Memoirs of a Lemming

Slowly, our group of six, that had bonded on our bus ride from the border, got smaller and smaller. First Tom and Charlie, left after the second night for a trip to Agra. Next, John and Nora, left the following morning for a destination towards the northwest, as he had been to Agra twenty some years ago, and had little interest in returning, because he had his camera stolen there. While most others, including: Brooke, Adam, and Holly chose to head for Agra on the way to Delhi, I decided to build up some anticipation before visiting the Wonder that is the Taj Mahal. So, I left just after sunset to catch an overnight train to Delhi.

After, having the opportunity to travel via overnight trains in: Eastern Europe, Egypt and China, I was excited to see and ride the infamous trains of India. In short, I was disappointed, but not the way you think. I was disappointed that it did not live up to the hype, the chaos, the madness that I had heard about. From the process of buying the ticket, to getting on, finding my bunk, and the ride itself, it was all fairly efficient, I think it was even close to being on time, as well. Foreigners, are given special privilege, by purchasing their tickets at a tourist office (and they even set aside a special amount of seats especially for tourists on many specific trains, and group our seats together). First, you see a rail information officer, for times and destination, than you fill out a slip, identifying the tickets that you want, and wait in a special ticket room for foreigners. When your turn is up, you turn in the slip, review the tickets, and hand over the Rupees, pretty simple and easy. My trip from Varanasi to Delhi, as I recall, was about 330 Rupees, less than 10 USD for a +12 hour train ride! Of course, the cost is alot more expensive if you want to upgrade in class, there are three: basic, which includes a bunk in the sleeper car and nothing more (but there are fans); Class AC 3, which according to others, have cabins with three bunks on each side, a curtain that you can close, pillow with sheets, and of course air con; and Class AC2, which are cabins with two bunks on each side, with a door that can be closed and locked. Of course, I chose to go with the basic bunk, and must admit, that I had one of my best night’s sleep while in India, that night, probably had to do with the rocking and the methodical beat of the train’s wheel rolling over the seams in the rails. The air con, would have proved to be a waste of money, as it got pretty cold in the rail car that night, but luckily my sleep bag was easily accessible, as I was using it for a pillow.

Delhi, you either love it or hate it, at least according to the sea of travelers that I had spoken with, to-date. Many recommended me, to just pass through Delhi, as it’s packed with people, congestion and pollution, according to them: it’s $h*t. But, a few others, said that they loved Delhi, as it provided a little of everything, including somethings: pure India, and some: from other parts of the world. As I got off the train early that morning, at the New Delhi Train Station, I was pleasantly surprised by the smaller amount of touts and tuk-tuk drivers than I had originally expected, based on what we experienced throughout Varanasi, of course it was still only about 6 am. So, I walked across the station, across the street, and found a hotel off the Main Bazaar, not more than a 10 minute walk from the train station, while most of the city was still asleep.

During the next few days, I took in some sightseeing, bought my ticket to Thailand, and planned the rest of my trip in India. Those that say, that Delhi has little to offer, for a tourist, is missing out. I was surprised by the amount of sightseeing that one can do in, this metropolis. Geographically, Delhi, is large and spreadout, with Old and New Delhi (which doesn’t look so new), newer commerical areas, glitzy cosmo areas, old run down areas, basically anything that other capital cities around the world, has to offer. My stops included: Connaught Place, a commercial/shopping/restaurant plaza with a colonnade walkway along the perimeter of a large roundabout, with a park in the middle; India Gate (think a smaller Arc de Triomphe, like in Washington Square at NYC); the National Museum, Gandhi’s Smitri, where Gandhi spent his last few days, and the actual site of his assassination; Safdarjung’s Tomb; Humayun’s Tomb, the possible precursor to the Taj Mahal; and Chandri Chowk, a shopping an area for locals much more than tourist, there were separate blocks of stores, just for: sarees, stationary supplies, tools, machine parts, raw materials…

So you might be saying: India doesn’t sound so bad, where does the crazy stuff come in. To be honest, up to this point, other than the constant calls from the touts, drivers, and market salespeople, I didn’t really have any bad or weird things happen, unless you count that time in Varanasi, where I was run into by a bike-rickshaw, and the driver just gave me a stare, as to say, okay can you now move, as you are still in my way, the funny thing is that I was standing on what would be the sidewalk, if they had such things. That is, until I tried to buy my flight ticket… One of the other deciding factors for me to take the detour to India, was the availability of flight tickets from Kathmandu to Thailand. It was the busy season, and most flights were booked, unless you flew with Royal Nepal Airlines, which according to all, including travel agent, will be happy to sell you a ticket, but almost guaranteed that you won’t get on, as it is heavily oversold. So, unless you decide to fork out about $400 to fly with Thai Air, a better route would be to fly from Delhi, where there are numerous options to fly to Bangkok. To-date, my number one preference for research, booking, and purchasing flights is via the internet, have I mentioned how much I trust travel agents. But, in India, they will not let a foreigner reserve or buy any airline tickets (departing from India) via the internet! When accessing the website, you go through the complete process, of finding the flights, entering the booking information, but than when its time to complete the transaction, it says you are blocked and must visit a agent or ticketing office. So with no other options, I went to visit a few travel agents. While in Kathmandu, I was told to expect flight tickets from Delhi to Bangkok to be approximately $250, but when I asked the agents in Delhi, they quoted me close to $400. I told them that I had just seen the flight on the internet priced for under $300, to which they responded that the flights were full, as its the busy season… but they could get me on a flight for anyday, including tonight, for $400. Have I said how much, I trust travel agents, sidenote: throughout Delhi, there are numerous signs at travel agencies that look like official Tourist Board offices, but based on my experiences in Eastern Europe, I knew better. So, if you are ever in Delhi, you can find the official Tourism Office, by referring to your friendly local guide book.

At this point, it seemed that my options were limited, and that I would have to cough up the extra hundred dollars, due to lack of planning and preparations. But, I started to question, why the big discrepancy in pricing for locals versus foreigners for a private airline company. A local/Indian can buy their ticket on the internet for under $300, but buying from the agent was much more, so I looked around on the internet and in the guide books, and discovered that I could just buy the ticket, as if I was a travel agent. The next day, I found all the airline offices around Connaught Place, and set the full day aside to arrange all the flights I would need, between now and South America. My first stop was the offices of India Airlines, as I entered and glanced across the room, I had an immediate flashback to the DMV offices back home. The room, was lined with counters all along the wall, and a sea of seats in the middle. Behind each numbered counter, approximately 40 of them, was a person, but it seemed like only a quarter of them was actually helping anybody. I stopped by the information desk, and inquired about the process. The gentlemen was very helpful, made sure I got a number, and offered me to use the help desk telephone, since I already had my flight picked out. Within half an hour, I had my reservation booked over the phone, and now I just had to wait for my number to be called, pay and pick up my ticket. But when I looked back up at the numbers being helped, I noticed that during the last half-hour, it barely moved, and I was still about 30 spots away. I looked around the room, and noticed now half the counters were empty, and all the customers just sat there, as if to take a nap. That is when I also noticed, that I was the only non-Indian, and many of the customers appeared to be travel agents, purchasing tickets for probably foreigners. Than, in an instant, all the remaining counter agents, got up and walked out into the back room. At first, I thought that there may have been a fire alarm that I just didn’t hear. But, when I scanned across the room, all the customers, sat still, closed there eyes, or read the paper. I approached one of the few employees left, at the help desk, and she told me, that it was now time for the lunch break. A bit puzzled and perplexed, I asked her what did that mean: is it a shift change and there would be just a smaller number of counters opened, as only a fraction had been for the last 45-minutes. She told me, that all the counters would be closed for the next 45 minutes, for the lunch break, and to have a seat and wait, until my number is called. Of course, I waited almost a full thirty seconds, before I sped out of the office, figuring that I had at least an hour to visit some other airline offices, before my number would be called. During that time, I stopped by the Emirates office, and found a great (somewhat) reasonable flight that would take me to my next continent, South America. Many others, including Vanessa and Gui, had raved about how great the comforts and food was on Emirates, and that it was surely worth an extra layover or a few extra bucks. When I got the quote at the airline office, it was actually one of the cheapest, and they would let me stay a couple days at my layover point in Dubai (home of many modern-day engineering marvels), for no premium. Sign me up! Now I just had to pick a departure date and location, so the lady gave me a list of departure times and prices, from major airline hubs in Southeast Asia. After my hour was up, I hurriedly back to India Air’s office, just minutes before my number was called. It took me about an hour to pay for the ticket, as the nice lady was in no hurry to speed through the line, and she just wanted to chat about: how great India is, how she didn’t care too much for the States, and she was intrigued when she saw my passport, that I am a USA citizen, born in Taiwan, am Chinese, with a Japanese last name, currently in India. She got so much of a kick out of it, she actually called over a few of her co-workers, who didn’t seem to find the same novelty in it.

The flight ended up costing me $275, so since I haven’t been collecting a paycheck for over four months now, it was almost like earning the $125 price difference. By the end of the day, I had also purchased my roundtrip flight from Bangkok to Taiwan, and learned that my flights between Thailand, Laos and Cambodia with my friend from home, Tom, were now all reserved. Man, that is alot of flights, especially considering that up until now, I had covered so much territory and had only flown a handful of times.

With my day of errands behind me, I was now fully prepared to experience the beauty of the Taj.

It is with deep gratitude, but also selfish sorrow, that I must announce the immediate retirement of two great traveling buddies. Born in either Turkey, Bangladesh, most probably India, the twins (fraternal, not identical) had very humble beginnings. At a very early age, they were sent by boat overseas in search of a better future. They never spoke about their life before I met them, but since day one, as my traveling companions, they have done much of the heavy lifting. When there has been a new road to cross, no matter how: dusty, rocky, dirty, muddy, and wet, they have charted the course without a squeak. They have shielded me from many questionable and grimy places, and never commented when they were not invited to see some of the great monuments of the world. I met the twins, literally days before my trip started, and for the last six months, they had never let me down. While many others have fallen apart from the constant stress and strain, the twin plowed through all adversity. To them, everyday, either indoors or out, was a vacation. Just by looking at them, they made you feel relaxed, calm, and peaceful, almost envisioning yourself on the beaches of Hawaii with a nice cold drink. A hot day pounding the pavement, or a wet morning at the park, the twins, always made me feel comfortable, in knowing that when I was with them, there was one less thing to worry about. The twins, affectionately known to me as: Righty and Leftie, were more than just my: jandals (Kiwi), thongs (Oz), or flip flops, they were my traveling partners. Unfortunately, on Christmas Day, at the conclusion of the Kayaking adventure from Vang Veng to Vientiane, Righty tore his Achilles tendon, and as a true partner, brother and friend, Leftie would not leave him behind. Although at some point, it is inevitable that I must replace them, I am making this public pledge that, you, Righty and Leftie, will not be forgotten. Please enjoy the retirement life, and have pride in the trails that you blazed for me.

One of my favorite part of traveling, is hearing the local stories and legends, that in many ways, help give you a glimpse and explain, the people, customs, culture and belief. Here are a few I heard, while in Varanasi:

Eternal Flame

Shiva is the God of Destruction in Hindu belief. It is said that Varanasi was built for him, and that is why there are numerous temples and pictures of him throughout the city, honoring him. One story that explains items and rituals throughout the city: Shiva brought his wife Parvati to Varanasi, the city the people built for him. He toured her through the streets and ghats, and introduced her to the people. After the tour, she noticed that an earring was missing, one of her prized possessions. Parvati, thought that she may have dropped it by one of the ghats, so Shiva sent someone to recover it. The guy dug and dug, until it was a huge hole, and found the earring. (The hole is now a well, and it is said the water in the well was the sweat of the man digging it, and others say it was the tears of Parvati, over the missing stone.) After finding the earring, it was returned to Parvati, who noticed that the valuable stone in the earring was missing. When Shiva found out, he assured her that, it would be recovered, and that it would be resolved. Shiva again, went back to the people, and demanded the stone to be returned with an explanation. Of course, this rattled everyone, as he was the God of Destruction. Finally, an untouchable (a low ranking in the cast system) stepped up, and explained: Sorry, but I am the one that took the stone. I did not know that it was Parvati’s earring, and had only found it. If I had known, I would have returned it immediately. Shiva, demanded the stone to be returned immediately. The man than responded, that he could not, as he had sold the stone to purchase food for his family. He explained to Shiva, that as an untouchable, he had little or no means to provide for the welfare of his family. So when he found the earring on the ground, he took the valuable stone and sold it, than from the guilt he buried the earring. He would return the stone if he could, but the food was gone, he had no money, and sold the stone to a stranger on the street. He begged for forgiveness and asked Shiva to understand his dilemma. Shiva being a fair God, understood and sympathised with the man, and said that he would provide a future means for his family and future generations to make a living. From that day forward, he would require all that comes to Varanasi to be cremated, to be burned by this fire that he would light. And that everybody must pay for this fire, and buy it from his family. Thus explaining the eternal flame, why it must be bought, the well, and the footprints of the man digging next to the well.

Ganesha

Ganesha is the God of luck and overcoming obstacles, is one of the most honoured gods, and is one of the sons of Shiva and Parvati. A story explaining his popularity: As kids, Ganesha and his brother Skanda, were playing in front of their parents, when they were arguing over who was better and smarter. They decided to pose the question to their mother Parvati. She, of course responded, that they were both, great, smart, and a joy to have as her child. Unsatisfied with the answer, they said that one must be selected. Parvati, than responded, that their father, Shiva, was a great God, and he knows the answer better than her. Shiva, said that the answer would come in a challenge, and the winner in the contest would win a prize, as he would be the better of the two. Shiva, said that the winner would be the person that can complete seven revolutions around the universe first. Since Skanda had a horse as his transportation, he was excited with the contest, and was confident that he would win. Ganesha’s mode of transportation was a small mouse (I know, how?), so he had to think. As Shiva said go, Skanda took off. Ganesha thought for a moment, than walked around his parents seven times. When Skanda finished, he smiled and said that he won, and questioned why Ganesha never even left. Ganesha said smiling, that he won, and asked his brother: do you agree that our parents are great Gods and the center of the universe. To which Skanda could not say no, and agreed. Well, I, Ganesha walked around them, our parents, the universe seven times, so I won. With Skanda conceding, Shiva announced Ganesha as the winner, and rewarded him, as the God of Overcoming Obstacles, and said that he would be one of the most revered gods by the people. In Hindu culture Ganesha (the god with an elephant head) is one of the most prominent gods that you see on/at temples, and hanging in people’s houses and stores.

Ganesha’s Elephant Head

Sometime after the contest, Shiva decided that he needed to go meditate, and told his wife that he would go to the forest, to meditate. He, went and found an area, and closed his eyes. Twenty years later, he awoke, but looking much different, with his clothing torn and aged, and he was now scraggly with long hair and a full beard. He than hurried home, anxious to see his wife, as he never imagined that he would be gone that long. As he walked home, he wondered if his wife would still be there, and if she had waited for him. At that same time, his wife was in their home, a cave, and was preparing for a shower. She told Ganesha, to stay outside and to make sure to take no visitors while she showered. As she stepped in, Shiva approached the cave entrance, which was being guarded by this well built young man. Shiva was now very anxious to see his wife, as he was not sure if his lovely wife had taken a new husband, after presuming that Shiva would never return, and as Shiva left when Ganesha was a child, he did not recognize his own son. As he tried to enter, Ganesha, stopped him, and scolded him for trying to barge in. Shiva annoyed, told him to move away or else. Ganesha, not recognizing his father, looked at the old man, and said that he would have to use force if he did not leave. Shiva preceded forward, Ganesha than raised his hand to strike Shiva, than Shiva pulled a sword and sliced Ganesha’s head right off. At that moment, Pravati, came out to see what the commotion was about, only to see Ganesha’s head on the ground. She screamed and explained to Shiva, that is their son, and asked him to fix it. Shiva, said that he could save him, but she must go out and find the first newborn that she could, as he could detach it’s head and place it on their son, and save his life. She ran into the forest and returned with a newborn elephant.

We arrived in India, on the eve of Diwali, also known as the Festival of Lights, one of the more celebrated holidays of the year. Strings of lights were hung on the sides of buildings and randomly across streets, providing an atmosphere very similar to Christmas, minus the stockings, manger, presents, Jimmy Stewart, okay probably not very similar, but it was very nice and festive. Charlie, who was a grade school teacher back in London, explained that Diwali, was the celebration of lights, as it represented good over evil. There are a few different stories that explain the history of Diwali, and as you eventually learn, everything in India has a few different versions to it. But the basic premise, is that there was a evil demon, that held the world in darkness, and the spell was broken, when the demon was defeated, resulting in the return of light, and thus the celebration.

After freshening up, the six of us met at the rooftop, to watch the festivities below, and eventually decided to join the celebration by walking the streets, and introducing ourselves to the world of India street food. Surprisingly, we all found something that we each enjoyed, some liked the potato cakes, others the curry concoction, whereas I became a fan of the omelet sandwiches, and at the low price of 10 rupees ($1 USD equal to 39.4 Indian Rupees), who could really complain? The locals enjoyed our company, as much as we enjoyed the food and environment, as I think they were a bit shocked to see a group of foreigners, dining on the streets of Varanasi. The night ended with the cracking of random fireworks up and down the street, and was capped off with a parade of kids dancing behind a truck, blaring unrecognizable music, in the middle of a roped circle made up of other kids holding vertical florescent light fixtures powered by a generator located in the back of the truck. Yes, it was an interesting sight, and yes, I have become the king of run-on sentences, wait till I stop using punctuations and capitals letters. all in all i was surprised by how much i enjoyed my first night in india and crossed my fingers for more of the same.

Varanasi, is arguably one of the most ancient cities still in existence, and is the holiest city in Hindu culture/belief. Located along the Ganges River, India Hindus, make annual pilgrimages to Varanasi to bathe in the holy water of the Ganges, and others come here to die. Up and down the western shore of the Ganges along Varanasi, are the Ghats that have existed for thousands of years. Some are designated for religious ceremonies, and others for cremations. The Harischandra Ghat, where we stayed, was one of the more notable ghats still being used as a cremation ghat today. So over the course of the next couple days, a good portion of the days was spent, observing the rituals and the way the Hindu/locals dealt with death. My first introduction to the Hindu cremation process was at Pashupatinath Ghat in Kathmandu, and it was somewhat hard to witness. As I saw the complete process, from the parade of mourners carrying the cloth covered body, to the anointment of the dead with holy river water and red dye, to the actual cremation process. The hardest part was watching the wife ushered away by other family members, as she sobbed uncontrollably, and watching the kids say goodbye to their father. What made it a bit harder to deal with, was watching some of the insensitive foreigners walk almost right up to the family, so that they can get a good picture, unbelievable! But, strangely, watching the process in Varanasi was not as emotional or difficult as it had been in Kathmandu, not sure if it was a case of becoming desensitized, or the fact that the people/family handled it so matter of factly, that you couldn’t help, but do the same. A brief description of the process:

A parade of mourners follow the lead group carrying the deceased that is now covered with a white cloth. There is singing/chanting, as this group walks down the street. The body is carried to the burning ghat and is laid on the slope down towards the river. Unlike the ceremony in Kathmandu, the women are not allowed to participate, as they had to say their goodbyes before the body leaves the house. During the next half a hour, a number of religious activities occur, some include: the oldest son discards all his clothes, and changes into a garment made from a white cloth, he also has his head shaved except for a small pony tail that is left in the back and mid-height of the head. The body is sprinkled with water from the Ganges, and red dye is splattered over the body. There is also a flower type lei that is laid on the body, but eventually discarded into the river along with a gold colored cloth.

Ceremonies vary slightly, based on the wealth of the deceased, as the cloth, flowers, and the cremation process is an expense that can vary greatly. What I learned from Tom and Charlie, along with the manager from the second hotel, is that: this ritual must occur within three hours of their death. An action plan, has already been conceived and money has been set aside by the family. When the passing occurs, a member of the family is designated to notify the remaining family members, neighbors and friends. Another friend/family member, is sent to buy the materials required for the ceremony, including ten meters of cloth, five is used to cover the body of the deceased, and five for the use as clothing by the oldest son. Five is a spiritual number, as part of the ceremony, requires the son to walk around the father starting at the head, five times in a clockwise direction. Five signifies the number of elements in Hindu belief: water, fire, air, earth, and life/body. There are also five types of people that are not cremated, as cremation signifies the release of the soul to heaven, and the quickest way to escape the body and earth. The five are: 1) babies and kids under the age of five, as their souls are innocent and pure, so they are destined for heaven without cremation; 2) pregnant women, as they are carrying a pure baby; 3) holy-men, as they are by definition holy; 4) lepers and those with measles, as the Hindus fear that the virus/disease could be airborne than carried by mosquitoes back to others; and 5) those bitten by snakes. This last one is interesting, as it is believed that water from the Ganges can heal, therefore the snake bitten victim’s body is set on a raft, with his name and address written on a note, pinned to his clothes, with the hope, that the water will neutralize the snake venom, and the victim will eventually wake up, see the note and return home. Just about every local will tell you of a person that they know second hand, that had come back to life. All others (1 through 4) who are not cremated, are weighed down with stones, and dropped into the bottom of the Ganges. Almost everybody else, saw a random floating body down the Ganges, but luckily I saw no such thing.

After the rituals are complete, than the actual cremation begins. The body is then rested on a bed of wood, which is bought from the ghat. The type of wood and quantity, vary based on the wealth of the deceased. The cremation itself could be as little as 600 rupees, or in excess of a million. Even the fire must be bought, as it is a flame that is said to date back in excess of 4000 years, and have significant religious meaning. For those, that are even too poor to afford the 600 rupees, the Harischandra Ghat has been equipped with an electric incinerator, which callously completes the process in 45 minutes.

On the evening of Diwali the six of us, along with Holly and Adam (Oz), hired a row boat to view the ceremonies at the main Ghat from the Ganges. These dances/ceremonies, actually occur every evening, but the use of fire and lights are only used on the night of Diwali. As a result, the banks of the Ganges was filled with row boats, and it could have been possible to walk back to shore, by jumping from boat to boat. After the boat ride, we went back to the streets of Varanasi, to watch the kids run with excitement as they lit the fireworks, and in some cases playfully threatened to throw the firecrackers at us. I eventually passed out sometime after midnight, but was constantly awakened by the sounds of firecrackers late into the night.

The next morning a few of us hired a boat to watch the sunrise over the Ganges. This was when you really realized how polluted this holy river had become. According to various books, the Ganges can quite possibly be the most polluted river in the world. And as it was the week of Diwali, with many Indian tourist visiting to bathe in the Ganges for their annual pilgrimage, we wanted to see the ritual first hand. As early as sunrise, men, women and children line along the ghats for their turn to jump into the river. Some step in far enough to get wet up to their knees, whereas others jump all the way in, and dunk themselves. Throughout the day, you can really see all aspects of life along the shore of the Ganges: bathing throughout the day, laundry being washed mid-morning, kids playing cricket in the afternoon, even water buffaloes bathing in an attempt to cool off, and of course the funerals. According to the hotel manager, the Ganges River use to contain a high amount of sulfur, which provided healing powers, and help to fight the pollution caused by man. But with construction of dams upstream, the source of the sulfur, has been cut off.

The remaining portions of my days in Varanasi, was filled with walking through the city, and chatting with our group at the rooftop restaurant, in an effort to hide from the chaos that is India. You, literally can not walk down any street, and not be approached a few times by: a beggar or kid asking you for money; a tuk-tuk/rickshaw driver following you and asking where you are going; a vendor trying to make small talk, and telling you: it’s free to look; and/or a tout asking where you are staying, and them explaining how they have a nicer cheaper place for you to see. But, surprisingly, I really enjoyed my time in India thus far, and it had a lot to do, with the fact that I was not alone. Tom and Charlie (with their monkey doll named Percy), are a lovely couple in their mid to late twenties, and had me laughing constantly throughout the day. They could truly give Vanessa and Gui a run for their money as my favorite traveling couple, to-date. Than there was John, my debating buddy. John in his early fifties, originally from Kentucky, has been living abroad for almost the last 30 years. A bright and educated man, John took every opportunity to tell anybody who would listen, why he lived abroad and what he didn’t like about America, especially the politics, government, and people’s priorities. I didn’t necessarily disagree with some of his positions or reasoning, but the fact that he was so vocal to everybody, really bothered me. At one point after we spent a couple hours at the rooftop, I finally told him, that I had enough. I asked him, what his propose was: to tell everyone his dislikes and what he perceived was the faults of our country. Was he looking for sympathy, approval, or compassion? The rest of world, is filled with people who didn’t see us in a great light already, but I have seldom seen a French, Spanish, English or Australian put down their own country, and we should remember whether we like it our not, we are ambassadors of our country. What was he trying to accomplish, and what was he personally doing to trying to make things better? He responded that immigrants, as myself, are often disillusioned by what our country now stood for, and that he had a deeper understanding, because of his blue-blooded upbringing and education, and as he can track his heritage just about to the Mayflower. Ready for this? His father was a Congressman and the Attorney General for Kentucky, and his ancestor John C Breckenridge was the youngest Vice President of our country, ever!!! To say, I was shocked and intrigued would be an understatement. Over the course of the next few weeks (as we ran into each other almost everywhere), John and I would talk about a variety of subjects, and although we often disagreed, I did enjoy the conflict and the banter.

Had a chance to upload some pictures, just as I was running out of room on my memory cards. Notice the progressively longer hair, wait till Nepal, India, and Thailand… Enjoy.

Beijing and Shanghai:
http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=78ky293.9z6c9jp3&x=0&y=-6zem8n  

Huangshan (Lucen/Hong Chon/Huangshan):
http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=78ky293.4kfqeszb&x=0&y=-hr7gh3

Nanjing:
http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=78ky293.501nftyv&x=0&y=-7d3pj5

Xi’an and Terracotta Soldiers:
http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=78ky293.b7ha5fxz&x=0&y=3y21o3

Chengdu:
http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=78ky293.61k666if&x=0&y=-wwlwq9

Tibet:
http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=78ky293.4fv1935z&x=0&y=isim0i  

Traveling overland from Nepal to India, much like the ferry ride from Egypt to Jordan, is a true test of patience, and in some instances a test of your head and stomach. Starting from Kathmandu or Pokhara requires roughly the same amount of time on the road: first an eight hour day to the border town of  Sunali (with an overnight stay in Birahawa, a few km away), than the second day after passing through the checkpoint, a 8 to 10 hour ride to Varanasi. Both bus rides, start early in the morning, and both anticipated duration of the rides are estimations at best, as you quickly become accustomed to what everyone refers to, as India time.

The first day was rather uneventful, although long and somewhat uncomfortable, as I have already mentioned the tightness of the seats, on buses in Nepal. Knowing that the next two days, would be long and boring, I paid for an upgrade to be placed on a tourist bus, which was to be roomier and with less stops, as only foreigners would be on it, heading for the border. Of course, I was rewarded with a bus, full of locals (only one other foreigner along with me), that stopped almost every block until we made it out of Pokhara 45-minutes later, but than stopped every time somebody waved at the side of the road, to pick up some extra gas money. Did I mention, how much I trust travel agents? During the first few hours out of Pokhara, I was not sure how I was going to make it, as I was hit with the strongest dose of motion sickness that I have ever felt. The ride included constant twist and turns, mixed in with speeding and braking. As I concentrated to keep still and focus, my stomach kept calling out to me, so I just closed my eyes and told myself to get through this: people do this ride everyday, and you will absolutely not allow yourself to hurl. And what did I see when I opened my eyes? Three people, doing you know what into plastic bags. Eventually, I am happy to report, that I made it through the ride without the need of any plastic bags, but that first few hours was really a rough ride. The town of Sunali and Birahawa, are nothing more for foreigners, than a stop on your way through the border. Birahawa has more, and a better of selection of accommodations (all things being relative), but surprisingly, much pricier than Pokhara, as they know that they only have your business for one day.

The Nepal border is open 24 hours, whereas the India border opens around 6 am. Dark and early, around 5:30 am, I hired a bike-rickshaw to pedal me to the border for 40 Rupees, after realizing how cold and long the ride (maybe 5 km) was, I gave him a 100 Rupee bill and told him to keep the change, I know, big spender a whole whopping dollar tip. I was sad to say goodbye to Nepal, as I really enjoyed my time and experience there. It is definitely a country that I can see going back to, and would recommend to others.

Although, there are actual physical barriers that identify the locations of the border, when passing from Nepal to India, you know immediately based on the calls of the touts, that you are now in India. Within seconds, I was approached by guys who wanted to drive me to my destination, exchange my money, to know where I am from, and according to them: to be my friend. If I had thought, that Turkey or Egypt was bad with the unwelcomed solicitors, I would quickly learn, that they were really just a precursor and preparation for India.

The actual customs check point is located a hundred yard or so from the physical border, almost as to say: you had a taste, are you really sure you want to enter? My border agent was really nice, and even, gave me a few words of warning in case I had not been properly prepared for the trip. So, after he stamped my passport, I asked him for the best way to get to Varanasi, and he strongly recommended taking the mini tourist bus, exclusive for foreigners, instead of the public bus. It took me about fifteen minutes before I was able to locate the tourist bus, and learned that it would not leave till 8:30 am. Promptly at 9:30 am (yeah, I know I am sarcastic), the engine finally started and we were on our way. Initially, I chatted with a guy from the state of New York, and another from Israel. Both were returning to India, after making a visa run and staying in Nepal for about a month. Just before the engine started, someone called out my name, and when I looked up, it was my buddy from China, Brooke. When I say, that backpacking is a migration of lemmings from city to city and country to country, I am not kidding, especially in this part of the world. The community is unique, as it is both big and small, but all you need is that one quick conversation or introduction, than suddenly you instantly became friends. I originally met Brooke back in Xi’an, during the Terracotta Soldiers tour, and since than, we have ran into each other, at: Chengdu, Lhasa, Kathmandu and Pokhara. A graduate from UC Santa Barbara with a geography degree, Brooke, has been traveling: to see the world and at the same time trying to figure out what she wants to do with her education and eventually, for a career. We were both surprised to see each other, as we both thought that the other had left for India, many days before. She, than introduced me to John and Nora, who she met at her hotel in Lumbini, the birthplace of Buddha, and I introduced her to the English couple, Tom and Charlie, who I just met, minutes before. For the rest of the trip, the six of us (really five, as Nora didn’t speak much) chatted like old friends, and talked about the great places we had been and how much we all really enjoyed Nepal.

The long and tiring ride to Varanasi, was made a bit longer, as our bus broke down a couple hours, outside the holy city. But we were immediately whisked onto a public bus, where we were quickly introduced to the Indian public bus system, with it’s cheesy movies (think foreign film, with random dancing and singing, mixed in with sudden monologues in english, and at least with this one, crazy kung-fu mixed in with super powers). We eventually made it to the bus stop, sometime after 9 pm, and decided to tag along with Tom and Charlie, who stayed in Varanasi for a couple days, before venturing for Nepal, hopped in a tuk-tuk and headed towards the Harischandra Ghat area. The tuk-tuk ride was a quick introduction to the madness of India traffic, as there are cars, motorbikes, rickshaws, and people, everywhere and headed in every direction. Streetlights are few and far between, but somehow the traffic seems to move erratically in a state of controlled chaos. As your driver weaves for that open gap between two motorbikes, with you glaring at the on coming headlights of a car, another tuk-tuk, swerves in front of you as they saw the same gap, all the while the driver is cool, calm and collected, as this is normal everyday life, on the streets of a big city in India.

At Tom and Charlie’s recommendation, we were asked to be dropped of at the corner. Turns out, that the big headache in India, is that the drivers (tuk-tuks, taxi, rickshaws) all want to make a commission from you, by bringing you to a hotel of their choice. And if you select another one, they will tell that hotel that: they recommended it, and ask for a commission, assuming that they don’t first tell you that your hotel is: full, burned down, out of business, or infested with rats and drug dealers. The problem is, that if the hotel pays a commission to the driver/tout, than they will charge you a higher rate to make up the cost. So with our drivers, seeing that he was unlikely to make a commission, as we were getting off the tuk-tuk, he hit the gas, and drove down the street with our bags. Somehow, he figured out, where we headed, and gunned it for our hotel, to tell them, that he referred us to that establishment. The place was an overpriced dive, but considering it was around 10 pm, it was home for the night.

With my passport back in hand, and void of any blank pages, I decided to stay another day in Dogmandu, to stop by the US Embassy, and to do some research on India. The marathon day at the India Embassy, was actually a bit longer, as I forgot to mention, that between picking up my bottle cap/number in the morning and returning to the India Embassy, I had actually stopped by the US Embassies, all three of them, to inquire about getting pages added to my passport. The first one, is located just east of Thamel, and well within walking distance, but learned that they don’t do any passport/visa services there. The second one, located in my guide book, and just a few blocks north of Embassy Row, was now in the process of being vacated, as a brand new compound was just completed and in operation. This new (third) US Embassy, was way out there, located just beyond Timbuktu, but before BFE. When I finally arrived by combination of a bike-rickshaw, taxi, and walking a couple kilometers, not kidding, I was pleasantly surprised to learn that my own Embassy would not assist me, with the small request of taping a few measly pages into my passport, unless it was between the hours of 1:30 pm to 4:00 pm. And since it was 8:30 am, I was SOL. Realizing that honey, was better than vinegar, I pleaded my case to the officer, and told them that my passport would be in the hands of the India Embassy in the afternoon and I had been trying to get this done for over a week, but all the US Embassies were closed for Dasian, plus I was planning to leave Kathmandu the next morning. They reviewed my passport and verified that I was running out of room, and said that they would see what they could do. After the agents spoke to the office for five minutes, they handed the phone over to me, and the person basically said, come back between 1:30 pm to 4:00 pm, as that is when we service US Citizens. I was fairly shocked, as this was the first time I had stopped by any US Embassy, and always assumed that, they are the only governmental office that looked out for us. If not the US Embassy, who would I turn to, if anything really happened? So I pleaded again, and surprisingly, I must have given somewhat of a convincing argument, as the guy on the phone said that he would try to find a free agent to assist me on that small request, and asked me to wait at the front, until they called back. So for the next fifteen minutes, I chatted with the guards/agents at the front, who were very sympathetic and thought that it could/should be done, the funny part was that they were all Nepalese, and only worked at the Embassy, so really had no say. Finally, I got the call back, and they said: No, come back during our office hours for US Citizens. I am still somewhat shocked by this, maybe I am just ignorant, but I always thought that our embassy always served their citizens as a priority, even if it is just a menial task of getting pages added, and do they really only allot two and half hours for us, each day? So, that brings me to this day, when I returned to the correct US Embassy promptly at 1:30 pm. The guys at the front were great, they remembered me, and passed me through in a hurry. Moral of this story, check the internet for locations and hours of government offices, and don’t assume.

The rest of the day, I researched ways of getting to India, and places to go. One surprising thing about Nepal, is that the travel agents are fairly honest. I had grown to question almost everything that a travel agent tells you. But, when I used my “travel agent lying filter technique”, of asking at least three travel agents the same question to find the truth and discrepancies, I found that they generally told the truth/same answers. Honestly, I had been pleasantly surprised by how much I liked Nepal, but this really put it over the top (keep in mind, the cost is where you will find the discrepancy). So, I decided to spend a couple extra days in Nepal, partly to also prepare mentally for India, and headed for Pokhara in the morning.

The second largest city in Nepal, Pokhara has all the amenities of Kathmandu, but not the same madness. The food is abundant in selection and still good, and there are still many shopping opportunities if you wished, but the streets are paved, and with sidewalks, the threat of being run over at any minute was greatly reduced. For me, Kathmandu was an oasis after Tibet, because of the food, but Pokhara was an oasis after Dogmandu, for everything else. Originally I planned to stay at Pokhara for only two or three days, but seven days went by before I finally boarded the bus for the border.

Highlights/activities, while at Pokhara:

Para-gliding. It’s one of the main tourist activity, behind trekking, and the view is phenomenal, but a bit pricey when considering how far a USD can really go in Nepal. My guide told me that it wouldn’t be much more expensive to para-glide back in the States, but that the view is great in Pokhara, when the weather is clear. My recommendation is: if on vacation/holiday, go for it. If backpacking/unemployed, the money spent for the half hour flight, could pay for at least two weeks of accommodation ($85 USD). My hotel room (single) was approximately $7 USD per night, and it was nicer than it really needed to be!

World Peace Pagoda. Located near the top of an adjacent hill over looking the lake, is a large white Stupa, known as the World Peace Pagoda. The name itself, warrants a trip, add to the fact, that you quickly run out of things to do while in Pokhara, but have no problem adjusting to the slower, quieter lifestyle. There are at least three ways to get there, all with a little of a hike, and described in The Lonely Planet. What is also discussed in the guidebook is the crime that has commonly occurred as you make the trek up the hill, which I read, but thought: No, not at the World Peace Pagoda! I rented/hired a bike mid-day, and biked my way around town, and eventually to the base of the hill. As I hiked up, I did notice that there really wasn’t a soul in sight, and recalled the write-up to be-careful due to the propensity for getting robbed, on this trail. As I worked up the multiple switch backs, a random guy called upon me from a distance, and said that he would meet me on the other-side of the hill, to show me around. At this point, recalling the warning, and since I was solo, I elected to just stay in the wide clearing and wait for any other hikers/travelers to pass by, at which point I would just tag along. After about ten minutes a small group of Japanese guys walked up, and I trailed along for few minutes, until we reached an area, where I noticed more people. I eventually made it to the Pagoda with no problems, but on my way down, I ran into two couples, who hastily asked me: where they could catch a taxi. I told them, I would assume at the bottom of the hill. They said that they didn’t want to walk it, as one of the couple had just been robbed, by a man with a machete! They proceeded to describe to me the events, and how the robber stole everything they had, they gave him all their cash, but tried to keep their credit cards, ID and camera. But the robber, kept yelling: Everything! The husband tried to communicate: ok, but please let us keep the memory card in the camera, as its of little monetary value. The robber, based on their description, seemed nervous, so he refused and ran off with everything. The couple had taken the route down to the lake, on their way to a row boat, when they were approached and robbed. They said that the path, was heavily covered with trees and brush, so had little warning when they were confronted by the machete totting robber. I told them, that I had found a trail, on my way up, that I noticed the locals take, and that I planned to take it going back down. So the group of us, walked down together, as the wife explained to me the details of their unfortunate encounter. The Spanish couple had been traveling for about a month, with two more to go, and had just completed the Annapurna Circuit. I knew at some point later that night, she would probably break down and shed a tear or two over the incident, especially considering that they had now lost all the photos of their trek. But, she and her husband really handled it like champs and with a lot of class. She told me, how much she had enjoyed the trip so far, and how much she liked Nepal, and the people, and was really hoping that this incident would not tarnish her memory of Nepal and the people, years down the road.

Rowing on the Phew Tal. The peaceful of the lake (Phew Tal), really defines Pokhara, and its laid-back environment. A must at some point during your stay, is to rent a row boat, along with some friends and chill out there in the water, and just drift along. I was able to share my boat with Neha, a local friend I made while in Pokhara. Through Neha, I was able to learn a little about the local cultures and customs, and in some ways found many similarities between theirs and other from around the world. One of the most interesting, was the huge number of festivals, with Dasian (remember it is a 15 day festival) just past, it was only a week or so, before another multi-day festival was about to begin.

Nightlife. The night life in Pokhara, much like Dogmandu, can be as calm or as crazy as you like it to be. Of course Pokhara has less options, but there is still no shortage of bars, with mind-numbing music blasting till around 2 am, where as the rest of the shops generally close before 10 pm. Its interesting to walk the street of Pokhara, after a late night, as there are no street lights, and you walk carefully home, in hopes of avoiding any cow surprises. A random funny thing about Nepal, is there utter disregard for copyrights, as in middle of Pokhara’s main strip of Lakeside, is a bar/restaurant/club called 7-Eleven, and actually uses the same logo as the chain. Other copied names in Pokhara or Dogmandu, include: Barnes & Noble Bookstore, Waldenbooks, and Safeway groceries.

Reunion. It was amazing how many familiar faces I ran into, while at Pokhara. Which only made is easier to stay and pass the day, at a cafe, having accomplished nothing more, than reading a few chapters in the latest novel. During my week in Pokhara, I got reacquainted with: Ilana, Brooke, Vanessa and Gui.

But with no excuses left to delay the inevitable, I packed my bags for the first time in a week, and set off for India.

If there was ever a test of: will, desire and patience, that you had to pass before getting to enter a country, than the India Embassy at Kathmandu has instituted it. Just before heading for the hills, I had learned that the India Visa could take in excess of a week to get, so in an effort to keep my options open while I mulled the question of the week, I went to the India Embassy the day before my trip, to initiate the paperwork. What I found along with the other travelers was, disorganized confusion, lack of information, mixed in with a large dose of moody public “servants”, who considered themselves more to be public “gods.”

Entering the Embassy grounds was easy enough, as the doors open at 9:30 am, and bottle caps with numbers are handed out as early as 4 or 5 am. After entering, when your number is called, you have to sign in the guest book, walk through the metal detector and bag check area, turn right to the covered waiting area, than the chaos ensued. The crazy thing is, that it is actually fairly straight forward, after you figure it out, but due to the unwillingness of the employees to help and the lack of information (there is actually a posted instruction board, but printed so small, and only legible once you are actually at the front of the line), the masses of travelers from around the world, look as lost as if we had all just landed in India itself. If you are ever in Nepal and want to get an India Visa, I am going to help you out.

First you must fill out a Tele-ex form, which is basically a background check, and expresses your desire for a Visa to India. The forms are located on the counter along the wall, and is submitted at the first window on the left, known as the “Visa Counter.” So as soon as you enter, just stand in the Visa Counter queue, and fill out the form as you wait. The second window is the “Cash Counter” and the third is the “Information Counter” where they will absolutely not answer any questions relating to a Visa, so will be of absolutely no use to anyone doing any form of business there in the morning(the guy actually just sat there with a book, and didn’t look at anybody who walked up, even before they asked any questions). On the first day, all they will do is accept your Tele-ex form filled out, review it, and provide you a slip (pink) which you must fill out, and submit along with your 300 rupee fee (for the background check) to the Cash Counter. Make sure you request for a six-month, multiple entry visa (on the first form), otherwise they will for no purpose other than to mess with you, give you a one-month single entry visa, that starts on the day that the visa is granted, when the cost for either is the same, this happened to me and a few others I know. Now this is where the payoff comes, everybody stands off to the side, and hurries up and fills out the large visa application form, before standing in the Cash Counter line, but they will only accept the Tele-ex slip (pink) that first day, along with the 300 rupee fee. Than you must wait at least three business days, that the Embassy is open, and return to submit the application along with your passport, visa fee (in rupees only), and passport sized photo. Sounds easy enough, but this first process takes approximately 3 hours, with my advice reduced to under two.

After returning a few days later, you learn to get there early, pick up your bottle cap, than go back home to bed and for breakfast before enduring those two lines again. Its basically the same process repeated. This time you stand in line for the Visa Counter, to show/submit your Tele-ex receipt, which they will check that you have been cleared, and submit to them your completed application, along with passport, and photo. Than, they will give you another pink slip which you will take to the second window (Cash Counter), to pay for your visa, which is something like 3050 rupees, but for the honor of being an American, we get to pay an additional 1550 rupees, a grand total of 4600 rupees (not including the first 300R), which equates to roughly 75 USD. It is actually common, that Americans pay a premium on a visa as compared to other countries, for countries like Brazil its reciprocity, for the headache we require foreigners to go through to come to the States. But, in some countries it is a political statement, as Turkey requires Canadians to pay $60 USD and almost everyone else $20 USD, as Canada officially acknowledged/recognized the Armenian Genocide during the First World War by the Ottoman Empire (pre-modern day Turkey). Sidenote, I saw on the news that the US has recently had discussions on the same subject, so expect Turkey Visa fees to rise, as well, maybe sometime after the Turk and Kurd conflict is resolved/settles down.

The morning of the second day should take about the same duration as the first, as most people there are still trying to complete the first day’s activity. I think that many people like me, just complete the first day, and take the three days to mull things over, and based on the confusion of the first day, never return for the second.

So, the morning after I returned back to Dogmandu, I woke up bright and early and decided to go back to the Embassy, to check things out. Having figured out their process, I took the opportunity to talk to all the people in line, and asked them why they were going to India. What I found out, was that more than half of them, were returning to India, they had either been there years before, or were on a visa run, by going to Nepal for a month, with hopes of returning back to India. This obviously intrigued me, as they were silence advocates, based on their actions. The crowd was also noticeably different, when you started to look at the length of hair, the fashion of clothes, and even in some cases, personal hygiene. I also became the unofficial information guy, as I said, most people there were on the first part, and were as lost as we had been on my first day, and complained that it wasn’t this complicated when they got their first visa at home.

Even though it took over three hours, some of which was very frustrating, I enjoyed the opportunity to talk to my neighbors in line. I met a very enjoyable young lady, originally from Florida, but has lived ever since her teenage years in various parts of Asia, from China to Thailand to Nepal and India. In front me was a girl from Nevada, who was just passing through India for a couple days, so was actually applying for a Transit Visa, which is much cheaper, and can completed in just one day, but still required to stand in both lines (just no Tele-ex form). Than there was this English guy/bloak, who was originally about five or six persons behind me. But as I was talking to some others he started to work his way up the line, next thing you know he was behind me, chatting it up, unfortunately he was also one of the guys with the more noticeable hygiene issues. As we stood there, slowly inching up over the next couple hours, we had to constantly wave off the people who had adapted/accepted the culture of line cutting, especially the closer you got to the front. At one point, the English bloak, told this guy who came up to ask me a question about the visa process, in the middle of the conversation: you need to go back to the end of the queue after you are finished, as I know your technique of staying up here after asking a question. I gave the guy the benefit of the doubt, but the English bloak was positive that he was trying to cut in line, after all, he sort of used the same technique to end up behind me. So with just a few people in front of us to the window, where there is constant chaos, and attempts at line cutting, this family proceeds to step in, where there had only been a girl waiting in front of us the whole time. I figured what the heck, they were older and couldn’t possibly stand the whole time so it was okay, the bloak goes off, and starts to create a ruckus. The girl from Nevada and I just waited for the dust to settle, and what happens, as soon as everybody accepts that the family was right to stand back into the line, the bloak, wedges in between us, thrust his application to the Visa agent, in front of the both of us. The Nevada girl and I just stared at each other, in complete shock, bewilderment and amazement. I think I actually laughed and said: Do you need a Band-aid for that cut!

The other noticeable event, while in line, was when a Dutch couple was speaking to the Florida girl about all the places that they had recently went. They were describing in detail, how disgusted and how much they did not like anything about Russia, how the people were all a bunch of crooks, drunks, and wanted to start fights with the foreigners. How there was no culture to soak in, and its such a desolate place. I was surprised/shocked by this, especially coming from people, who wanted to visit India. After they finished, for some reason I felt an obligation to share with the Florida girl, a different perspective, as she looked mortified and convinced never to visit Russia. I told her, about the richness of their history, albeit different than what we are use, the beauty of the architecture and tradition, and the mystique of the people. I openly admitted that I did not venture off the beaten path, and had only spent just over a week there, but wished at sometime in the future to return, and hopefully to soak more of it in. The Dutch lady, noticed my contradictory statements, so she and I started to talk about our experiences, and it was actually quite amicable. But, her husband, did not appreciate the fact that I was undermining his job as the founder of the anti-Russian tourism board. He described how, on more than one occasion: they were nearly run off the road, approached violently in public, and almost came to fist-a-cuffs on a few occasions. I responded that, I didn’t question or discount his experiences, but as a traveler, we must remember to always keep in mind, and hope to remember that the incidents, at least the bad ones are hopefully anomalies, and the exception, not the rule, especially when talking about a massive country and its millions of citizens. At this point he was quite irate, and started pointing at me, and towering over me, now I could see why he almost came to fist-a-cuffs, as we were about to be in that same position. He than brought something that was inexcusable into it, he said: oh, that’s right you are American aren’t you, you guys like to fight and like to cause problems, unlike the rest of the world, you guys like confrontation. Than he said, with a freakish smirk: remember the twin towers? My jaw literally dropped, I could not believe an adult, would say something as callous, and heartless, as that. I just gave him a hardened stare, and said: I can’t believe you brought that up, and that’s just not right. Than I looked away, as he was no longer a human being to me, now. His wife stood by him, as this happened, and I think was just as appalled and ashamed of her husband, for what he had said, and grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him away. Although I never said another word to him again, his wife tried to chat with me later in the day, and they actually waved (some what apologetically) when they took off.

That brings me to a quick sidenote: I have tried to share with you my experiences good and bad, but have tried to keep anything remotely bad, in the context that they were isolated incidents, and that I hope I never say to somebody that I didn’t like that country or it’s people. There are definitely, those countries that I enjoy more than others, but that is because of my personal preferences and experiences. And on that same note, when someone doesn’t like me, I hope that they remember that I am not a representative of all Americans, who are ethnically Chinese, with a Japanese last name, from Southern California. But if they do like me, than they should think that America is great, which unfortunately is not the general consensus out there, at least of the politics, which many have a hard time of separating from the people.

Okay, so where was I? After you turn in your remaining paper work, and pay your visa fees, than you can pick up your passport with Visa later that day, at 4:30 pm, to wait in another half to full hour line. Oh, please make sure that you have at least one blank/free page still available, as the visa will take up that page, and they will not process it otherwise. A girl behind me, didn’t and waited for nothing.

So, after enduring that test of wits and patience with the line, and people, I decided that if I can deal with today, than I should be able to deal with India, hopefully. So for the first time, with Visa in hand, I started to make definate plans for India.

I have always considered myself much more of a city mouse, than a country mouse. While others picked: the beaches of Hawaii, the snow caps of Mammoth, and the serenity of Yosemite, as their domestic vacation destination, I often chose the monuments of Washington DC, the lights of New York City and the craziness of Las Vegas, as mine. My personal preference for the bright lights, big city, over the peaceful, picturesque natural environment, I have always attributed to comforts and knowing your surroundings, maybe from growing up more in a concrete jungle, instead of a jungle of trees and wilderness. But, somewhere along the way, I started to question this. When reflecting on my favorite time in Turkey, the winner was clearly my time on that little boat in the sea, and not the world class international capital city of Istanbul. What I was starting to realize, was that my historical preference for the city life, over the countryside, had less to do with creature comforts, but more to do with staying active/busy, and thus avoiding my self diagnosed fear of boredom. So as the legions of travelers wandered out into the wilderness of Nepal, I again chose to do as a lemming does, and signed up for four days of outdoor adventure.

Early in the morning we were picked up on the streets of Thamel, and packed like sardines into our bus bound for the hills. There were thirty of us, 18 for whitewater rafting, 6 for canyoning, along with six guides. During our three hour ride, we were initially sleepy, but quickly awoken by, the bumpiness of the ride, and with the slamming of our knees into the back of the seats before us. But, this is nothing when compared to the public Nepalese buses outside the city, as there maybe no more amazing sight, than seeing a bus filled to capacity, including every square inch of the roof covered with people, holding on for dear life with one hand, and waving to the foreigners with the other, all the while the bus is screaming down a steep hill. Any discomfort I felt from the seat, was quickly forgotten and easily outweighed by the great company. That morning, I passed the time with some great bus mates, talking about, what else: India!

Belinda (Australia), Mark (Ireland), Rain (South Africa), and Andrew (Australia) shared their stories and adventures through the India sub-continent. Mark entertained me the most, he would talk for at least five minutes, describing everything that he didn’t like, how he was absolutely miserable for days on end, how he counted down the days, until his flight out, than, there would be those famous words: But you got to go! It almost became a game, as others chimed in, and would ask him, what he thought about: the food? the trains? the people? the various cities? He really didn’t have too much positive things to say about his experience. Than when the subject of the Taj Mahal came up, he looked at Rain, and their faces actually lit up. Now, Mark and Rain, are a couple of bloaks (as the Ozzies would call them), guy’s guys, rugged athletic guys, definitely guys I could see watching an American Football/Gridiron game with me, back home. But, when the subject of the Taj, came up, the two of them talked like a couple of school girls, about how they were mesmerized by the beauty and elegance of the building, the way the light reflected and changed colors off the marble during the sunrise, and the detailed craftsmanship up and down the architecture marvel. In Mark’s words: the trip to India was worth it, because of the Taj. For the rest of the three hour ride, we talked about little else, and I was convinced that misery really does love company. Along the way, we did happen to see the carcass of a bus and truck that had swerved off the narrow road and rolled down the hill, and even a burned up bus, which one of the guides said had caught on fire yesterday.

Sometime mid-morning, we reached our put-in point, where we were given our itinerary for the next couple days, an hour of safety instructions/pre-cautions, and blew up our rafts, while the canyoners went off to find their waterfall. The rafters were split up into three teams of six each, my raft consisted of: Callie (Colorado, USA), Mariah (Northern Cali, USA), Lisa (England), Mark and Rain. When the safety lessons were complete, and we were asked if there were any questions, the guys only asked: how frequent were the rapids, and what class are they? The funny thing was that we were mostly all rookies, with only Callie and Mariah in my raft, with any experience. Eager to jump in, I introduced the guys to the American Football ritual of head butting with our helmets on.

The chill and bite of the roaring waters, quickly became welcomed and refreshing, as the blood rushed through our adrenalined filled bodies, after being pin-balled down that first rapid. Now keep in mind, that it was probably only a Class II rapid, but for the raft full of novice, it was our initiation. That first day brought us two rafting sessions, the first for about an hour before lunch, followed by another couple hours in the afternoon. We had rafted down the downstream half of the Bhote Kosi, an exciting river which includes a series of Class IV and V rapids, but that first day we probably only conquered a handful of Class IIIs, as the larger ones were upstream. One of the highlights of the day, was the leap off the jumping rock, into the fast moving river. Only a 4 or 5 meter drop, the leap off the ramp shaped rock, is unique as you land in the middle of the fast moving waters, and as soon as you hit the water, you need to start swimming towards shore, otherwise you have a long walk back upstream to meet the group.

By late afternoon/early evening, we arrived at our home for the next few days, The Borderlands Resort/Campsite. Located in the hill a dozen kilometers from the border with Tibet/China, Borderlands is the exclusive campsite for Ultimate Descents, where I booked my excursion. The campsite is accessed off a intermittently paved road on the east, bordered to the west by the roaring Bhote Kosi River, and its closest neighbor, the Last Resort, located a few kilometers to the north. The world’s second largest bungee jump, at 160 meters, is located at The Last Resort, aptly named as it’s the last one up the hill, and closest to the border. The Borderlands campsite/resort, includes a range of accommodations, from: a pitched two-man tent, with a yoga mat for bedding; to a semi-permanent four-person tent with cots; and for the boujee traveler, a VIP Safari two-person permanent tent, complete with cots, blankets, and that recent technological advancement called: electricity. Of course, being the rugged outdoors-man that I am, I slept quite comfortably in my own personal pitched tent.

That night, we all hungout in the covered common area, complete with bar, traded stories, and listened to Nepali music, mixed in with a fair share of 50 and Eminem, while the Nepali guys danced. One thing you do notice in the Hindu countries, is that guys are more affectionate towards each other. They often hold hands while walking down the street, stroke another guys hair, as they are talking, and dance amongst themselves to Nepali Traditional music or gangsta rap. I have yet to see a local man and woman even hold hands, but to see two guys, was a dime a dozen.

Early the next morning, the guides congregated and looked into the roaring Bhote Kosi screaming past our campsite. They decided that the river was still to wild, and that we would go to the other side of the hill to the east and raft down those rapids. Turns out, that the Monsoon season had just ended less than a month ago, which also signifies the beginning of the rafting season. As it was still early in the season, the rivers were deemed to be much to full, turbulent and raging for our group of novices. The guides, were very pleased with their decision the following day, when they tested the run the next morning, as the raft full of rafting guides over-turned on that same stretch. Our bus ride to the other river, turned out to be more exciting than the ride the previous day, and possibly even more so than the rafting itself. For two hours, we rode along an unpaved, mostly one lane winding road alongside the hill, with nothing on the other-side, than a sheer drop that would ultimately mean an end to this adventure and blog. When confronted with a bus loaded with people headed in the opposite direction, it became a test of wits, as each would jockey for the inside position, as the other would have to take the outside/cliffside. At one point, we finally reached an impasse, where the road was much too narrow, we approached a bus filled to the rim with people, and as they were larger and headed downhill, our driver had to put it in reverse, in search of a landing that would be wide enough for one of the buses to pass. Of course, this did not happen, until everybody from our bus jumped out to watch the spectacle from a safe distance. As the bus eventually picked us up the road half an hour later, we welcomed the bus driver with a bus full of applause, and joked that this was actually a test, and that rafting a Class IV and V rapid would be a breeze, compared to this bus ride.

At our put-in point for the day, word got around town that there was a group of crazy foreigners that were going to raft down their river/rapids. It was hilarious, as heaps of Nepali families brought out blankets and food, lining along the shore as to make a day of it, watching us raft down the river. I started to tell others, that I could translate what they were saying, and started to make up stories: of how parents were telling their kids, what not to do; how they were making fun of foreigners jumping into that killer river; and how they were not waving and saying hi to us, but really that they were waving stop, don’t go, and yelling: you are going to die! Along the stretch of the river run, every time we passed under a bridge, there were locals waving and yelling at us. Even at one point, where we could see a large bridge off in the distance, by the time we passed under it, the bridge was filled with people and buses, watching and cheering us on. The day was filled with constant action and excitement, with multiple Class IIIs one after the other. All said we probably had a few Class IVs mixed in, and one that the guide said was a Class V, but I think he was just trying to make us feel good. The water was much colder this day, but again quickly forgotten once we slammed against that first rock. Along the way, we practiced multiple safety precautions, including the retrieval of a fallen teammate into the water. Surprisingly, no one had fallen in the previous day, and it was expected that a few may today. That is when it happened, your’s truly de-virginized our team and group, by dropping in to the fast roaring rapids. It happened as I was digging hard on the left, we were in the middle of a Class IV rapid, and slaloming between the large boulders, as I reached down for a hard dig, I felt nothing. The water beneath dropped out from underneath me, we were overtopping a boulder, and the front half of the raft was in the air about ready to slam back into the water. As I reached down and stroked the oar for water, my body was hanging over the side of the raft probably a bit too far, when we slammed back against the water/current, I just literally bounced up and out. The crazy part, was that it was like slow motion, when I had dug for water and only hit air, I knew I had already lost my equilibrium, and when we slammed against the water, I felt my body lift as the raft slide from underneath me, my instincts kicked in. I dropped my oar back into the raft, and reached for the raft’s lifeline, as it passed me. By the time I hit the currents, I had a couple fingers around the lifeline. My teammates, were in shock, Rain who was in front of me and Lisa behind, both reacted instantly, and grabbed my arm to secure my grip to the raft as it moved through the rapids. There was even a slight hesitation to determine who would pull me in, as we were trained that only one person should grab hold, and the others remain concentrated on the maneuvering of the raft. Within seconds they had pulled me back into the raft, and we jumped back into position to conquer what remained of the rapid. The exciting sequence probably lasted no longer than five to ten seconds, but provided endless entertainment, as others recounted to me their prespective, as they watched me bounce into the river.

Back home, many of my friends in the past, have ventured to Northern California for their fix of whitewater rafting on the American River, and I had always passed on the invitation. After this trip, I have now become a fan. I was surprised by how much I enjoyed the whole experience, including the fall in, and the joking around during the down times. Unfortunately, once we set out back on shore, only Callie, me, a German couple, along with some of the guides stayed behind, as the rest of the group, returned to Dogmandu, as I still had two days of canyoning ahead.

Up to this point, I had not really gotten to know Callie much, we barely spoke, even though we were rafting mates. To be honest, I didn’t know what to think about her, and really didn’t think we would get along. At nineteen years-old, Callie was one of the younger ones of the group, but she acted much older. To me, initially, I thought that she was just trying to act older than she really was, as she talked about her life back home, and what she had seen and done on the road. I have been told, and know that I can be a harsh critic, and first impressions, historically leaves an indelible impact on me. And this is another one of those times, that I learned that I need to be more open, and can’t be so quick to judge. What I learned, was that Callie was not trying to act old, she just had what society would say is an older soul, and despite my expectations of what a nineteen year old should be like, she was just more mature for her age, and probably in many ways, more so than me. When we returned to the campsite, the place was a ghost town, as there was no excursions for the next day, except for the canyoning group, comprised of only, Callie and me. That night, the two of us, hungout with the German couple, who stayed behind to do the bungee jump at the Last Resort, and met Neil (Nir) from Israel, who grew up in a kibbutz. If you have never have heard of a kibbutz, like me, it was very interesting. I won’t bore you with the details, as you can just google it or look it up on wikipedia, but it is alittle like the Amish community in the States, but they are allowed to use modern technology.

By now, you may be asking: What the heck is canyoning? Canyoning is a combination of: abseiling/repelling, jumping, and sliding, from ledge to ledge down from the top to bottom of a waterfall. Relatively a new thing, only a couple companies provide this opportunity in Dogmandu, and Ultimate Descents was the only with a two day adventure. One word of advice, no matter what anybody says, no matter how much crap or peer pressure, no matter if they say you are a sissy, just do one thing: Wear Gloves!!! When we started early in the morning, our guide said, that he would teach me the proper technique so that the gloves were not necessary, and it was important to keep the feel of the rope as you abseiled down. So he told me to try without the gloves on the first couple drops, and if I felt good than the gloves would not be needed. What he didn’t mention, was that the first couple drops, were really easy drops, fairly dry, with a bit of a slope to catch your footing, and shorter in fall. As the day progressed, we abseiled into and under waterfalls, with the water crashing on your head, knocking you around as you held for dear life, and the cliff was smooth and slippery with algae, so that your body would slam into the rock everytime your foot slipped to the side. After a few more drops, I was fatigued, my side was a bit sore, my hands and arms, tired from carrying a portion of my body weight, when I looked at my hands at the base of one of the longer drops, they were raw from where the rope burned against my skin. With a couple more drops before we reached the base, I cringed with pain, and spoke with myself, that I will get through this, and by repeating those words that always got me through those painful times: You make a friend with pain, you make a friend for life.

Callie fared much better than I, as she had some previous abseiling experience, and was able to maintain her form and limit the number of times she slammed into the rocks, and had to carry her body weight with just her hands. Back at the campsite, we met up with a couple of people that came up early for the rafting trip that was starting tomorrow, Kim (Seattle, USA) and Ilana (Lativa). The rest of the night was spent talking about the painful experience we had that day, the excitement they were in for with the rafting, and of course, India. In the morning, my rope burn scars looked pretty bad, and I finally convinced our guide, who I called Spider-man (you should have seen this guy, he was probably around 5′-5″, weighing not more than 125 pounds, he literally ran down the cliffs, while I struggled down), that I needed some gloves. He finally admitted that it was probably the best thing, and man did that change the whole experience. Whereas the day before, I couldn’t wait for the abseiling portion to be complete, I was now excited to swing myself over the ledge and work my way down the waterfall. Along the way, we got to slide down on our bums in the naturally created slides, and jumped from one ledge to another at the mid-height of the waterfall. Again, we were cause for some people watching by the locals. The waterfall was viewable from the road beneath, and as we worked our way down, a few of the people passing by, decided to stay and watch the crazy foreigners throwing themselves off the side of the cliff.

Although, I was suppose to return to Dogmandu that afternoon, the manager asked if I would stay another night, free of charge, as they had nobody else returning that day. Having enjoyed my time thus far, I decided an afternoon with a book, some Sodku puzzles, and conversation, was much better than a three hour bumpy bus ride that I could put off for another day. That night I slept in the semi-permanent four man tent as the campsite was still fairly vacant, and the most bizarre thing happened. In the middle of the night, where I was the only human occupant, I got a neighbor. As I prepared for bed, I had zipped up the tent, in an attempt to limit the number of bugs and mosquitoes from entering and having a Reky feast. But, sometime after mid-night, I heard the zipper working its way up, and the flaps into the tent opening up, when I looked, I saw the silhouette, of a dog entering my tent. I was caught a bit off guard, and was about to shoe the dog outside, when I decided that if a dog could unzip my tent, enter, and lay down on the cot, he deserved to be my tent-mate for the night.

This year, smacked between the celebration of the Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays, is Halfiversary, at least for me. Halfiversary, which was yesterday, marks the completion of six months on the road. When this journey/trip started half a year ago, I was not exactly sure what to expect or how long I would actually be gone. And now, six months later, I still can not answer those same questions. However, I can tell you that the trip will last much longer than six months, maybe three, maybe six more.

During the first three months, I got home sick more often than expected, or at least missed the comforts of home/friends, and it also seemed like I saw more and did more on a daily basis. Whereas, the last three, I have quite often stayed a week here and a week there, with designated “chill days” that are void of any sight seeing requirements, which never happened on the first leg. The trip home, between Europe and Asia, actually did wonders for me, even though I was quite bummed for a portion of the time. It made me see, that life at home will still be there, when I get back. My friends will still be my friends, and it won’t be that hard (hopefully) to catch up on the things that I missed while I was gone. Even my best friends’ kids, will forgive me for missing their birthday party.

I have given a lot of thought, as to what I would write to commemorate this occasion, maybe something deep and profound or answer a few of the most frequently asked questions: How have I changed?, What have I learned?, My favorite place?, Toughest situation?, Scariest moment?, Most beautiful women?… But, this is not a beauty pageant, with the mandated interview portion of the competition. What I will say, is this: I have not regretted taking this trip for one moment. There are few moments/instances in life, that you are consciencely aware, that the decision you make will impact the rest of your life. And of course, for me, this was one of them. What was once an internal battle of whether or not to take this trip, and if the timing was right, seems like a no-brainer, now. Yes, of course I have changed and learned new things, but that should happen regardless, if you are at home or on the road. What I will say, is that, the experience like any other, can really reinforce what you already believe or know, and at moments also challenge what you previously thought was as easy as black or white. Common sayings, like: It’s a big world out there, The world is getting smaller, and the world is full of great and wonderful people; honestly have new meaning to me now. So, for now I will just leave it as:

Happy Halfiversary and Hope all is well.

P.S. If anybody wants to meet me somewhere in South America after mid-January, let me know. As I have thoroughly enjoyed meeting up with friends back home, while overseas.