The reason for being out in the middle of the Great Thar Desert in the middle of the night is that we went on an overnight camel safari. The big oaf in the center of the picture was my trusty steed for the trek. My travel tip: riding a camel is fun for about 10 minutes, after that they are just giant, smelly beasts that are constantly ramming a 2x4 into your ass, so go for the sunset camel ride and forego the hours of pointless torture on your backside.

I shot this in RAW, but when I processed it, the whole photo was pitch black. But I cranked the exposure up as high as it would go to see if anything showed up. And what you see is what I got. Not bad for a 30-second exposure using a sand dune as a tripod.

It Really Is a Small World After All

It's never a good feeling to look through the "newspaper" see an article like this about someplace you've visited. I'm not saying that we dodged a bullet or anything like that, but I do feel like these explosions hit a little closer to home since Lizzi and I walked through Connaught Place one night in early March.

Two other bombs found near a movie theater and near a park in the Connaught Place area were defused, he said.

On that night Lizzi and I even tried to go see a movie at that theater, but they don't allow cameras. And we weren't going to trust them to "keep an eye" on our digital SLR for a couple of hours. My heart goes out to the survivors and the families of the victims. Like I said, I'm just feeling that the world is a little bit smaller now.

The Inevitable Big Mac Attack

There's something about spending a significant amount of time away from home that makes you CRAVE foods from home that you don't normally eat. One night Lizzi and I spent an entire evening fantasizing about what fast food hamburger we would eat first when we got home: McDonald's? Burger King? Wendy's? In the end, it didn't really matter. We just wanted something familiar. So when we stopped in Bangkok, we satisfied our cravings with cheeseburgers, chicken McNuggets, and sodas that seemed as big as oil barrels.

But when we reached New Delhi, it was different. We weren't necessarily craving food from home, but there was something about New Delhi that screamed foreign, even alien, to me. Even before we'd left for the trip, we'd heard that McDonald's in India were something to be seen, so when we came across one on our walk back to our hostel, we couldn't resist. McDonald's in India is like Chuck-E-Cheese here in the U.S. It's pure spectacle! Everything is bright and shiny; families are there for their big dining-out night. It's chaos, but in a good way.

So we dove right in, ruining the dinner we'd planned with a McVeggie Burger and a McAloo Tiki Burger. Yeah, it's a little different, but I now can't help passing a McDonald's in Boston without wondering if they've got a McCurry Happy Meal.

Down South

If you think selecting the best out of 5,491 pictures is easy, think again. It's a huge undertaking, which hasn't been helped by a heap of procrastination, but slowly and surely, the pictures will keep coming. The latest batch comes from our first few days in Kerala in southern India.

We started in Fort Cochin, having taken the night train from Goa. While Goa was pleasant with a fresh sea breeze, Fort Cochin was hot. Damn hot! At night, we laid on our bed as naked as the nasty sheets would allow us, trying our best not to touch each other because, yes, it was THAT hot.

There's more to the story than just the heat, like our desperate craving for fresh vegetables (our intestines be damned!). But that'll have to wait until I'm a) less tired and b) have more time to actual tell a decent story. In the meantime, enjoy some pretty pictures. The second pic is of two guys performing traditional martial arts. We were just a few feet from them, and we could actual feel the impacts of their blows. They weren't kidding around.

This Is India

Written in New Delhi, India

In one scene in the movie Blood Diamond, Leonardo DiCaprio's character says in response to an American journalist grilling him on the brutality and constant power struggles fueled by the contraband diamond trade, "T.I.A." The journalist clarified, "This is Africa." In those three letters, DiCaprio's character sums up hundreds, if not thousands, of years of iniquity, tribalism, poverty, and war. India lacks the violent tribal warfare and a brutal history of tyrants, dictators, and oppressors, but over the course of the past month, Lizzi and I have looked at each other more than a few times and said, "T.I.I." This Is India.

In Kerala, T.I.I. came to mean everything moves at its own pace. There's no rushing it or slowing it down. However, in the North, T.I.I. has taken on an entirely new meaning. This new meaning is like one of those words in the dictionary that has five or six possible definitions. Kind of like something in yiddish.

Our day started where we left off yesterday (the first time we were in Delhi). We'd hired a rickshaw around 4:00PM to take us to see Huyamen's Tomb. We got a little way down the road before the driver pulled over and said that we could see a few other tombs and monuments. They were all things we wanted to see, but it was late, and most sights here close at sunset. He assured us that we could see it all; they were all on the way. So we agreed on a price, and off we went. Of course, he took us to the sight furthest away (the one he suggested), almost an hour. We sprinted through ruins, snapping pictures, thoroughly enjoying ourselves. We hopped back into the rickshaw and we headed to the next place (again, one that he wanted us to see). It was closed. So was the next one, and the next one. In fact, we didn't get to see the one place we wanted to. Then he took us to a "government" tourist office, so we could book a trip to Rajasthan (which we want to do). Of course, all day he'd been telling us that he would take us to the government tourism office, and we pressed him that we wanted the government tourism office. Nope, he took us to a private tour operator, who quoted us an astronomical price. We turned it down. We got back in the rickshaw, and by this time everything was closed. This is India.

Of course, we still needed to get around the next day to see what we hadn't seen. We negotiated the three sights we wanted to see for the same price as we had just paid. He picked us up at the appointed time. No issues there. We got to the mosque. We made it to the Red Fort. We made it to Huyamen's Tomb. We loved the Tomb and spent 2.5 hours there taking pictures and walking around the amazingly well-kept grounds. When we got back to our rickshaw, it was 4:30 and our rickshaw driver scolded us for taking so long to see something that he believed to look exactly like the Taj Mahal (incidentally, he's totally and completely wrong). We had him take us back to our hotel so we could catch a train to Agra, and when we gave him the agreed fee, plus a 100 rupee tip, he balked at us, asking for more money. "But it was the price we agreed upon!" we argued. But he clarified that he'd agreed to take us around for half of the day, and as it was 4:45, we should pay him more. In fact, he wanted to take us to seven different sites, all day, at our agreed-upon price. Knowing that we tend to take longer at the dorky historical sites than most, we told him we'd pay him the same price, but that we only wanted to see three things. Same price. We walked away. This is India.

A quick check at the hotel desk and the travel desk revealed that although both advertised that they would book train tickets for guests, neither was going to help us procure train tickets to Agra. So a trip to the train station was required. We checked out of our room, hauled our bags over to a sketchy luggage storage place, and I headed off to the train station to get train tickets while Lizzi stayed behind to do some Internet work. On the way to the train station, I was fighting off touts left and right, rivaling Luke Skywalker in my skillz. At the entrance to the train station, the rickshaw drivers saw me before I could steady my light saber, and they immediately tried to direct me to a special stand for foreigners. They pointed to a giant blue sign that said "GOVT INDIA" in a building across the street with blacked-out windows. But the sign on the train station clearly read, "International Travelers, Please Book Here" so I ignored the rickshaw drivers and walked in. Or, tried to walk in. Before I could, a man grabbed me by the arm and asked me if I had a ticket. When I explained that I needed to book a ticket (duh, I'm at the train station), he told me that the sign was ineffective, as of 2007. He led me to a booking queue, grabbed a reservation form, told me to fill it out and take it across the street to GOVT INDIA. I thanked him, turned around, and went back to my initial destination. Or, tried to. Touttwo comes up and does the exact same thing. Different guy, same story. But instead of letting me walk back, he physically led me over to GOVT INDIA. So I walk up the stairs, remembering what the guy in the private tour office had told me about being up front about being a private office, and am immediately aware that I am not where I want to be. Nevertheless, I sit down in the chair and express my unending wish to get to Agra. My not-so-helpful new friend kindly informs me that the trains are full. Before he can sell me a $260 cab ride to Agra, I walk out. I walk back to our hotel, find Lizzi at the Internet cafe, explain the situation and tell her that we'll be staying in Delhi for another night, taking a $100 cab ride to Agra the next day, booked through our hotel's tour desk, who was now only too happy to help us. This. This is India, too.

It took four hours to get to Agra instead of the one-hour trip we were assured. T.I.I. But we checked into our hotel, grabbed our cameras, and made our way to the Taj Mahal, determined not to let the stress of the previous three days stop us from getting to our destination. The touts tried to make us pay them to get to the front of the line, but we held strong. T.I.I. We stood in interminably long lines (T.I.I.), said nothing when people cut in front of us (T.I.I) and walked through the turned-off metal detectors (T.I.I.). Once inside, we took a deep breath, walked through the south gate and got our very first glimpse of the Taj. There, in all of its glory, we looked at each other and thought the exact same thing: T.I.I.

Words to Live By

Written and Posted from India

Moments before I walked down the aisle on my wedding day, fear gripped my heart and Maura, my beautiful Maura, gripped my wrist. Smiling into my face, her red-blonde curls making her look angelic, as always, she whispered something to me, earnestly. And then before I could even think, before I knew what was happening, the doors opened, my nearest and dearest sat, turned in their seats, staring at me. Halfway down that aisle, arm-in-arm with my dad, I realized what Maura had said to me. "Live the day!" she said. Live the day. And in that moment, at that very moment, I knew exactly what she meant. I knew that this day was only going to come once, and that unless I lived every single moment of it, I would let it slip through my fingers virtually unnoticed. At that moment of clear and uninterupted understanding, I cried and I grinned and I thought wonderful things about all of the people in that room who were watching me watch Matt. Those first moments of walking down the aisle are blurry, unclear, but from that one moment on, the rest of the day is like looking into a movie of my life, and if it had a color, it would be clear, clear beautiful crystal blue.

I am not the type of person who remembers what people say to me. Which is to say that I remember stories, I remember backgrounds and cousins and ex-boyfriends and piles of details about people's lives. I can't forget the stories and the details, even when I wish I could. But I rarely remember those precious pearls of wisdom that people have handed out to me over the years. It's frustrating that I don't remember them, especially because I'm certain that with the pearls I could have collected from my mother and grandmother alone, I would have quite a gorgeous strand by now. Instead, I am generally left with fragments, shards of wisdom, and whatever it is that I feel in my bones just by being who I am, genetically. Most of the time, my genetic wisdom serves me well. But every so often, someone whispers words to me, and they plant themselves in my brain in a way that's utterly different than what's in my DNA. Maura's words became a mantra for me. It is something I say to every bride before she walks down the aisle, particularly if I am lucky enough to be standing with her in those precious moments before a marriage is revealed. It is something I say to myself when I am practicing meditation or yoga. And sometimes it is something I say to myself when I need to pull myself back, reign myself in, when I need to be reminded to actually EXPERIENCE what it is that I'm experiencing. These are strong and precious words, which makes sense, because Maura is a strong and precious person.

Just a day before we left on our trip, I talked to Heather for the first time in months and months and months. Matt and I had a million errands to run that day, all of which we were running with my dad, and in his excitement and urgency to help us, he was impatient with the time I was spending on the phone. "This conversation is important," I told him, and "I wouldn't be talking on the phone right now if I didn't need to be talking on the phone right now." But in the end, his restlessness was contageous, and I told Heather that I needed to go and get on with that last day. "Remember the colors," she said as we were hanging up, "SEE all the colors." I promised her I would, and rushed off to buy those ever-important last minute items without which we surely wouldn't have been allowed on the plane.

And here I am now, with just 18 days left in this trip, and I feel saturated with color, full to the brim with colors I didn't know existed. Especially in the bizarre places where some of the colors exist, places like doorways, back alleys, cars, and dump trucks. There are the usual colors to be seen on clothes and jewelry and fruit. But it's the shock of the color, the color that catches me by surprise, that is the color I rush to soak in, to take in, to really SEE, just like Heather urged me to do. I think that she would be proud of me, that her inner artist is beaming with pride at her student, working so diligently to SEE everything that there is to see.

I am writing this post today because Maura has an upcoming birthday and because sometimes, on your birthday, it's nice to know that others take your words to heart so well that the words live inside their heart, just like you do. Before Maura whispered those words to me, I would have said that I do, actually, think of myself as a live-er of life, that I really DO live the day. But now I know that I wasn't quite right, that it was Maura who opened my eyes to HOW to live a day, an day, even a most extraordinary day. So on her birthday, I wanted her to know that because of her words, I was able to live Heather's words, and because of both of them, I get to experience India in particular but this whole trip in general, as though I just, for the first time, opened my eyes to the world, and my, what a lovely hue it has.

Zero Tolerance

Posted from New Delhi, India

From the very beginning, we knew that getting a refreshing, frosty, adult beverage was unlikely in India. Between Hinduism and Islam, drinking isn't entirely smiled upon. In fact, whole cities are dry. But it's possible to find alcohol here and there. The local beer is Kingfisher, and it can be found just about everywhere. But that's the rub -- it's everywhere. If you want a beer, it's going to be a Kingfisher (if you look around really hard, you can find Cobra and Foster's too, but they really aren't any better). Kingfisher is an ok beer. It's a lager; the brewers evidently took the best recipe Old Milwaukee had, but made little headway in improving it. If the beer is ice cold, it can be very refreshing on a hot day, but after two months, I need something else.

And don't think for a minute that you can find a decent mixed drink to fill the gap left by Kingfisher's mediocrity. Just like their tea, Indians like their liquor syrupy sweet. We were in Cochin when we decided that we NEEDED a drink. I ordered a Cuba Libre, one of my stand-bys at home, and when it arrived, I was so shocked by its sweetness that I looked like Popeye. Even though there was technically liquor somewhere in that glass, I wasn't about to swim through the sea of sugar to get to it.

What's worse is that most of the liquor is local. Why import millions of bottles of quality liquor when you have a labor force of 1 billion that can turn out an average bottle of liquor in less time? If you look down a bar menu, it's a guarantee that you've never heard of most of the brands of liquor: VAT69, Black & White, Bagpiper, and so on. Even buying just a shot and a mixer separately leaves you smacking your lips, wondering if you really did order rum or maple syrup in a highball.

The point of all this is that I need a drink. A good, stiff drink. It's been months since I've had a decent martini, and I'll wait as long as I have to to get one. But I really need a beer, a hand-crafted, microbrew that's NOT a lager. So if anyone is looking to buy me a drink when I get home, I like my martini slightly dirty, extra dry, up with extra olives and I desperately need an ice-cold Dogfish Head 90-minute IPA. If you even consider sending a Miller Light my way, prepare to get wet. That is all.

An Open Letter to Asia

Posted from Jodhpur, Rajasthan, India

Dear Asia,

I understand your confusion over the fact that I have been married for nearly five years and yet do not have any children. I respect that you believe that something is woefully, seriously wrong with us. I promise to continue to lower my eyes and smile when you lean low and whisper to me that we should try, that very night, to make babies, that the moon is full and the stars are bright and that it is a most auspicious time. I promise that I take your concern seriously. I do. I really do. But Asia, time and time again I have walked through your streets and wanted to hand you a condom. I have wanted to explain to your mothers of 13 and 14 children that birth control IS an option, and that over in the western world we're allowed to exercise it. So, Asia, until such time as you understand that conceiving a child is low on the list of experiences I want to have while we're here, even while it's high on the list of experiences I very much want to have in my lifetime, I respectfully request that you stop offering a tea with a special blend of herbs and spices in order to fix my husband.

Love,Lizzi

Ripped from the Headlines

Posted from Jodhpur, Rajasthan, India

Over the course of the couple of months that we've been traveling, we have both had occastion to notice that we're bigger news junkies than we thought we were. It shouldn't be entirely surprising, as we have started many a dinnertime conversation with "oh, I read this article today..." But somehow, it HAS been surprising and although we both religiously check our preferred news venues every time we check our email or log on to post something here, we find that it doesn't quite fill the void. So when we're traveling from point A to point B, we usually take the opportunity that public transportation provides and buy ourselves a newspaper or magazine.

What we've found is the news over here contains all of the same information that news at home contains. Plus a little more flavor and color. We've collected some of our favorite stories from our more recent purchases and want to share them with you here, so you're as amused as we have been.

In an article about the rising cost of food prices (The Week, March 2, 2008):Former chief election commissioner M.S. Gill believes that instead of a consumer price index, "[India] should have a new index, a housewife index or a kitchen index published daily. I am sure it will be watched or read more than cricket."

In an article about the changing culture inside your average bookstore (The Week, March 2, 2008):"In an environment where ice cream is sold not for the taste, but for its low-fat content promising an attractive figure, few are bothered about serious reading. Reading is a pleasure that has a limited market these days, but brands hardly let that dip their sales. A bookstore today is less about reading and more about grabbing a bite between pages, collecting points for supposed freebies, sitting at a glittering book launch and pampering authors with awards."

In a review of Michael Clayton (The Week, March 2, 2008):"[S]ometimes the shifts in narrative are difficult to follow. Also, why does the sharp thinking Clayton take a long time to see through Karen's manouevres? No explanations there."

The 11-year-old recent winner of Amrita TV's Super Dancer Junior contest was interviewed for the City Express (Kochi, February 26, 2008). In response to a question about what she planned to do with her winnings, she says, "I'm too small to handle such a big amount! My parents know best what to do with it. So no worries on that!"

A really great quote from an article about the joys of being a grandparent (The Indian Express, February 26, 2008):"[Grandparents] enjoy teaching [their grandchildren] the nursery rhymes which they have mastered over in the past 50 to 60 years, a few lines still evading their failing memory, due to palsy."

The Best of the Horoscopes (The Week, March 2, 2008):
Pisces: Your enthusiastic mind will bring you power and prestige in the coming week. Look out for chances to invest in the export sector. Get married this week, and you will get a partner who is prudent and faithful. Those working in the transport and educational sectors will have a fruitful time, and enterprises selling milk and dairy products will fetch good money.

Cancer: The romantic Cancerian will have a lovey-dovey week. Those working in the public and charitable institutions will be applauded for their work. You will be surprised by a new-found interest in the occult. Your diplomatic self will see you through litigations in court. There will be an increase in income and wealth, but do be cautious about the way you spend. Sportspersons will earn laurels this week.

Leo: Keep a tight hold on your purse strings, as you might be an extravagent spender this week. Some of you may gain through investments in estates, coal, lead and refrigerators. Farmers will have a great week. Make sure you are in good terms with all your friends, as they will bring you social and financial gains. A piece of land in a plum location or a vehicle is on the cards.

Bond. James Bond

Posted from Jodhpur, India

Did anyone else know that the James Bond movie Octopussy was filmed in Udaipur? I had no idea. But it was. And they still talk about it, like it's the biggest thing that's happened in Udaipur. Ever! Most of the budget restaurants even screen the movie each night just to attract a few customers. Like us.

C'mon, like we WEREN'T going to see it. You know me, and I know me, and we all knew that as soon as I found out that a James Bond was filmed in Udaipur and I had the opportunity to watch it, I was going to. We found a divey little place and cozied up with a few lemon sodas and watched Bond do his thing. It was a nice way to waste a couple of hours. Lizzi had never seen the flick, and I haven't watched it in almost ten years. Nevertheless, it was mindless, good fun. Throughout the movie, we were picking out places that we recognized, like the intersection just outside the restaurant. And we laughed out loud at the rickshaw chase scene because I've been telling Lizzi since Bangkok that I want to film a high-speed tuk-tuk chase. Well, it looks like James Bond has already done it.

What's most strange to me is that we keep following in Bond's footsteps. First, in Thailand. And now, here in India. Dude, that guy got around. I know that at least one Bond movie was made in Hong Kong, so in three weeks, I'll let you know all about that one.

Dinner on a Banana Leaf: The Highlight Reel from Kerala

Written in Cochin, Kerala, India
Posted from Udaipur, Rajasthan, India

After spending five days in Goa trying to understand the bizarre mix of culture and beach that we encountered there, we were ready to go to Kerala. We were excited for the opportunity to actually SEE things in India, rather than walking along the shoreline watching other people watch things. Just like in Bangkok and Sri Lanka, we were lucky enough to have a friend offer his suggestions on what to do in his home state. Nitin, if you are reading this, we want you to know that you absolutely MADE our trip to Kerala. We followed Nitin's itinerary to the letter, doing everything he suggested doing, even staying in the places he suggested we stay. We had an amazing time there, and I feel sad that there's a chance that I'll never be in the place that calls itself "God's Own Country" ever again. It is indeed a holy place and I'm here to tell you why.

Nitin's itinerary was a whirlwind 5-day tour of Kerala that Matt and I elected to stretch into two whole weeks. We didn't rent a car in Kerala (because we are not that crazy) so we had to rely on public busses and tuk-tuks to get us from place to place. Public transportation adds loads of time into any itinerary, and this is particularly true in India. But even though we added an additional 9 days into Nitin's plan, it almost felt too short, because there is just that much to see.

We started out in Fort Cochin, which is basically a city-within-a-city just outside of Kerala's second-largest city. It's an old place, and when you're there, you keenly feel the history all around you. There is a beautiful Catholic Church and old Portuguese mansions. There are canals and chinese fishing nets. Fort Cochin is also home to the oldest synagogue in a British Commonwealth, a fact that Matt and I found particularly interesting as we walked around the section of the city known as Jew Town, filling our noses with the scent of ginger, cardamom, and cinnamon. Walking around Fort Cochin gives you the sense that you've kind of stepped back in time, to a place where the pace in Kerala slows, and where the religious influences of a lifetime ago still hold strong. Being there was oddly surreal.

After Fort Cochin we boarded our very first vomit comet in the direction of Munnar. After the heat of Fort Cochin, the cool mountain air of Munnar was so unbelievably welcome. We changed into pants and long-sleeved shirts and headed out in the late afternoon to eat our first truly Keralan meal -- dinner on a banana leaf. Literally. They take a banana leaf, throw some rice in the middle, and then surround the rice with all kinds of daals (which are thick lentils stews, basically), and curd (yogurt), pickle (which isn't like a pickle at all, but more of a spicy/sour/salty condiment that you have to develop a taste for), and curries. Everything is vegetarian and everything is eaten with your hands (sorry dad, I know that makes you shudder). In our case, everything was unbelievably delicious. Unfortunately, we were so hungry that we forgot to tae a picture, so you're just going to have to imagine it.

Munnar is where tea is grown. And when I say that I mean that on every available hilly surface, there is a tea plant. You cannot imagine how green it is. I'm not exaggerating at all. It's just the greenest green of greeness that you can possibly imagine, as far as you can see. And it's so stunningly beautiful that even after spending a day soaking it up in its entirety, you just want to stand in awe at the beautiful green all around you. We met the most fantastic rickshaw driver ever, Manish, and for about $30, he spent the day with us, showing us all the beauty that Munnar has to offer. We could have spent a week there, relaxing in the mountain town, hiking amidst the tea plantations. If only we'd had more time!

After Munnar we got back on the REAL vomit comet and went to Periyar, where we were promised a chance to see wild elephants. Well, the elephants weren't interested in being seen, but we did have a chance to drive beautiful jungles and score a look at the largest squirrels in the world. Seriously. They're called Giant Squirrels for a reason. My general philosophy on viewing animals is that when you're in their home, you play when they want to play. And if they don't want to play, you soak up every bit of their home that you can, because a home can say a lot about a creature. The jungle was no exception and Periyar, with its cardomom plantations, enormous coconut palms, and beautiful lakes, was a wonderful place to have a cup of tea. Or seven.

Our guesthouse owner in Perriyar recommended a place for us to stay in Allepey, and although we were skeptical of his enthusiasm, we had no choice but to take his advice when Jose of Katakayam Guesthouse met us at the bus station in Allepey. And thank goodness he did, because the busride to Allepey was one of the hottest and busiest of all of our bus rides and we were really grateful that someone was there waiting for us with a rickshaw and a friendly face. By the end of that evening in Jose's house, we were even more grateful. We spent that night in the company of Jose's three beautifully intelligent boys, all three of whom were in love with Matt from the instant that they met him. And if that doesn't warm a girl's heart, nothing does.

The reason we went to Allepey was to experience Kerala's backwaters, which we did on our final two days in the State. We booked a houseboat tour which enabled us to spend 24 hours cruising the narrow lakes and waterways, getting an up-close glimpse of the people who live there. A houseboat looks like something out of Waterworld, but trust me when I tell you that the scenery is much better. You float by coconut and mango trees and kids call out to you, waving hello and asking for a school pen. And if you're lucky, like we were, your hosts are incredible cooks and they help you pick out fresh prawns when a guy on a boat comes by selling fresh prawns. We DID take a picture of that meal.

Our time on the housboat ended way too quickly and before we knew it, we were back on a bus to Cochin, where we spent our last day in Kerala walking around the city of Ernakulam, checking out the incredible shops selling expensive 22K gold jewelry, and satisfying our cravings of home with Pizza Hut.

All in all, our time in Kerala was exactly what we hoped it would be. We saw everything we wanted to see (except for the elephants, but I already talked about that) and I felt like I really got the chance to experience the State. We knew that Northern India exists at a different pace than Southern India, and we were really grateful for the chance to have a laid-back couple of weeks in the subcontinent. And of course, we couldn't have had that experience without Nitin, because he made our guidebook virtually useless, he was THAT helpful. Thank you Nitin! Your home is a lovely, wonderful place, filled with people who love it like you do, scenery that makes you rub your eyes its so amazing, and food that makes you stuff yourself until you think you'll explode!

"No Contact" Orders

Posted from Udaipur, India

One of the hardest parts of traveling through India with Lizzi is the fact that I can't touch her. I can't touch her in public, that is. In fact, any public display of affection can be considered offensive. I mean, I remember back in high school when they cracked down on PDA. But they were targeting the couples who had their tongues down each others' between English and chemistry classes. A couple simply holding hands while walking to class was still ok. But not so here.

Except that it can be ok. The younger generations are ok with it. We noticed the honeymooning couples in Munnar were all cuddly and dreamy-eyed. But as we worked our way back towards the coast and then north, couples drifted farther and farther apart. By the time we arrived in Delhi, most couples walked with several paces of distance between them. Except for the younger couples in the more affluent sections of the city.

Constantly there has been a struggle for me to appreciate and respect the culture we have the privilege to enjoy and maintain some sense of contact with Lizzi. What surprised me most is how much intimacy is generated and sustained simply by holding hands with the one you love. And that intimacy is even more noticeable when the source of that intimacy is suddenly disconnected. Not only are we hot and tired and edgy and guarded and alert and overwhelmed, but we are also missing one tiny piece of what connects us without words. Making any given day just a little harder.

GOAL!!

Posted from Jaipur, India

Ok, so I don't know what you yell when your cricket team scores, but it's got to be something along the lines of "GOAL!!", right? Cricket is big here. So big. In every home we've stayed in, when we ask the kids what they want to be when they grow up, it's some type of cricket player. Of course, the actual position or team or whatever they are talking about is completely Greek to me, but it's cute to see their enthusiasm. Right now, we're sitting in an internet cafe, and through its dingy windows, we can see into the room next door, which has a TV. Evidently, there is a cricket match on the tube, and about 50 Indian men are crammed into the room, eyes intently staring at the tiny 13" TV screen. Then all of a sudden, they yell and scream, and my mind flashes to one of those VISA commercials with the Italian family watching the World Cup; the father is praying; the son is cheering so emphatically, he tears his t-shirt off and rides it like a cowboy around the room, screaming "GOAL!!" Yeah, so I know nothing about cricket, but that's kinda what it's like to watch Indians watch cricket on TV.

All That and a Bag of Chips

Posted from Jaipur, India

Last night we took the train from Agra to Jaipur. Luckily, it was uneventful and we arrived weary but otherwise ok. Our time in Agra was wonderful. But really, how can it not be with the Taj Mahal right there. What a sight! My pics are on my laptop, which we left at the guesthouse, but I'm sure you'll forgive me as soon as you see them. I can't believe that we saw the Taj Mahal. I want to keep saying that over and over again, because it seems so incredible, but we were there. We saw it. WE SAW IT!

When we were in Kerala, someone we met on a jeep safari said that she was underwhelmed by the Taj when she first saw it. It took her a good 30 minutes to warm up to it. But as Lizzi and I walked through the gate and the Taj came into view, their was not waiting period, we didn't have to pre-heat our excitement ovens. It was the Taj Ma-freakin'-hal, and it was right in front of us, larger than life.

We got to the Taj in the late afternoon, well after the heat of the day subsided. But the lines were still long, and people were pushing and shoving to get in. "Tour guides" were offering people the opportunity to cut to the front of the line for 500 rupees. We watched one poor white guy fall victim to it. He shelled out his cash, the "guide" escorted him to the front of the line, where the security officer told him to go to the back. The "guide" shrugged and melted into the crowd, only to appear next to us a few moments later. We laughed in his face when we offered us his "service".

One other note about queues in India is that personal space is a relative matter. In that, there was enough zipper-to-crack contact from the guy behind me that I think we might be married, at least in Vermont and New Jersey. Seriously, people, I could feel the bulge. I kept my eyes focused straight ahead and went to my happy place.

We are now in Jaipur, taking a day off to rest up and catch up on the world outside of India, which, when you're in India, seems very far away. Our trip is entering its home stretch. We have officially passed the "one-month left" milestone, meaning we have less than 2 weeks remaining in India before heading to Nepal, Hong Kong and then home. Already, we are starting to feel bittersweet about the inevitable flight back to New York, and, yes, we understand that a month is still a long time. But when two-and-a-half months have flown by the way these have, it's easy to start feeling a little sad so soon. But we stil have a month, and that's the most inportant part. The adventure ain't over yet.

We Almost Ate Somewhere Else

Posted from Agra, Uttar Pradesh, India

After you see this, I don't want to hear any griping about us going to Pizza Hut for dinner.

We May Be Traveling But It Doesn't Always Feel Like Vacation

Written and Posted from Agra, India

We wake up with a start at 5:30 in the morning. There is music in the air, singing in a foreign language, and honking, but that's not what woke us up. No, it's the sound of laundy being done downstairs, the loud slapping of a wet sheet against a stone, and the sound of the people doing the laundry, chatting and talking to each other. Their voices carry up the open-air stairwell to our room. We put earplugs in and fall back to sleep. But an hour later we wake again to the sound of construction. It is constant and ever-present, this changing and morphing and betterment of Delhi. This morning it is the sandstone polisher, working the floors to a gleaming, marble-like white. We make ourselves get out of bed by 8:30 because there is a lot to see and do and we want to pack it all in. We run the hot and cold taps into our bucket and begin our "shower" but then the power goes out and it's a cold bucket shower but it doesn't really matter anyway because within the hour we're cruising down the street in a rickshaw and when we look into the sunlight, we can see the dust particles in the air. In fact, the smog is so thick that it hangs low enough to obscure our vision just a few feet in front of us. By the time the smog burns off, it is early afternoon and hot. We buy a bottle of water but end up throwing it out because after we do the squeeze test, we notice water leaking out of our allegedly sealed bottle. We settle on some Cokes instead, consoling ourselves that we'll be loyal to our dentists and our gym memberships when we get back home.

The millions of school kids on their field trips stare at us as we walk by them. "Hi! Hello! Candy?" they shout at us as we walk by. When I smile at the girls, they giggle behind their hands and wave at me. When Matt smiles at them, they bump into each other, awkwardly laughing and blushing, their midnight-black braids swinging on either side of their face. The boys poke each other in the back, the language of a dare the same, even if I don't understand the words. "Hi!" a bold one finally says, his round cheeks so sweet that I want to take him into show-and-tell as my new little brother. "Hello," I reply, and he puts his hands over his heart, grinning at me.

I raise my camera to take a picture of the shy little girl sitting by herself and staring at whatever monument we've come to visit. She reminds me of my favorite girls, the ones I know who were likely to sit by themselves on a field trip, either in quiet contemplation, or uncertainty about how to join the big group. No sooner have I raised my camera than we are surrounded by a mob of shouting and excited kids, all eager to be her new best friend now that she's made friends with the white lady and her camera. I snap the pictures as quickly as I can, trying to capture their eager faces, their fingers making a peace sign or giving me a thumbs up. Through the wonders of digital photography I show them the picture and when I do, they shout and laugh, a cacophany of children's noises. "Bye! Bye America!" they say as we walk away.

In the few paces it takes for us to approach the rickshaw driver we have hired for the day, we are approached by five other rickshaw drivers and six people selling postcards, miniature chess boards, water, and jewelry. We keep our heads low, trying not to make eye contact with any of them, a constant stream of "no, thank you" coming out of our mouths.

Back in the rickshaw, our driver asks us if we could please do him the favor of stopping at his friend's store. "No buy," he says. "You see something, you like it, you buy it. They give me coupon for petrol. Good for you, good for me. Friends." And we sigh, having lost this battle a million times before, "okay," we say, "but only ten minutes." Our driver is happy, pointing out new buildings and areas of the city as we're on our way to his friend's store. Once inside, we carefully walk through every room, making sure not to spend a minute more or a minute less than we have to. We finger carpets and sandstone boxes and pashminas, knowing that we won't buy anything, feeling vaguely guilty for the shop-keeper who follows our every move. "You like scarf madam? Beautiful scarf. Cheap for you."

We head back to our hotel to check our email and reconnect with those people on the other side of the world who we miss so much. The connection is too slow, we can't get to gmail, we're pretty sure the guys next to us are cooking up a spam scam. Missing home more than when we walked in, we head back out to find some dinner, using the "if it's full of women and children, we can eat there too" test when we're in doubt. We order too much food because we want to try everything, and we talk and talk and talk about our day, about Boston, about our friends. We order two more bottles of water and we check them both before we leave the restaurant.

Walking back to our hotel, children, young, beautiful, dirty children pass us. Touching my arm so that I can't help but look at them, they hold out their hand, palm outstretched, and then bring their fingers back to their mouth. "I am hungry," they are telling me. And though my instincts are to scoop them up and walk right back into the restaurant, I adapt the same stance as I did earlier in the day when offered a miniature chess board, hang my head and say, "no, sorry. I'm sorry." I'm even sorrier when a young, beautiful, dirty child walks up to me with an even younger, beautiful, dirtier infant that is clearly hers, and the baby, only just old enough to hold her head up, holds out her hand to me. I give her 5 ruppees and walk away, feeling ashamed of my full belly, my full camera card, my full wallet.

And then it's time to relax and look at pictures, to sort through the remnants of our day, to wash the dirt off of our faces and to marvel at what our lungs must look like, given the state of the tissue we just blew our noses in. We open our sleep sacks so we don't have to touch the bed and we set our alarm clocks, making sure the our earplugs are nearby so we can put them in at 5:30am again.

This life that we're living over here is nothing like our real lives, our lives with things like the T and our cute SUV. It's nothing like the life where I covet designer jeans and Matt dreams about the Dodge Charger he wants someday. It's basically the opposite of being on vacation because for us, at least, vacation is a place where you can put your feet up, where someone brings you drinks when you ask for them, where sleeping on the sheets isn't something you give much thought to. No, this is more like a hiatus, a time warp, an experience in an alter universe. To say that it's occasionally hard and exhausting is an understatement. But I wouldn't trade it in for anything. I'd do it again in a heartbeat. All of it. The beautiful buildings and sights to see, right there alongside the hungry children. The amazing tastes and the 5:30am wake up. Yes, I know that I'd do it all over again without even thinking twice about it. There is time enough for vacation; now is the time for travel. And for the next month and four days, travel we will do.

Ground Control to Major Tata**

Written from the Cochin Airport, Kerala, India
Posted from Delhi, India

We're sitting in yet another airport terminal right now, waiting to board our flight to Delhi (via Cochin and Mumbai). We got here right on time, no hassle with the 30 km taxi ride to the airport (though it took an hour and involved much honking). We checked our bags, took the battery out of our alarm clock as instructed by the ubiquitous mean security lady (wha? I don't get it either) and set out to find some tea. And then the power went out. Yes, in an airport. Yes, in a place where, just beyond that security door over there, they fly planes. All is well, however, because there is a generator. Or at least, I'm assuming there's a generator, because we were still able to get our hot tea, complete with warmed milk. Woe to the traveler who can't get their tea before boarding a plane that may or may not be able to take off because of a power failure at ground control! That is just SO India!

** For those of you not familiar with TATA, they're the ubiquitous and enormous private sector group in India. You see their logo everywhere -- on cars, buses, trucks, telecom, utilities, construction equipment, etc. You get the feeling that they are big brother and they are watching you because they seriously own everything. Their newest acquisition? Jaguar and Land Rover. Right.

A Few Thoughts on India, So Far

Written from Cochin, Kerala, India
Posted from Delhi, India

We've been in India for over two weeks now, and I haven't really written anything substantive on our actual travels here. Sure, I've written about other backpackers, and Matt told you about our seaside and bus experiences, but I haven't written anything about what it's like to actually BE here in this place. And I'm not sure why I haven't written about it, because it's not like I'm not thinking about it. On the contrary, I'm thinking about it all the time. It's practically all I can think about. The very word "India" just rolls around in my head, over and over and over again. It's often coupled with images I expected to see here, images that collide with things that I am actually seeing here. And there are bits and pieces of stories that I've stolen from friends who have either visited India or still call India home. Those roll around in my head too. So although I'm sure that it won't be even a little bit eloquent, I want to try to get some of these thoughts down for you, just in case you're still bumbling along on this journey with us and you want to know.

From the stories I'd heard about Goa, I expected to land smack in the middle of an enormous beach rave. I expected something a la Phi Phi Island, Thailand, complete with hippie-like tourists and buckets filled to the brim with vodka and red bull. But because we stayed off the beaten track in a non-backpacker area, there were no buckets, no hippies to speak of, and certainly no raves. In the end, even though we thought we were looking for some way to inebriate ourselves in our early days in the subcontinent, it ended up being a good thing that Colva Beach wasn't the party mecca we were looking for. In its own quiet, ocean-observing way, Colva gave us the opportunity to settle in to India.

And as quickly as we could settle in to Goa, we were off for our whirlwind tour of Kerala. I expected things to be quiet here, quiet like the people who urged us to visit their home, who aren't really quiet at all, so I'm not sure why I thought that. I figured that the pace of Kerala would suit us, that we would move effortlessly from place to place and see what we could see. But I am now convinced that there is no such thing as effortless movement in India. Instead, we were bumped and hurried and hustled from place to place, over windy, vomit-inducing roads, and through dusty towns. We ate good food and we ate bad food. At first it seemed like everyone wanted to sell us something, something that looked a lot like something we didn't even think about wanting, but in the end it turned out that everyone just wanted us to love Kerala, to love this place, the way that they do.

And what a place it is. Goa, Kerala, India. It is an incredible, amazing place. Amazing in that it causes constant amazement, and amazes us, constantly. Before we came to India people told us that we would either love it or hate it. And we knew people who fell into both camps. Heather loves it. Her fiance Andrew (yay, Heather got engaged!) hates it. Jane loved it. Megan hated it. Nitin and Uma call it home, and tell us stories about India with the love of someone whose dreams still bring them back here. But then there were those kids from our first go-round at CMU who would ask us WHY we'd want to be a tourist in a place like India. But I've always wanted to visit India, always, for as long as I can remember, even way back in my youngest years on Copper Beech Drive when I'd spend my summer days playing hide-and-go-seek with Zarine and Kekki, and I'd walk into their house for lemonade and smell that unfamiliar and mezmorizing smell. (Incidentally, it's a smell I can now correctly identify as cooked basmati rice, ginger, and cardamom.)

So here we are now, day by day, moment by moment, trying to figure out which camp we fall into. Love it or hate it? And for some reason, I'm having a hard time coming up with a visceral reaction. I can't collect my thoughts around what I spend my day seeing, and certainly not in a way that's cogent enough to come to any conclusions. So I will give you things that I see, instead, so that you may draw your own: I see a truck full of cows, crammed head to head, riding on the windy roads of Perriyar; I see tea plantations as far as I could look, greener than any green I've ever seen; I see women washing clothes by beating them against washing stones; I see little children with kohl on their eyes like eyeliner; I see sarees and sarees and sarees; I see men fidgeting with the ends of their lungis, which basically look like a skirt; I see beautiful fruit and vegetable stands, the likes of which we don't have at home in the US; I see trash burning on the side of the road, on the side of the river, on the side of someone's house; I see tea stalls and tea stalls and tea stalls; I see brightly-colored fried desserts that make my eyes scrunch, they're so sweet; I see women and children who are hungry and begging. I see all of these things, and I don't have the slightest clue how I absorb them all, soak them into my mind and my skin so that they're part of me, part of what I'm doing in this place, after all.

We're ending our time in South India tomorrow and heading to Delhi. We'll be there for about three weeks before we head off again, this time to Nepal. And there isn't time, there just isn't enough time, to love or hate this place. So for now I will work on experiencing it and taking pictures with my camera and with my mind's eye, so that when I am home, and someone says the word "India" to me, I can see where my inner eye takes me and where my stomach pulls me and where my heart lies.

Pisces in the Hizzouse!

Written and Posted from Kerala, India

We know a lot of people with birthdays who are of this particular aquatic zodiac sign. Seriously. Out of our 5 friends, about 4 of them have birthdays coming up. Since I know that the birthday posts are probably only interesting for the people who are having the birthday, or the people who know the person having the birthday, I'm going to spread them out over the course of the lunar month. And to start things off, I'd like to say a transatlantic happy birthday to Becca. Happy Birthday, Becs!

Becca and I met, oh, 15 years ago. Which isn't true. See, we met 16 years ago when we were both freshman at Central High School (255!) but we didn't become friends until we we re-met sophomore year. In advisory. Which the rest of the world knows as "homeroom." That was way back when my last name started with an "M" and Becca's started with an "N." Which none of you care about, so I'll move on. And also, that might be a lie because I can't really remember whether we had advisory together sophomore year or not until junior year, in which case we re-met sophomore year in a class we had together. ANYWAY. When Becca and I re-met our sophomore year, it was as though we were friends instantaneously. Like we were the friend that the other was waiting around to meet, the real purpose of going to high school in the first place.

When I look back on that time in my life, specifically sophomore year of high school, I think that Becca was the one bright spot of the whole mess of that year. And the biggest bright spot of all of high school, actually. She was the friend who was there for me, day in and day out, when I most needed someone to be there for me day in and day out. You cannot thank a person for that kind of love, dedication, and loyalty. There are no words.

I can still conjure the feel of Becca's kitchen table under my fingers, as we sat at it, hour after hour, lighting candle after candle and talking, picking off the pools of molten wax with our fingernails. I can still remember when she got her new stereo, and how she introduced me to REM and the Indigo Girls in the same year. I know exactly how her face lit up when I gave her a tent and how we set it up in her bedroom and she hugged and kissed it. I still can't walk into a Roy Rogers without thinking of the one not far from her house, where we'd go and order water and steal pickles from the fixin's bar. Same with IHOP. Except without the fixin's bar and with the coffee and those wee little creamers instead. I could keep going and going with this list, but then you'd all know, for real this time, what a huge DORK I was in high school, so I'll stop. Suffice it to say that most of my best memories from my teenage years were spent in Becca's company, and I'm so excited that we'll finally be living in the same city again, because even though she's just about the most brilliant doctor I know, and even though that means she's working 110% of the time, I feel really grateful for the chance to make more best memories with her in her 29th year. So Becs, I hope you have a happy, happy birthday and we'll see you in a few months!