Memoirs of a Lemming

I arrived back in Bangkok, shortly before midnight, and checked into the hostel that Tom had booked for us. Tom, a friend from home was on holiday/vacation, and would be my traveling mate for the next 10 days. This would be the first time that I would have a traveling companion for any extended period of time, which was not a part of any tour group. As I have mentioned before, traveling together can really affect a friendship, can strengthen/solidify it, or it can also crush/end it, as I have seen and heard from many others along the way. But, one thing when traveling amongst guys, is that when there are arguments, you can just call it like it is, go to your separate corners, and than be buds again. Now, Tom, and I are two very different people, he is from the Mid-west and reminds me frequently, that he is much more laid-back than myself, from his perspective, a true Southern Californian, too intense, and I will agree that I can be at times an intense individual. The two of us, had traveled on weekends trips together: Vegas, Mount Whitney, and he even joined my friends and I, on our annual pilgrimage to Laughlin a couple years ago. But this would be different, and I think there was a bit of anticipation from both of us, to see how the two of us would get along for that many days, in a foreign land.

Knowing that this was his full two weeks of annual holiday/vacation, I told him that he could pick the accommodation, so that he wouldn’t have to scrounge along in the questionable living quarters that I have somewhat grown accustomed to, and since much of Southeast Asia prices their rooms the same for a single or double, splitting the cost, would mean upgrading and living in the lap of luxury.

Our first stop was, Luang Prabang, a small town (by our standards, but second largest in Laos) off the Mekong River. The country, currently communist, has changed significantly in the last couple decades, one of which, was opening it’s doors to tourism, probably so that it could get a piece of the tourism dollar pie. The first night, we stayed in a small family run guesthouse which probably had no more than a handful of the rooms. But on the second night, we switched to a hotel, decked out with large varnished wood furniture, a small refrigerator, a comfy bed with proper blankets, and a bathroom that I didn’t have to wear flip flops in, to feel clean, and all for only a negotiated rate of only $30 USD a night. This was the best place that I stayed in, since Warsaw, Poland, during my Russia tour. We were seriously living pimp, considering the alternatives, included options available for as cheap as $6 USD a night.

We spent three nights at the Phathana Hotel, which might as well have been the Ritz for me, and four days in Luang Prabang (LP). During the day, we wandered lazily through the streets, hiked up the Phu Si hill, wandered along the Mekong River, and managed to even squeeze in a couple sightseeing activities. On the third day in LP, we mountain biked for an hour and half to a waterfall pond/elephant park, and kayaked most of the way back into town. The kayak promised great scenery, and even some small rapids. The promise of scenery was delivered, as we saw the great natural landscape that Laos has of offer, with many locale villagers knee high in the river in search of riverweed (not really seaweed, since its not the sea). The promise of some minor rapids, is another story, depends on what you define as minor and as a rapid. The funny part was that, both of our guides actually fell in. The first guide was the experienced one, where he was accompanying us to show the second guide the ropes, as he had only been on the job for a couple of weeks. The new guide fell in first, when his hat blew into the river, and as he stretched out to retrieve it, in he went. The experienced guide, turned over, when he T-boned a large rock, at our most intense and challenging rapid, probably a class 1.5, if that is even a classification. The day was enjoyable, and the new guide was a treat, as he was young and energetic, and very excited that he was finally going to this excursion. He shared with Tom, that this was the first time anyone had signed up for this tour, since he started working there. During our kayaking session, I got to chat with him, and found out, that most Laotian boys/men, do a stint as a monk, as its the only way to get a formal education, and an opportunity to learn English. And his dream for success? No, not a doctor, lawyer, professional soccer/football player, but a tour guide. We spent a good few hours on the River, that day, the classic moment, was: after about two hours of kayaking through mostly still waters, I asked the new guide how much longer till we were finished. And when I told Tom his answer, of another hour and half to two, Tom gave me the funniest no-F’n way look, that I cracked up laughing for the next five minutes.

The next day, we decided to hire a tuk-tuk, for a bit of sightseeing outside of town. We went to the Pun Ou Cave aka the Buddha Cave, and stopped by Whiskey Village on the way back, where they sell small to large bottles of whiskey, stuffed with scorpions, cobras, and other snakes. If you ever make it to LP, I can definitely recommend the Mekong River fish, they refer to it as a catfish, and is sold at the nighmarket stalls, and was very tasty. According to Tom, it was probably the best fish he ever had, and for a mere 18,000 kips (conversion $1 USD equals apx. 9,500 kips), it was the best buy in town. The currency situation is interesting, as you can just use the US dollar anywhere, and you actually yield a better exchange rate by doing so, most of the time. Technically the exchange is close to 9500 kips, but most of the establishments will make you pay 9000 kips to $1 USD if you are paying in local currency, and will give you credit of 10,000 kips when paying in US denomination. And there are only two ATMs in the whole town, which only works if it functions as a Mastercard type debit card.

The following day, we took a mini-bus to Vang Veng, the Laotian mecca for backpackers. The small town, is riddled with guesthouses up and down every street, and no-walled restaurants opening to the street, playing non-stop episodes of Friends, the Simpson and Family Guy. They must of read the manual of how to attract drunken backpackers, written by Ko Pha Ngan. The draw, believe it or not, was not the non-stop antics of those lovable cast of five based in the big apple, but was the sport (using that term very, very loosely) of tubing down the local river.

Tubing, is the sport of floating down the river, on a tractor tire inner tube. The river is slow moving, so to keep you entertained, there are numerous bars along the way, for you to take a break. Now for somebody like me, who doesn’t drink, this sounds very boring, but at each and every bar, there are swings/catapults/platforms, that hurl you from the edge of the river 10 meters high, into the depths of the river. Yeah, who came up with this grande idea, to hurl a bunch of drunkard backpackers into water. Of course, I absolutely loved it, and woke up with bruises from my crashes into the still waters, as my souvenirs from the adventure.

The next day being Christmas Day, we decided to take the unconventional method of transportation to Ventiane, by kayaking a portion of the trip, instead of busing the whole way. This time we shared a two man kayak, and there was one proper rapid, rated possibly a Class III, which we overturned on. The other highlights included: floating down the rapid, which felt like being sucked in by the waters, and being spit out on the other side; a 12m jump of a cliff; and not to mention, spending Christmas in the warm sunshine of Laos. The day concluded with a Christmas dinner at a fancy western style restaurant, a visit to the local landmark: the Victory Gate/Arch, also known as the vertical runway, which is a feeble attempt at a version of the Arc de Triumph. The reason it is known as the vertical runway, is because the arch was built with cement donated by the US government, meant for the expansion of the airport. The landmark remains unfinished, and there is a hilarious placard on the monument, that says: From a closer distance, it appears even less impressive, like a monster of concrete. Quite the difference from China and India, where every sign at any monument, mentions how it is cultural gift to the world, and a significant piece of world history. You got to love Laos!

Exactly Six months to the day, since I began this trip, I returned home, my birthplace/homeland that is, Taiwan. After more than two decades, I was not sure what I would remember, recognize, or what may even remain from what seemed like many lifetimes ago. Unlike other parts of Asia, my arrival, was not met by a sea of tuk-tuk, taxi or shuttle drivers, as Taiwan is not high on the list of tourists or sightseers. I was not even met by any family, as only a few family members still live there, and most of which I have not seen since I was a child, and they don’t have a car. Taiwan, represents the only island country, that I planned to visit during this trip. Not Japan, not the Philippines, not New Zealand, not even the continental island of Australia, as I wanted the opportunity to visit multiple developing countries between having to fly. Based on my cousin’s instructions, I hopped on the airport to airport shuttle bus, headed for the domestic airport, closer to where my aunt lived. On the bus, I burrowed a gentleman’s cell phone to tell my aunt that I was on my way. From the domestic airport, I hailed a taxi, and was at my aunt’s flat within a hour and half from landing. My aunt (Da-ah-e), is the oldest of my grandmother’s five kids, and the only sibling still living in Taiwan. When we left for the States, her kids (my cousins) a handful of years later, left for Paris, France to live with their father, a journalist. But as my luck continues to hold up, both her kids would be back in Taiwan during my visit. As a matter of fact, all the kids of my generation, that was born in Taiwan, would be here at the same time, with one exception, my older brother.

Da-ah-e’s two kids: Simon (shal-chee) and Vincent (Shal-zhong), are the oldest two of the six kids from our little rascals gang. Next came my brother, than me. Followed by the brothers: Guo-way and Guo-Ping. The Guo brothers, are technically my uncles to some degree, as their father is my grandmother’s brother. It was hilarious to recount with my grandmother, aunt and cousins, on the things we did as kids. I left when I was only five, so take my word, when I say that my participation in the hi-jinks was more of a spectator, than an instigator, honest The stories kept us entertained for many nights, as the elders ranked the most troublesome and the favorites. My cousin Simon was hands down, voted by both the elders and the kids, as being the most mischievous; my older brother as my grandmother’s favorite; and Guo-way as the nicest. I got the award for being the most finicky eater, don’t recall that category in the high school yearbook. Unfortunately, due to everyone’s work schedule, we were not able to get everyone together under one roof. But I was able to spend time with each of them, and catch up on the past couple of decades. Simon, even took a couple of days off at the end of his meetings, so that we could go sight-seeing together. He is the same cousin, that I stayed with in Shanghai.

That first night, my aunt made me a long-awaited and welcomed home cooked meal. then my grandmother called to set my schedule for the next few days, followed by my mother calling from the States, to make sure that I was still alive and well. Parents, you can’t blame them, as I would probably do the same, but she actually wouldn’t get off the phone until she warned me to becareful of all the dangers that lurked out there in the world, she rattled off the precautions to take at night, and to eat, and to be constantly aware of my bags and strangers. I immediately, felt like a teenager, and reacted like one, by abruptly telling her, I had to go. I guess no matter how old you are, how much you have done or seen, you well always be that little kid, to your parents.

During my visit, I did a little sightseeing, but the main objective was to rest, relax, and spend time with the fam. But luckily for me, the main objective of my grandmother was to eat. I always joked with her that when she visited us in the States, at least once a year, that all she/they did was eat. When they (my relatives) all rounded up in the morning, the discussion was about where to go for lunch. When they met for lunch, they discussed, what was for dinner. And at dinner they would talk about the food they had throughout the day, and where else they wanted to eat before she headed home. Little did I know, that this constant process surrounding food and meals, was not only when she visited us, but was her hobby, sort of speak, while at home. Her ritual each week, comprised of meeting up with friends of various circles each day for lunch, and for dinner she would just venture downstairs to dine with her brother and his family (Guo-way and Guo-ping’s). Now, from this description you may think that my grandmother is a large women, but reality is that although she is large in stature as the matriarch of our family, she is small in both height and weight. So, as it was, our bonding time was centered around: meals, sometimes with the rest of the clan, and other times just her, my aunt, and me.

One of the subjects, that I was hoping to avoid, was the issue of the biological. Word was that he was ill, and that he had spoken to my mom and grandmother over the last couple years, requesting to see and talk to me, in an effort to make peace before he passed. My grandmother and aunt, repeatedly brought up the subject, asking if I wanted to take a trip out to visit him and his family. As heartless as it sounds, I would just respond to them that as far as I was concerned, my dad died many years ago. My grandmother, even said that he had called the day of my arrival, and asked about my brother and I. I had the sneaking suspicion that they had leaked word to him, that I was in town. In the end, I never made the trip, and he never surprised me with a visit. At first my relatives couldn’t understand why I didn’t want to see the man, but after we recounted our family’s history, along with his skills/resume as a spouse and parent, they understood, and eventually dropped the subject. I know that many of you, may have wished that I would have done differently, and feel that I may regret it, in the future. Maybe I will one day, but honestly, I don’t think so, as I am truly at peace in knowing that the man who was my father, has already passed.

Some of the sightseeing, included: visits to the famous night markets and their wide selection of street food, Sun Yatsen Memorial Hall, Chiang Kai-Shek Memorial, Longshan Temple, Taipei 101, the tallest building in the world (to be broken by a building still under construction, in Dubai), Wulai waterfall, Danshui park, and Yelbui, a geologic park of obscure rock formation created when it was under the sea for thousands of years. Oddly enough, I also got a chance to get reacquainted with a friend from my second year in Uni/College. Mike aka Iron Mike, always had an interest in Asian culture, to the point that he transferred from Cal Poly Pomona to San Diego State and majored (or minored) in Asian Studies. He now works as a freelance translator between Mandarin and English, amazingly his Mandarin showed no trace of an American accent, which sadly, I can not say the same. One night, when we stopped by a bar that his friend runs, they would talk to him in Mandarin, but speak to me in English, go figure.

Couple of random stories, during my visit to Taiwan:

The Taiwanese government is alittle unsettled at this point. The current President is termed out, and elections will be held in 2008. Currently, there has been a social issue between the multi-generational Taiwanese and the ones that immigrated from China during the Chiang Kai-Shek (CKS) regime. The President, using his powers, controversially, had the signage at the primary entrance corridor to the National Theatre, Gallery and CKS Memorial, removed. It use to say Chiang Kai-Shek Memorial, but he wanted that name removed, as he is of the thought that CKS was from China, and not of Taiwan. There are many more issues surrounding the sensitivity of the subject, but the news constantly broadcasted the story, showing people who would be comparable to our World War veterans, crying at the entrance signage, that an injustice was being been done, and that the President had no right to change the sign. CKS’s party, the KMT has been losing seats in the government over the years, and apparently this was a political statement by the President that their time is running out. Should be interesting, to see who wins their election.

My run in with an undercover police sting. After a couple of days, my aunt finally told me that I needed to do something with my hair. I am usually pretty conscious of combing/grooming my hair before I head out, but as I was hanging out in the loft in the mornings, she said that my hair was too long and out of control. I explained to her, that I was growing it out, since I was now an official unemployeed traveling bum. Plus just wanted to see how long I could get it, before I couldn’t stand it anymore. But, since she was putting me up for the twelve days, I decided to appease her and go in from a trim and to clean up around the edges. As we walked around the block looking for a salon, a couple of guys stopped me. She was on her bike, as I walked, but when the guys approached, she rounded the corner and never looked back. I had been staring up at a crane that was removing something from one of the loft apartments above, and placing the wrapped contents in the back of a truck. As I walked around the truck, a guy grabbed my arms and told me to stop. I looked at him, and shook one of my arms free. Than about a dozen guys came from nowhere and everywhere and circled around me, than the first guy announced that he was a police officer. Now, remember my Chinese is probably the equivalent of a six year old, so I could not understand everything that they were saying. I told him that I am a foreigner. They gave me a look, with my dishevelled hair and my Chinese face, and shook their heads not believing me. I repeated to them, that I am a foreigner and that my Chinese was minimal. They asked me, what I was doing here, in this random street, where no foreigner would venture to. I told them, that I was staying at my aunt’s, who unfortunately had already pedaled around the corner, beyond sight. They than asked me to produce a passport, which of course I did not have, as I was only going to get a haircut. The first guy, than grabbed my shoulders tight, and started pushing me to head in another direction, that’s when I switched to English, so that they can hear my American accent. They stopped and asked where I was from. I told them, and said that I have my driver’s license in my wallet. After showing them it, they all ran off in various directions, except for a few, as they repeatedly apologized for the confusion and inconvenience. After telling the story to my aunt, she speculated that it may have been a dead body in that wrapped container on the crane.

As I walked through the large open corridors of Bangkok’s International Airport, I knew that I wasn’t in India anymore. Honestly, I didn’t even think I was in Thailand, as the newly opened (within the last year) facility could rival the newest and most modern airport back in the States. Any misconception I had of Thailand, of being a 3rd world developing country, was immediately put to bed, as I stared out the window of the Airport Express Bus No. 2 headed for Khao San Road. The buildings, modern and tall; the expressway, elevated and wide; the cars ranging from beaters to new gas guzzling SUVs. Not that I expected, huts, shacks, and bungalows everywhere, but I certainly did not expect this. Needless to say, Thailand was going to feel much more like a vacation after my trip through India.

Similar to Nepal and India, the timing of my arrival coincided with a festival/holiday. But, this time I didn’t figure out the story behind the celebration, as when in the Khao San Road area of Bangkok, you really don’t need a reason to party, as nightfall was reason enough. That first night, I just walked the streets, filled my tummy, and passed out earlier than the rest of the City for a Saturday night. The next day, I decided to ride as many modes of public transportation as possible, in an effort to get my bearings of the city, as I knew that Bangkok would become my transportation hub during the next month or so. First, I jumped on the River Express Boat, which takes you north to south, or vice-versa, along the Chao Phraya River. At the Central Pier, I hopped off and onto the Skytrain, which is reminiscent of the monorail system at Disneyland. The afternoon was spent walking the streets of Siam Square, which is packed with eateries and heaps of shopping opportunities. Next, I jumped on the good ole’ fashion public bus, which took me back to my home away from home. If you are ever in Bangkok, I would highly recommended duplicating this public transportation circuit, as both the boat and Skytrain, offer a great way to see the city, and their routes, pass by some of the City’s most significanct landmarks.

Later that evening, I met Jay and Poon for dinner at the Muslim Quarter located off Sukhumvit Soi (road) 3. Jay, originally from Florida, is a friend of Nick and Rox, friends of mine from home. Many years ago, maybe more than ten, Jay decided to pack his bags and go off to see the world. As you can guess, along the way, he met Poon, fell in love and he has lived in Thailand ever since. During dinner, we talked about what he missed and didn’t miss about living back in the States. But, I enjoyed the story of how they met, the most. Jay, was actually days away from flying to Australia, when he met Poon on the public bus. He got her phone number, but was not planning to call, as there was no point, considering he was off to another continent in a matter of days. Than, Jay decided on a whim, that Australia just didn’t feel right, as he didn’t want to fall back into his old backpack routine of late night partying. That is when he decided to call Poon, and the rest is: as they say, history. Jay, told me when Poon went to the restroom, that she is his soul-mate, and that she probably saved his life, as he could not even guess what his life would be if he did not meet her. The two of them, travel back to the States each year, during the holidays, to see Nick and Rox in So Cal and their family in Florida. It was great to talk to them, as Jay, unlike my debating buddy John, still likes home/the States, but chooses to live abroad for other reasons. Thanks Nick and Rox, for introducing me to your friend. Thanks, Jay and Poon, for the great company and dinner.

One of my favorite past-times is to give people nicknames, and to use random sayings/catch phrases. The one I came up for Thailand is: 1) they love’em some King, and 2) Thailand, the land of ATMs, 7-Elevens, funny T-shirts and Lady-boys. The King of Thailand, King Bhumibol Adulyadej , aka Rama IX, is the longest reigning monarch in the world. He took the throne at the age of 19, back in 1946, which means he has been King for over 60 years. Interesting enough, King Rama IX was born in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Throughout the country, even miles and hours outside of Bangkok, pictures, images, murals of the King are plastered on buildings, billboards, and lightpoles. The King even has his own day of the week: Mondays, not one, but all 52 of them, are known as King’s day, where the locales wear yellow colored polo shirts in honour of the King, as he was born on a Monday. Many of the stores, and street vendors even take the day off, in celebration/honour of the King, and if you have ever been to Thailand and know how commercial it is, that is truly a statement. They even wear pendents of the Kingdom’s insignia around their neck, and rubber bracelets that say: Long Live the King. Like, I said: They love’em some King. I was even fortunate, enough to be in Bangkok for the celebration of the King’s 80th birthday, on Dec 5th.

When in Thailand, you will probably never hear the words: Where can I find an ATM or 7-Eleven? Back at home, I thought that 7-Elevens were quickly disappearing, but I guess they all just moved to Southeast Asia. You will actually see a couple of 7-Elevens on the same street, not more than 50 meters from one another, and I thought Starbucks and McDonalds were taking over the world. The joke shirts are also a popular draw in Thailand, from the iPood shirt showing the silhouette of a guy listening to his iPod while sitting on the can, to one of Che Guevara picking his nose, with many more R-rated ones, that I will leave to the imagination. Personally, I finally broke down and bought a shirt, as I have decided that after six months, it was time to start replacing my worn down shirts/clothing. As a result, I have instituted a buy one/toss one policy, where I can buy a souvenir article of clothing, but need to discard/donate a piece of clothing, so that I do not add weight to my backapack. DJ MC Albert Einstein, was my chosen shirt, depicting the professor is in his Adidas track jacket, spinning the ones and twos (turntables). Than there are the lady-boys, lets just say that I among many others, have elected to not look at any locale women, until I am out of Southeast Asia. You know it’s bad, when the popular game to play, is: guess if she is a he.

After a couple days in Bangkok, where I even ran into Tom and Charlie, I decided to head south to the islands of Ko Pha Ngan and Ko Samui. Ko Pha Ngan is the site of the famous Full Moon party, being the smart entrepreneurs they are, there are now: the full moon, half moon and black moon parties. In other words a huge beach bash/rave every week, where people buy buckets of alcohol, instead of cups, and fire dancers/twirlers parade along the beach. I arrived in Ko Pha Ngan a couple of days after one of the larger Full Moon bashes, and found the island mostly deserted, which I rather enjoyed. The days were spent: reading, lying on the beach, swimming in the warm waters, and napping the day away. The nights, were spent mostly at a cafe/diner, watching a movie or an episode of Friends. For some weird reason, almost every eating establishment, had a TV where they showed episodes of Friends, Family Guy or the Simpsons, all day long, before switching to a movie at nights to draw in the crowds. On the third day, I caught a ferry for the larger island of Ko Samui. As I arrived, I met Phil and David, cousins from New Zealand. The three of us decided to rent scooters for a day, so that we could see more of the island, and plus it’s scooters, who doesn’t love scooters. The first night on Ko Samui, the Kiwi cousins ran into Nita and Emma, friends traveling together from Oz, whom they first met on the ferry, so the five of us spent the night eating and drinking literally on the beach, as the bars and restaurants set up decks and lap tables on the sand, so that you are just meters from the water. The next morning, us boys, set out on our scooters which cost a mere 180 Bahts to rent per day ($1 USD = 32 Bahts), and cruised in search of waterfalls. When we found one of the waterfalls, the Kiwis were thoroughly disappointed. It was actually quite funny: at the first water fall, they charged us 20 Bahts to park our scooters. Than we had to hike down this narrow dirt path, to the stream, only to discover a waterfall that would probably not meet the definition as such in Webster’s. As we walked back up the path, the Kiwi boys, were annoyed that we were duped to venture off the path to see this lame waterfall, which to be honest is much worse than many waterfall fountains that you would see in shopping malls. One of them said, a line that cracked me up: we are from New Zealand, home of some of the world’s best waterfalls, and here we are in Thailand renting a scooter, and paying 20 bahts to see that crap. Next we went in search of this bigger and more famous waterfall, when we arrived they had a toll charge of 40 bahts. To which the Kiwi boys, said no way, and we turned back on our scooters. as we left, one of them said: man, they must think that we are cheap bastards, to come all this way, and to turn back because of the 40 bahts, but I am not getting ripped off again! Later that night, we met up with the girls for dinner and some drinks, when all of the sudden on my way to get some banana pancakes, there was a city (maybe even island) wide blackout. When I finally got back to the bar with the pancakes, lets just say the Kiwis and Ozzies were getting cosy, so I made my exit and wished them well on the rest of their travels. I spent another day and night in Ko Samui, chilling out at the beach and reading, before heading back to Bangkok.

During those two days, in Bangkok, I visited: the reclining Buddha at Wat Po, the stupas at Wat Arun, and signed up for a day trip to see: the floating market, the Bridge at River Kiwai, and Tiger Temple. The floating market was okay, but not what you expected, as it is much more souviner stalls, than any food or vegetable market for the locales. Since I knew very little about the bridge and never saw the movie, the bridge was not much a draw for me. But the Tiger Temple was ridiculous! Story, is that a monk at the temple, found an injured tiger cub, nurtured it back to health, and it ended up staying at the temple. Since than, the temple has become a sanctuary for tigers, and they are trying to build a reserve for tigers. As you walk through the premises, there are separate areas, where you can actually handle and get your picture taken with a cub, and full size tigers. It is a trip, to walk up quietly to a sleeping tiger, as the workers tell you to pet the tiger, and at one point sit you down, and place the tiger’s head on your lap. The talk amongst the crowd, was questioning if the tigers are actually sedated, as the workers say that the sleeping tiger they let you pet, is just an extremely heavy sleeper. I know some animal activists may not agree with the whole operation, or my participation, but I never would have thought that I would be able to pet a full size tiger. If you haven’t checked out the pics of Flickr, I have also included in the slidehow of Thailand.

That evening and the night before, was also the celebration of the King’s 80th birthday. Fireworks filled the sky, and the trees along the major street was decorated with strings of lights. The field in front of the Grand Palace and National Museum was occupied by stages, stands. stalls, and exhibits all celebrating his birthday. I got a chance to see a few exhibition Muay Thai Boxing fights, and a game that kids played using a wicker ball, that seemed to be a cross between hacky sack and volleyball, where the use of hands are not allowed. All along the streets, there were exhibits telling the history/biography of the King, where people stood in lines to get postcards/pictures of the King, and got their passes stamped, so that they could get the whole set. There were even stalls set up to buy 8 x 10s of the King, which seemed to be a popular buy for the young and old. Did I mention: They love’em some King.

Pictures from my adventures in:

Nepal:

http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=78ky293.8knax72f&x=0&y=z9jq46

India:

http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=78ky293.c9u5r2if&x=0&y=i5s166

Thailand, Part 1 (Tigers, tigers, tigers):

http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=78ky293.7l5amjiv&x=0&y=-cy12qb

What initially started as a pilgrimage to Pushkar Lake, to trade and sell camels, timed with a spiritual full moon on the eve of the final day of the fair. The Pushkar Camel Fair has truly become a festival, as it has transcended it’s status of merely an annual marketplace for “ships of the desert” aka camels, into an Internationally known seven day showcase packed with an itinerary full of events: marketplace for livestock farmers and breeders, souvenir and merchandise stalls for tourists, amusement park rides and games for kids of all ages, camel treks/rides and carriages, and an actual pilgrimage of Hindu faithfuls to bathe in the lake during the eve and day of the full moon.

As, I wandered through the stalls and camel grounds that first day, I recall thinking: it’s amazing that this whole thing is free, as it has a county fair atmosphere, along with 50,000 camels. The activities over the next seven days, included: a camel race, horse dancing, camel dancing, mustache pageant, and various competitions pitting Indians against foreigners. Some of the events I witnessed:

Kabbadi. A game that the locals play as kids, best way to describe it is that it is sort of like a combination of: dodge ball without the ball, tag and duck duck goose, but not really. Teams are separated on two sides like a dodge ball court, each team takes turns sending a player into the opposing field, while chanting: Kabbadi. The object is to tag one of the opponents and to return to your side of the field, without being grabbed or brought down. The other team is not allowed to touch/grab you, until you touch them. If you make it back to your side, the guy who got tagged, is out and you get to bring a teammate back into the game. If you are grabbed or tackled, than you have to leave the game, and they get to bring another player back. The team wins, when there is no other player left on the opposing team. This game was actually fun to watch, as the locals really played with the foreigners, mostly made up of Ozzies. The field is dirt, and the Indians moved alot faster on the field, barefooted as compared to their opponents. During the first match, the Indians “let” the foreigners take a commanding lead, where they were down to one player, until they turned it on and obliterated the foreign team. The Indians ended up knocking out every member of the foreign squad, and taking the next two matches in record time. At the conclusion of the matches, the reason came clear, why the Indian team, wouldn’t even let the foreigners win one match of the best of three: the prize. As a reward for winning, each member of the Indian team, received a gift bag, which supposedly included some cool prizes (but I did not get to see it), but more importantly, each of them received 10,000 rupees (more than $250 USD). The foreigners received a t-shirt for playing, and it is uncertain what they would have received if they had won, but I was told that the money prize was only for the Indians. Apparently, the competitions against foreigners is a major point of pride, especially with the local cultural events, and the powers that be, gives incentives to keep the Indian competitors motivated.

Solituda, another game similar to a form of dodge ball. A stack of flat rocks is piled on top of each other to form a tower. The teams are lined up, on each side, where one team takes turns throwing a tennis ball in an attempt to knock down the rock pile. As the other team stands behind the pile. If the player misses the rock pile, and the opposing team catches the tennis ball after just one bounce, that player is eliminated. If the player, knocks down the pile, he must rush up to the rocks, and re-stack them, as the opposing team attempts to retrieve the tennis ball, and hits the player before he re-piles the stack. This game did not take long, as the scoring much like hockey and soccer, were few and far between.

Indian Bride Competition, foreign women dressed in Indian wedding garments and participated in beauty type pageant (without the swimsuit portion), there was 22 entrants from all around the world: USA, Canada, Oz, England, Czech, Austria, Israel…

Horse and Camel dancing. This was a bit bizarre and a little uncomfortable to watch. Music was played over the loud speaker, as a trainer directed his horse to dance around in a circle. The dancing included, prancing, as well as standing up on it’s hind legs and hopping along. If I thought the horse competition was weird, the camel dancing was unusual. I think using the word dancing to describe the camel’s movement is a stretch. As the camel just walked around in a circle, sat down, as the trainer would sit on it’s neck, lie underneath it’s head or legs, and yell at the camel, as they ignored his directions. The horse dancing competition seemed to be a big draw for the locals, as many Indians watched from the stands, day after day, as the trainers practiced with their horses.

Camel Race. This event was the talk of the town for the foreigners. We all set the day and time aside to witness this race. In sum, it was eventful, but a bit anti-climatic. The race was very disorganized, as the camels entered the field grounds, and started to line up at the start, while other camels strolled off, or seemed disinterested. When most of the camels finally lined up, a couple of the camels seemed to just take off. Not sure if there was a false start, or an actual starter shot or call, we waited to see what the other camels would do. That is when we noticed that there, were still many people walking across the field. The people started running across, and standing on the imaginary sidelines waiting for the camels to pass. As the camels, reached the end of the field, some took sharp turns as others wide sweeping arcs back towards the starting line. Apparently, the race required one full lap, back to the start. Some camels lost interest on their way back, and started to slow down, as others lost their sense of direction, and headed straight for the spectators, standing on the sideline. Luckily, no one got trampled or hurt, but I was starting to realize why there wasn’t a cover charge for the fair.

During my three days and nights at Pushkar, I saw a fireworks show that kicked off the festival, a couple sunsets at the Lake, trekked/walked across the desert between the sea of camels, and hungout out with some fellow travelers, namely the SDS girls (Sarah, Debbie and Susan) and Stephen at the hostel. On one of those nights, part of the group decided to get some Bang Lassis, where the bang was provided by the aid of a certain herbal supplement. Lets just say, a couple of the girls found some of the jokes to be much funnier than I did, but it made for an entertaining night.

I returned to Delhi, just in time to celebrate Thanksgiving, with a dinner that finally included some protein. Forgot to mention, Pushkar is not just vegetarian, but vegan, as you can not get any chicken or even eggs, let alone any red meat. This was also the first time since the beginning of the second leg, that I felt homesick, mostly because of the holiday and what it meant. My usually ritual on Thanksgiving, is comprised of playing basketball in the morning at the park, tossing the pigskin around, watching some football (american/gridiron), and feeding on some major grub. In years past, I have been able to time my visits just right, that I could actually make three Thanksgiving feasts in one day. But for this year, I would have to settle for a cricket match on TV, and a chicken and egg omelet sandwich for my Thanksgiving feast. Hope you all had a turkey leg, some pumpkin pie, and candied yams for me.

On my last full day in India, Tony Rai, a co-worker from my days at RBF, showed me around. Tony, originally born and raised in the state of Punjab, India, immigrated to the States when he was just a young adult. Now married, with wife and kids, he comes back home to India to see family and take in some sight seeing each year. I was fortunate, that our visits lined up, as he introduced me to the Swaminarayan Akshardham temple. I know I have used this adjective about a zillion times before. But this place was simply: amazing. See some of it yourself at: www.akshardham.com

The grounds was elegant, grand, lush and open, and the temple, simply masterful. The details were mindblowing, and as you walked through the complex, staring at the various details, you couldn’t help but think, that maybe this is what some of the other temples would have looked like, if it wasn’t deteriorated from the hundreds or thousands of years of wear and tear. The temple was only completed just a handful of years ago, and will or should be visited by all. I never saw it in any guide book, or barely even saw any other foreigners at the complex, but hopefully that will change in time. Unfortunately, you are not allowed to take pictures, so hopefully you will get an idea from the website. If you are ever in Delhi, it is a must. Thank you: Tony, for showing me the complex, as it would have been a sin to miss it, after seeing all the temples, churches, mosques… around the world.

Bye, bye India, it was truly any experience!

As, I walked back out into the main bazaar. A young guy dressed properly in slacks and a dress shirt, walked alongside me, started to talk and eventually handed me a small flower. Initially I refused, the flower, but he was adamant that he didn’t want anything, and that he was just doing it as it was good luck for him, as well, by getting another person to place the flower on the lake. He explained that, by placing the flower onto the lake, you are giving to lake, and the holy lake in return blesses you and your family, and that he also gets blessed in the process, and he promised to leave me alone if I just accepted the flower. So I took the flower, and he walked off. As I rounded the corner, another guy approached me, and said that I must put the flower in my hand in the lake, but this guy didn’t look as clean cut, but actually a bit dodgy. So, I kept walking, and began to think that, maybe the flower in my hand, was now a signal to them, that a sucker was in the mist. I then put the flower in my pocket, and proceeded along the bazaar. After rounding the next corner, around the lake, a third guy approached me, and told me the similar story as the first guy. Initially my gut, was to ignore him and keep moving, but recalling how in just the last 24 hours I had interactions with two great locals, the rickshaw driver in Jaipur and Sam in the morning, I decided to stop being paranoid and to talk to the guy.

The man, told me that the Pushkar lake is very holy and that the Fair time was very special, which honestly all the tourist already knew. He explained that I needed to be shown how to properly place the flower into/onto the lake, that he would show me, and to follow him. At that point, still with plenty of daylight left, I decided I would only continue to follow him, if the area was open, with plenty of locals and foreigners around. We walked towards the lake, into the holy area, where the Hindu faithfuls pray, and stare off into the distance. The area, was wide open, and actually quite serene, with, the lake and it’s reflection of the sun and bright blue sky. The smoothness of the white floor only added to the ambiance, along with the legions of worshippers aged from infant to elderly. I looked around, and saw a couple of foreigners walking off to the right, and figured that all the locals couldn’t be in on the scame (if it was one), so I continued to follow along. As we approached the steps, I told the guy: no money, to which he responded that none was needed, and that he just wanted to show me, and gave me a look of disappointment for thinking such a thought. As, I took off my shoes, he introduced me to another guy, who he said, could walk with me to the lake edge and show me the ritual, and he stayed behind. When I got to the edge, he proceeded to show how the flower must be handled and released onto the lake. As he was demonstrating how the hands should be washed before the ritual, I told him, that I had told the other guy: no money, and that hopefully he understood as well. To which, he gave me a look of shock, as he jerked his hands out of the water and shrugged: what?! I told him, that I told the other guy, no money, and he agreed. This guy, responded that donation is a must, and it would be disrespectful not to. To which, I responded: oh a donation, that is more than fair, but I will set the amount, and I will directly place it in the donation boxes, located along the steps of the ghats. He responded, that the donation must be accepted by a local, and that he would make the contribution to the correct place, and that the box was not it. I immediately refused, and re-iterated my position. He than, shook some of the lake water off his hands into my face, jumped up, and stormed off. As, I walked back towards the steps, to retrieve my shoes, another guy, this one dressed in white garb, to represent a holy man got into my face, and started to yell at me. He said, that I was disrespecting this sacred place, that a donation is a must, that I was a foreigner, not welcomed, and that I am not honorable, in acting so disgraceful in a place special to his religion. Me, being myself, could not just bite my lip. I responded, that I and the other foreigners, travel here from thousands of miles away, to witness and appreciate the rich and wonderful history that the local people and culture has created. That in fact, he was only disgracing himself, by using such a spiritual place for his own monetary gains. As I walked off, I saw two foreign girls walking towards me, and raised my voice some more, so that they could see what was happening, as they were being led by one of the “so-called” friends. One of them, caught my glanced, and walked towards me, as she approached, I told her: be-careful, there is something going on here. This caused all three guys, to quickly close around me, so I just told her to only proceed with caution, and just be alert. The three guys, went between me and the girls and started yelling at me, to leave and to stop disrespecting this holy place, which caused many of the locals to stare at me. So I retreated to pick up my shoes on the top of the steps. When I got to the top step, out of sight of the girls, and bent down to pick up my shoes, one of them punched me in the shoulder. To be quite honest, it probably hurt him more than me, as he got more bone, than any flesh. I jumped up and looked around to see who was my attacker and how many there were. The guy who punched me, was the old man in white, the other guy who walked me to the steps, was half a step behind him, and the guy at the lake edge retreated off to the side to survey the area. I’m not a big guy, by any stretch, but this “holy man” was not a threat, I was just worried about a weapon, or the other guys ganging up on me, the biggest guy was actually the guy who went off to the side. As I stood up, he slapped at me, and got in my face, and started to say, that I should mind my own business, and that he would kill me if I said a word to anybody about this. He kept repeating: Don’t tell anybody, or I will kill you. I will kill you, I will kill you. At this point, I just continued to look around, and saw that there were still alot of locals around, and that no others were approaching, but the third guy off to the side, just picked up a big stick. So, I pushed the old guy away from me, took a few steps off and said: don’t worry I will only tell this to one person: the police, and I headed back for the bazaar. As I walked quickly back into the crowds, I looked all over for the police, and that is when I realized, there really aren’t many police officers in India. So, for the rest of my time at the Fair, I continued to tell everybody I could, to stay away from the flower guys at the lake, and to always trust your gut.

The idea of taking sometime off to see the world, first crossed my mind (realistically, rather than just dreaming) last year, after my trip to Italy. That trip lasted just over two weeks, and was easily the longest holiday/vacation of my life, up to that point. I remember the feeling that you get after passing the hump (mid-way point), and started to count down the days, before you had to head home, and dreading it. That is when, I probably first entertained the idea of a multi-month vacation. Sometime after I got home, on one of my weekend trips to drool over the travel section at the bookstore, I came across a book (non-fiction), about a family that took a time-out to travel around the world. The book was written by the father, about what they did, what they saw, and how it was to travel as a family, with: mom, dad and three kids, ages two to seven. Obviously, their adventures and stories, are much different than mine. But, what I kept thinking as I read the book, was how amazing it was, for a family with kids, responsibilities, commitments, and roots, to just stop, sell off almost everything, and travel the world. He wrote about his personal thoughts and desires to do this trip, but also cited all the reasons why they shouldn’t. By the time I got to the final chapters, I had to keep re-reading the pages, as I was constantly distracted, thinking to myself: if a family with three kids, a house and parents with jobs, could do this, than why couldn’t I, what was my excuse? At the back of the book, he included some helpful suggestions, and answered some of the most commonly asked questions. The one surprise, even after reading the book, was that one of his favorite places and sites was the annual Camel Festival at Pushkar, India. And to roughly quote the Lonely Planet, if you are remotely within camel spitting distance, the Camel Festival is not to be missed. So, not knowing the world’s record distance of a camel’s spit, I decided to play it safe, and packed my daypacks for a 4 day trip to the festival.

Pushkar, located southwest of Delhi in the state of Rajasthan, is another historic and holy city in Hindu belief. It is believed that the gods let a lotus flower drop from the sky, and the location at which it landed, God/Lord Brahma would create a body of water, which resulted Pushkar Lake. Today, around the lake, there are 52 ghats, with one of the only temples built for Lord Brahma, in all of the world. The story goes: Lord Brahma was to marry his 1st wife (1st being choice, I would presume), but as the ceremony was starting, she was not there, so Brahma, just decided to take on another wife (they refer to her as his 2nd wife). Turns out, that the 1st wife was given some bad information as to the time and location, so out of anger (since Brahma decided on the spot to just take on another wife) she cursed: that no one shall worship Brahma, except at the sole temple in Pushkar. To get to Pushkar from Delhi, you have to take a five to six hour train to Jaipur, than a two hour bus to Ajmer, and finally a local bus to Pushkar. I decided to break the trip into two days, so that I could see the pink city known as Jaipur.

After being on the ride for more than five months, it finally happened, I got bit in the arse for not making a reservation. As I arrived in Jaipur somewhere before noon, I picked out a hotel and area, that I wanted to stay/hang at. Instead of hiring a rickshaw, I decided to walk the +2kms, as it was nice to have such a small bag for a change. When I arrived at the hotel, the place was full. Than I stopped by the other 3 or 4 hotels on the block, and they were all full. Actually, some had rooms, but they had no desire to rent out a room, for only one day, or were not allowed to rent to foreigners. I proceeded to spend the next hour, going from door to door, trying to find a room for the night. I finally gave up, and hailed down a rickshaw driver, and told him to take me to any place with a decently clean room in my price range, and he could make his commission from the guesthouse/hotel. During the next two hours, we stopped at over a dozen places, and went up and down the city. Along the way we chatted about his family and his kids, we even took a break to have a snack, as I felt bad that he had to peddle for so long. Finally, he hit the wall, and was all out of suggestions and places, so I told him to take me to a place in the LP, which had rooms in various price ranges, and I would just take anything that they had. When we approached, wouldn’t you know it, the last room was just taken within the last hour. Dejected, I turned around and walked back to the street towards the rickshaw, and heard a familiar voice. It was John, my debating buddy from Varanasi. He and Nora decided to make a stop at the Camel Fair, as well, and had just checked into the hotel down the street. So he pointed out a couple places that he had visited, that still had vacancies. Not sure if my rickshaw driver ever got a commission from that place, but I gave him a healthy tip and a bag of cookies for the road. Crazy part was that, after I gave him the tip, he motioned that he wanted more. So I gave him a disappointed look, and said that he should be happy with what he got, and he smiled and asked if I wanted to use him for sightseeing later in the day.

After having lunch with John and Nora, I decided to walk into the walled portion of Jaipur, for some sightseeing. The city walls and many buildings, including a fort on the hill, was painted pink to welcome the Prince of Wales back in 1876, in an effort to give a calming peaceful effect, remember it is still India . The layout of the city, with its wide, paved, grid patterned streets, along with it’s symmetry north to south, east to west, and the round-a-bout in the center, could be appreciated by any modern day city planner, unless they are from Orange County (people from home, know what I mean). I tried visiting some of the major landmarks, but ended up having to appreciate most of them from the outside, as they were closing for the day: the bell tower, the famous honeycomb building, and the Palace.

Early the next morning, not waiting to get into Pushkar late, and missing out on any open rooms, I hopped on the regional bus for Ajmer. As we pulled into the Ajmer bus station, a local bus was coincidentally pulling out for Pushkar, and I was able to jump on, benefits of not having the 20kg backpack. This bus was packed, it was literally wall to wall people, but as I was the only foreigner on the bus, a couple of the local guys wanted to sponge off my celebrity status, and made room for me, next to them. When we arrived in Pushkar, with my LP map in hand, I ventured off to find accommodation for the next few nights. According to all the websites, and stories you hear from travel agents, it is not possible to find any available rooms during the Camel Fair, as the tiny town of Pushkar grows from a population around 15,000 to expecting around a quarter million visitors. The Rajasthan Tourist office, evens sets up a village of tents for the visitors, at a measly charge of a couple thousand rupees for only a cot! I walked towards what I thought was the bazaar area, around the lake, but quickly ran into a sea of tents and camels, so I asked this young guy walking by for some help. Apparently, I picked the wrong bus stop as my starting point, and was actually on the exact opposite side of town, and walking away from the lake. The guy (can’t remember his name, but let’s call him Sam), offered to show me the way, as he was walking in that direction, anyways. As we walked through the fair grounds, sam told me about some of the activities during the course of the next few days, highlighted by the sports competitions between Indians and foreigners, camel race, and the mustache pageant. Sam, is 20 and a student, singer and currently working at a hotel. As he spoke about his job at the hotel, I was thinking: No, not another tout, why couldn’t he just be a nice guy helping a lost soul out. But, as we walked around the bazaar, he just gave me his card and asked me to look him up while I am in town, and walked off. Eventually, I found the guesthouse, I read about on-line, and they were able to accommodate me for two nights in a tent, but I would have to move for my third night.

Excited about Sam’s story of the sports competition, I went in search of the Tourist office, where they had the itinerary for the full seven days of the Fair. Sam, had mentioned a basketball game as one of the events, and of course I was hopefully optimistic about the opportunity to play. But, when I got to the office, the guy smiled, and said no basketball was not one of the events. The manager at my guesthouse actually laughed, as he said: “Where would they play, on the dirt?” I checked off the items I wanted to see, and set back out to the bazaar to get the layout of the town. As, I walked backed out to the bazaar, “they” finally got me. After all the stories and warnings, from the fellow travelers, I now would have my own tale to tell, where one of the bad guys, even threatened to kill me… 

India, at it’s essence, both awaken and test your senses, from: the creamy soothing texture combating against the toxic spices and pungent smells of it’s world famous curry; to the serenity, devotion and purity of a parade of mourners against the backdrop of a street ladened with, trash, debris and cow pies. But there is probably no other sense more impacted than that of feel, including: physical, mental and emotional. And Agra and the Taj Mahal, is the perfect example of this dichotomy.

There are two common alternatives, when visiting the Taj Mahal: one, arriving mid day into Agra but saving the visit to see the marvel, early the next morning, in an effort to watch the ever-changing glow during the sunrise. Or, two, taking the early train into Agra, than the night train back out, after spending most of the afternoon, and watching the sunset at the Taj. I chose to do the later, as the reviews from my fellow lemmings regarding Agra, unlike the Taj, were not exactly glowing.

Along with the sea of tourist, I arrived in Agra at 10:30 am, to find an ocean of tuk-tuks and rickshaws waiting to take us to see the Taj Mahal. Possibly due to some past charging of exorbitant fares, there is now a police monitored taxi station, where you pay a set price for the type of taxi service you require. I coupled up with a Italian guy I met on the train, and shared the tuk-tuk ride to the Taj. We were dropped-off some distance away, as there is a ban against smog emission vehicles within direct vicinity of the Taj. Staying true to form, as a cynic, I surmised that the real reason for the ban was, that they wanted to provide tourist the additional opportunity to buy souvenirs, and to keep additional people employed by offering horse drawn carriages in lieu of walking, as this was the first time I heard/witnessed any concern with pollution or the environment, by the India government. As you walked towards the wall enclosure of the Taj Mahal grounds and gardens, you are accompanied every step of the way, by a local vendor, as they offer to sell you postcards, souvenirs, books, sculptures, nicknacks, or offer to exchange your money. From my previous entries, you can sense that one of my major pet peeves, has been the constant hassles of dealing with these, so called friends. Initially you try to be courteous, by replying: No, Thank you, but after you have made any such acknowledgement you are now set as a mark, and the response is followed with: where are you from, where are you staying, how do you like India, come into my store, it’s free to look, what do you want to buy, I have many things… I will be the first to admit that I have become very hardened, during this long journey, when in the surroundings of a new environment or a significant landmark, especially a Wonder of the World, where the opportunist lurk for the innocent prey, I resort to my game of the Invisible Man, although my weakness/exception is still consistently with the kids. But, I must not blame them for trying, just as I hope that they do not think twice about my lack of interest in holding a conversation, as in Agra, they know that they only have one short day for a shot at any business from you.

When reaching the gates, there are three: west, east and south, you learn that the locals pay an entrance fee of 20 Rupees and foreigners pay 750 Rupees. This caused more of a ruckus at the gate than I expected, as the Italian next to me, along with another random traveler started to voice their unhappiness at such a sever disparity. When they looked at me for concurrence, I rationed that it’s still less than $20 USD, and that they built it, so be it. Believe it or not, they actually debated on whether or not, they would enter. At that point I just walked off. As it was still early, and re-entrance is not allowed, I decided to find a nice rooftop restaurant to get a view of the Taj, and to kill some time, so that I could time my visit with the sunset. Almost every building includes and advertises it’s rooftop restaurant and bar, and it’s gorgeous magnifcanct unique view of the wonder. I visited two, to verify the carefully chosen adjectives. The first, was recommended by The Lonely Planet, and again they were: spot on, the view was one of the best in Agra (have I mentioned how much of a LP groupie I have become). Honestly, this was a great way to spend the mid-day, as the ideal transition from the chaos below to the beauty that I was about to witness. My first glimpse of the Taj Mahal, was atop this building, where I saw the glow of the white marble, and the signature onion shaped dome with its four guarding minarets. My arrival could not have been better timed, as the restaurant was mostly empty, and therefore able to enjoy an unobstructed view, of the architectural masterpiece. The second place, was not worth mentioning, as the view was not nearly as spectacular, but the owner was very appreciative, as I was his only patron at the time.

The Taj Mahal was commissioned by the Mughal Emperor, Shah Jahan, in memory of his recently deceased wife (his favorite, also his third wife), Mumtaz Mahal, who died while giving birth to their fourteenth child, in 1631. The magnificent mausoleum along with it’s garden, courtyards, walls and complex was completed roughly in 1648, at an estimated cost of 32 million Rupees, while employing in excess of twenty thousand people. The beauty, grandeur and magnificence of the Taj Mahal is not just of the building, but only when fully taken in with the whole grounds and complex. From the initial approach, as you pass beyond the perimeter wall and stroll through the southern courtyard; to that first glimpse, as you pass through the tunnel in the darkness, and see the white glow of the dome at the other end. Than as you break beyond the face of the wall, you are welcomed with a reflecting pool bordered by a grass and tree-ed lawn on both sides, as to signify a runway to the heavenly building built for his queen. Unlike, my time, standing in front of the Treasury at Petra, I could not ever feel that I was alone. But, there was some comfort and satisfaction in knowing that the majority of visitors were local tourists, Indians, as well as Chinese, Japanese, Europeans, and not just tourists from the western English speaking countries.

The closer you got to the Taj, the more you noticed that it wasn’t just a sleek white marbled building, but there was a great amount of detail in the walls, with: calligraphy, patterns and decorations. As most stared at the sun’s reflection off the dome and wall of the building itself, I was uniquely captivated by the minarets. What made me notice and intrigued with the beauty of these strong slender towers, was after I took a picture of the Taj building and dome, and noticed that it really wasn’t the Taj without them. Similar like lighthouses along the coast, the minarets to me, signified strength and protection, as if it was guarding the Taj and it’s inhabitants. I could seriously go on and on, about the grace, elegance and beauty of the Taj and it’s compound, and how amazing it still looks, even after more than 350 years since it’s completion. In a word it is: classic, and is understandable why it’s one of the undisputed Wonders of the World.

That afternoon, I spent approximately four hours at the compound, and watched the sunset. I never did see the ever-changing glow of the building and it’s famous dome from: white, to orange, to purple, to grey, like I was promised by others, but heck, maybe next time.

A couple of random things, I did want to mention regarding my visit to the Taj:

The second most photographed noun at the complex, would not be one of the adjoining buildings or gardens, but rather the foreign guests. As I sat on the raised marble platform in front of the Taj, waiting for the sunset, I was entertained watching the Indian visitors step up to the Caucasian visitors and asking to take a picture with them. Just before sunset, I sat next to three girls from the States, and kid after kid, came up to the blond hair girl to ask for her picture. She happily obliged, but that seem to open up the flood gates for everybody else to join in. Than when a band of Indian guys started to jump in, she had enough and said that she just wanted to sit there to enjoy the view and didn’t want to pose for anymore pictures. That is when the guys, thinking they were sly, would send one of the guys ahead with the camera, as the others would circle back, and as they approached the girls, they would stop and pose, as the one guy would snap a picture. Of course each of them wanted the same, so they tried to repeat the process, but when they tried it again, the girls just ducked, and we all started to crack up. The girl than showed me a picture on her digital camera, where she was going to post on her blog with a caption: “What is he taking a picture of?” It is of a guy snapping a picture with his digital camera, but with the glorious Taj behind him!

At the western gate to the Taj, a foreigner is provided a small bottled water, and shoe socks, to help substantiate the 720 Rupee price difference. But unfortunately the line for Indians and foreigners are one in the same, and the queue could take in excess of 45-minutes. So in the confusion, of purchasing my entry ticket at the western gate, but requesting to use the entrance at the southern gate, where there was no line. I had forgotten to get my change, 250 Rupees, the rough equivalent of my rent for the night, or almost three meals. With nothing to lose, and a bit aggravated with myself for being so forgetful, I walked to the western gate to see if they would remember the fact that they never gave me my change. I was fairly certain, that the guy would remember me, because of my questioning of entering through the southern gate. But I was not as sure that I could prove to him that they had forgotten to give me my change. So, as I walked back, I wondered if I was back home, what would be the chances of me getting my money back if I was at, the theatre or amusement park, where the queue was non-stop. When, I finally did approach the ticket office, I reminded them, that I had just passed through two hours ago, and explained the problem. Initially, the guy gave me an awkward eye, and didn’t seem to acknowledge the fact that he remembered me, than he asked how much change were we talking about. I replied, that I used a thousand rupee bill to purchase my ticket. He immediately nodded to the cashier, to give me my 250 rupee change. What do you think my chances were back home, at the movies or the park?

I arrived back in Delhi at the southeastern train station, miles away from the Main Bazaar. Again, the tired tourists, were met by a lot full of tuk-tuk drivers, where the starting asking price for the ride home, was more than double my train ticket fare to Agra. Tom and Charlie, who had just gone a couple days before, recommended me to take the bus, for literally pennies, and skip the hassle of the never ending negotiation with the drivers. As I walked for the bus stop, drivers repeatedly called out for me, and asked for my destination, some started in excess of 200, and others more rationally at 100. When I told one that I was taking the bus, he immediately started to drop his price. As he paced behind in his tuk-tuk, he continued to lower his price, to the point that I figured that the extra cost was worth, not having to spend the next hour on a public bus and dealing with it’s unlimited number of stops. The tuk-tuk driver and I had a pleasant conversation, on the way back, and was starting to win me over. I started to think, maybe I am just a little too paranoid, and maybe some of these guys, don’t just see me as a dollar sign, or as an opportunity to make a commission. But, than I was immediately dropped back down to Earth, when he asked where I was staying. I told him the name of my hotel, and him not noticing that I had nothing with me, not even a day pack, he responded that my hotel is book, full, and that all reservations were no good. I just gave him, my most disappointed stare, and told him, that I only went on a day trip, and had been staying at that hotel for the last few days, and know for a fact that he is lie-ing. At which point, he just gave an awkward smile, of a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar. And just, when I was starting to be won over by the trust and honesty that I experienced at the Taj Mahal ticket office.