Sand Castles and Camels

Morning chay in the desert

Women on the sand dunes

Nathan and the two guides

It's camel time!

Traversing the Thar

Jain Temple in Jaisalmer Fort

Stylin': Jen and Ailey at Jama Masjid in Delhi

Us and our English class

Jumping for joy in forests near Sonapani

It's Holi!

Sunrise over Sonapani

Us in front of our cabin and the mountains

Just over a week ago we left behind Sonapani to begin the last leg of our journey. We had enjoyed several days of relaxation before deciding to travel earlier than we had originally planned. The high season had started in the foothills as vacationing Delhi-ites fled the heat of the plains to the south and consequently the staff was too busy for us to teach English. It was not a sad departure because we will be coming back to Uttarakhand in a month to trek to the Pindari Glacier.

Besides, all of India was calling us anyway. Which proved to be something of a head ache when we were trying to choose all the places to visit in our last six weeks. In the end, Jen's desire to ride a camel through a desert combined with my fond memories of Rajasthan made the land of the Maharajas the winning choice. So we boarded the night train from Kathgodam and headed south once again to Delhi, a necessary stop along our westbound journey.

While in Delhi we visited with our friend Rashee again and enjoyed our first taste of non-Indian cuisine in over a month. Ravioli and red sauce never tasted so good. The next day we meandered through the crowded alleyways of Chandi Chowk again, this time with our two new friends Cam and Ailey from none other than our hometown of Seattle. They had both come to Chirag to complete field research for the masters thesis for a program arranged by my 2006 Indian program director. We had a blast showing them around and getting lost in the hectic hustle and bustle of Old Delhi. That night we boarded a train and headed west to Jaisalmer, the golden city.

As you might be able to predict at this point, our train ride was interesting to say the least. I'll spare the details, suffice it to say "ticket" in India is merely a formality best suited for foreigners like us - the local commuters know better and just get on the train at the station right outside Delhi proper. We had a "cozy" first four hours with about 14 Indian men in our berth made for six.

The next afternoon after our fun 22 hour ride through the desert, we arrived in Jaisalmer. Throngs of touts greeted us at the station as thick as flies on a hot summer day (which it was). We pushed our way through to an auto only to be joined by a tenacious tout who couldn't take no for an answer. We drove around the old city and unloaded at Hotel Renuka, a small family run establishment we found in the LP. Despite the pleas of our insistent little friend, we followed our intuition to the hotel, where we were greeted by Sunny the owner.

That afternoon we strolled the lanes of the town and soaked in the sites up in the old fort. The Jaisalmer fort was founded in 1156 by the Rajput King Jaisala after he met an old wise man that relayed an ancient prophecy passed down from Krishna telling of a time when a great king would found a great kingdom on the hill Trikuta. Originally the town lived entirely behind the fort's walls, but nowadays only 25% of the old city's population still resides atop that sacred hill.

I had come here two years previously, but still the city left us both speechless. Everywhere one looks there are intricately carved flowers, peacocks and delicate symmetrical lattice work upon doorframes, windows, and balconies. The city itself is alive with the sounds of hawkers, children, cows and motorcycles. Residents bump elbows with foreign tourists while shopkeepers continuously intone their sacred mantra of, "Hello, where from? Please come in, seeing is free - make your eyes and your pocket happy together!" As long as you keep walking it's easy to pretend they're not shouting at you.

The next day we toured the Jaisalmer palace; it comes straight from fairy tales. Almost a thousand years old, countless epics have unfolded within its walls. The most tragic being the traditional jauhars. Due to undying chivalry and valor, the Rajputs that lived in Jaisalmer in ancient times were unwilling to surrender in battle. Three times in the fort's history conquerors forced the hand of Jaisalmer's warriors to die in battle. Prior to their final fight, the men would preside over the holy ceremony of Jauhar, where women ritually clothed would burn themselves alive in suicide to save themselves from the hands of their enemies. The men, afterwards, donned sacred saffron clothes and rode to battle to their death. This tradition helped to make the Rajputs' prowess as fierce fighters the stuff of legend even in the times of the Moghuls.

In the morning of the following we day we embarked upon our own epic - three days and two nights in the Thar desert. We left early in the morning and drove 35 kilometers into the desert where we met our two guides, Easera and Amba, and three camels: Rocket, Michael Jackson, and Johnny Walker. They were named by Americans - go figure. We rode for about two hours in a cool breeze; Easera told us we were lucky because the weather was good. However, our luck wasn't to last for long.

At lunch we set up under a tall mesquite-like tree for the afternoon to cook and escape the heat. Easera and Amba collected fuel wood and fried up sabzi and chapati with three stones over a bed of coals. They deftly made fat chapatis, or desert roti, that I so fondly remembered from my last trip. After lunch the wind began to pick up and blow sand into every crack, cranny, and crevice of our bodies. It was miserable, but we passed the time playing cards...and chasing cards.

By mid-afternoon, with the wind still blowing, we climbed back onto our humped-steeds and set off with the sun blazing. I rigged a haphazard turban with my scarf and settled into the not-so-comfortable sway of Michael Jackson's lumbering stride. We soon strolled towards a vast wall of rolling sand dunes. A flock of babblers raced beneath the camel's feet while a shrike chirped a lonely desert song. The dunes, as we had feared, were shedding layer upon layer of fine sand into the wind that cut into our eyes like glass.

Just as we were contemplating making our trip shorter, our guides directed us behind a giant desert shrub that provided refuge from the lethal gusts. Then, to make things even better, a lone figured garbed in sand-colored clothes approached through the desert grass lugging a massive burlap sack filled with ice-cold beer. I know what you're thinking - in the desert? Yes, truly. I recalled over two years ago my similar luck - refreshments brought to your fingertips (brought often over two hours away by foot) in the middle of a desolate land.

Our moods soon lifted, obviously, and we settled in for the evening as the wind slowly quieted down and the evening unfolded around us, sipping beer and watching our guides prepare dinner while the desert turned a radiant gold and then a deep dark purple. That night we slept under the Milky Way.

The morning sun broke over the horizon with a fiery crackle the next morning and soon we were out of bed frolicking in the dunes again. We sipped chay as the camels stumbled back into camp with a fully belly after a night of heavy grazing. We departed our camp and went swiftly to Kanoi, a nearby village teeming with goats, broken stone, and brilliant saris. There were almost no men, except for a handful of goat herders and others who made a life off the camel industry. According to the beer-wala who had visited us the night before, all men leave their wives and families to work in Gujurat, Pushkar, or Mumbai in the furniture industry. Otherwise, there are no jobs for them in that run down village. Even Easera admitted that he only made 1000 rupees a month...that is less than one dollar a day.

It is a hard life for these Rajput descendants. Our path through the village was followed by shouts for school pens and rupees. A woman collected cow-patties to prepare a fire and seal cracks in the walls of her home. Families trudged a kilometer in the heat for water. It brought up mixed emotions in both of us, some pity and shame, but we too quickly left behind the village to learn more.

That afternoon we ate lunch like the day before: under a vast tree and with lots of desert roti. We played cards and napped. We also saw a flock of peacocks - massive, regal birds with the most vivid gold, blue, and turquoise plumage I have ever seen. They flew with a radiant golden aura. We were mesmerized as we followed them in the blasting furnace. Marvelous.

We galloped across the Thar that afternoon for hours. I laughed gleefully, not so much from joy, but the exhilarating pain of being so alive. The camel bounced and leaped over rock and shrub, sand and field. My stomach followed suit. We raced another safari (and won) and shouted like cowboys from some dusty old western. Our only soundtrack the incessant flatulence of our over-fed camels.

When we arrived at the dunes our bodies were broken from the sun and the humps of those leggy creatures. WE made camp and watched the sun set. Desert doves hooted a melodious chorus across the land. We gazed in rhapsody, our muscles pounding and faces blazing, at the setting sun while soft sand wraths glided over our feet. We could almost feel the cogs of time grinding in reverse.

At dinner we tried our hand at making chapatis. A beer-wala emerged from nowhere to sell h is treasure. We bought rounds as our misshapen roti burned over the coals. With too much spice, we feasted in the desert darkness and shared stories. Then, with our bellies full and a cool breeze blowing, the four of us sang and danced in the moon light. The desert men chilled us with their foreign warble and seductive beat; we returned the favor with nasally Dylan.

Before retiring for the night we shared our binoculars with our guides and we moon-gazed together. I told them that 40 years ago a man walked on the Moon - they either didn't believe me or didn't care, I think the latter. We fell asleep and woke up again tired, sandy, and happy. We rode the camels back to the far-off road and parted ways with our trusty steeds and helpful guides. The next day we came to Jodhpur, but that is another story...

Teaching in the Himalayas

After nearly 3 weeks without the internet (so it goes in rural India), I am please to announce that we have made our triumphant return the the 21st century and the world of blogging...

Once our week in Delhi drew to a close, it was time to head up north to Uttarakhand, a state in the northwest which boarders China to the north and Nepal to the east. Our ultimate destination there was Sonapani, the resort where Nathan stayed while studying abroad in India two and a half years ago. Sitla, a small collection of shops and houses draped over the crest of a hill, is the closest village to Sonapani. The first leg of the journey involved an overnight train ride from the Old Delhi station to Kathgodam, the last stop on India’s northern plains before you plunge into the Himalayan foothills (if you can call them that; these giants reach over 7,000 feet). A train ride seemed innocent enough. Little did we know what we were in for.

Here’s the Old Delhi train station in a nutshell: the stench of trash and piss, the scurry of rat feet, the pushing and shoving of hundreds of bodies, and the unrelenting, unsmiling stare coming from every pair of eyes. After a seemingly endless 45 minute delay, our train finally rolled in and was met with a frantic wave of humanity rushing towards its small doors. Pushing our way into our sleeper compartment, we found our ‘beds’ for the night, which consisted of slightly cushioned planks folded out from the walls and stacked 3 high. People chattered loudly well into the night, the train rocked and creaked, and every half an hour, without fail, a vender traversed the narrow aisle screaming ‘Pani pani! Pani pani!’ – Hindi for water. Needless to say, it was not the best night’s sleep.

From Kathgodam we caught a bus up to Sitla. And we’re not talking about a Metro bus here. We’re talking a rickety, decrepit specimen of a bus jammed packed with toothless old men and clambering small children. All that was missing was the live poultry. A large empty metal barrel was strapped to the top along with our backpacks, and its clanging from side to side accompanied the blaring Hindi music as the bus careened around endless hairpin curves. The journey towards Sitla is a long and nerve-wracking series of ascents and descents as you venture deep into the rugged mountain terrain.

Miraculously, I fell asleep on Nathan’s shoulder shortly into the 4 hour drive. When I woke up the bus had stopped for a quick chai break at a village clinging to the steep hillside. Nathan pulled me out of the bus and beyond the small collection of shop fronts. He pointed towards the horizon, then upwards. And there they were: the Himalayas. They took my breath away – quite literally. The day was perfectly clear and it seemed like if I reached out I could touch these mountains to end all mountains. They stretched from horizon to horizon, all the way into Nepal to the east. And I understood why the Himalayas are called the rooftop of the world.

We got off the bus at the sign for an ashram. A small paved road leads off the main thoroughfare and down a steep hill to the ashram’s compound. Then the pavement ends and a dirt road begins. Soon enough the road is replaced by a simple foot path. You walk for a half and hour. And then you reach Sonapani. How to describe Sonapani? It’s a resort, but only in the best sense of the word, with none of the commercial trappings. There are 12 beautiful red cabins perched on a hillside. White-washed walls and warm tones make the interiors cozy and inviting. Above the cabins is a dining hall, a large kitchen where the staff prepares scrumptious Indian feasts, and the home of the owners, Ashish and Deepa. Every space which isn’t occupied by a building or a footpath is filled with garden. We’ve come at the perfect time to see the place come to life. Peach, apricot, and apple trees are blooming, lemon trees are fruiting, and all sorts of flowers are opening their petals towards the sun. From anywhere on the slope you can look out over a verdant pine covered ridge and out to the more distant foothills. About 25km away the town of Almora lies draped over the crest of a hill. In the dark it becomes a net of stars cast out over a sea of mountains. Beyond there it is just layer upon layer of green until, on a clear day, your eyes to take in the Himalayas. The days at Sonapani are filled with the chirping and fluttering of a myriad birds, and the nights are deeply quiet and tranquil.

Beyond its physical beauty, however, what really makes Sonapani a fantastic place to stay is the kindness, warmth, and good humor of our hosts Ashish and Deepa. They’re both originally from this region, and after living and working in Delhi for some time, they returned here to open Sonapani 5 years ago. They have two awesome kids: Vanya, who’s five and a half, and Arunya, who’s 14 months old. Many a morning has been spent hanging out in the garden while Arunya speed-crawls and Vanya scampers about, and many and evening has been whiled away chatting around a bonfire. The lively, communal feel at Sonapani means we also get to visit with all of the guests. Most are urbanites who’ve made their way up to the mountains to escape the oppressive Delhi heat. There’s no more interesting of a way to learn about a country than discussing it with the citizens themselves, and everyone has been happy to contribute to our Indian education.

Our main purpose in coming to the village of Sitla (aside from general enjoyment, of course) was to volunteer with the Central Himalayan Rural Action Group (CHIRAG), a local NGO. Nathan worked with CHIRAG the last time he was here, so he contacted the director about English teaching opportunities. As it turns out, just as we arrived CHIRAG was beginning a program to train youth to work in the hospitality industry. We would be their English teachers.

CHIRAG’s located about 5km away from Sonapani. Getting there entails summiting a peak and traversing down the other side – so basically, it’s uphill both ways. We’ve been working on some killer thighs. When we arrived after our long walk on the first day of class we were greeted by12 slightly shy but smiling boys, all around 20 years old. These would be our students for the next three weeks. Hailing from small villages in the surrounding region, these boys had been hand-picked by CHIRAG to learn the ways of the hospitality industry – cleaning rooms, serving food, greeting guests, and the like – so that they would have a leg up in the job market. Working on the fly, we developed a curriculum based on grammar and vocabulary useful in this industry, and created exercises, role plays, and homework assignments. It certainly helped that Nathan has a handle on Hindi (I stumbled along with my beginner’s phrases) because some of the boys had very little prior knowledge of English. While they’d all been taught the Roman alphabet and some basic words in school, a few of them hadn’t completed high school. Others were pretty decent with basic English though, and most of the boys fell somewhere in between; it was a happy medium overall.

The boys were split up into two groups. We generally taught one class in the morning and one in the afternoon. On the second day of class Naveen, one of the boys in the afternoon group, spotted a drum in the corner of the classroom. When we were done with the lesson he seized the opportunity to bang out a joyous rhythm, and the rest of the boys burst into song. A couple of them even jumped up and danced raucously. The ice had officially been broken. Nathan mentioned that he plays the guitar, and some of the boys replied that they’d never seen that instrument in person. We had to rectify that, of course, so Nathan brought his guitar one day and we belted out Credence Clearwater songs for them. That’s what I call education.

During the second week we put class on hold for a couple of days and skipped town. March 11th was Holi – a festival of spring notorious for its bright colors and general debauchery. Ashish and Deepa invited us to spend the holiday with their family and them in Kathgodam. The day lived up to it’s reputation; in other words, it was a fabulous, psychedelic time. Nathan had procured a cheap all-white kurta and pants set and I was clad in an old kurta of Deepa’s and my baggy salwar pants (we were explicitly instructed not to wear nice clothes). As soon as we entered the garden of Ashish’s family’s house we were mobbed by smiling people with globs of bright colored powder in their hands. In accordance with glorious Holi tradition, they smeared the color over our faces and shoulders. Before we knew it we were looking like bad Jackson Pollack paintings, covered head to toe in glowing pink, yellow, red, and green. It was 10am and already the alcohol was flowing. Assuming that the festivities would last all day and well into the night, our first thought was "damn, these Indians really know how to party." Later we were to discover that the goal is to get as drunk as possible before lunch; after that the party subsides and people stumble back to their homes to shower and work off their hangovers. And so we embraced the Holi atmosphere, accepting the vodkas thrust into our hands, smothering people with bright colors, getting drenched with colored water pumped from squirt guns and dumped from buckets, and dancing wildly to the tiny-but-loud drum and trumpet band which had wandered into the garden to entertain our party. And when the mood would strike us we'd yell out, just like everyone else, "Holi hai!" - "It's Holi!"

After our foray into the wonderful world of Indian festivites, we made it back to Sonapani in one piece only to promptly fall ill with food poising. We speculate that a nasty bug came along with the greasy food at our Kathgodam hotel. We were back on our feet soon enough though, and picked up where we left off with English classes. The boys' last day of hospitality training was Saturday the 22nd. We helped them work out two short English role plays to present to all of the people who had worked on the program. They were a smash hit. The thank yous we recieved from the boys were really quite touching. It was very rewarding to hear that our English classes were helpful and enjoyable for them. We were sad to see the program end.
Since then we've been hanging out a Sonapani, sneaking into the kitchen to whip up some down home American cookin' (a la pancakes and cookies), trying to sneak in an English class or two with the staff here when they aren't too busy with guests, and plotting our adventures to come....

Part II Bangkok and Delhi

Part II of Part I - Bangkok
Before we pick up where we left off, we want to quickly update you on our happenings and whereabouts. We are currently staying at Sonapani, a quiet rural resort in the foothills of the Himalaya. It’s located in between Nainital and Almora, two hill-stations in the state of Uttarakhand, India. We are volunteering at the Central Himalaya Rural Action Group (CHIRAG) organization, where I studied two and a half years ago with the University of Washington. Right now we are teaching English to a group of local youth training to enter the hospitality industry. We have been here for a week now and have been enjoying ourselves immensely, it is very peaceful and beautiful here. But, more on all of that later. (Note: Internet availability is minimal at best, so we have to apologize that we won't be able to upload pictures for a while. We will as soon as we have access to a fast, reliable connection again)
Back to our travels first. I think that I left off busily describing all of the food that we had eaten in Bangkok. Well, there’s more to tell there. After we left behind the mega-mall of the future we spent the evening touring two very distinct neighborhoods of the city. First, we went to the "middle east" part of town to delight in delicious hummous, dolmas, and apple-flavored hookah. All the signs were written in Arabic and everywhere north Africans mingled with Arabs and Muslim Thais (and a few of us farang). We dug it. It felt as though we had entered some futuristic city where all cultures blur together under the common banner of mega-metropolis living. Perhaps the future is now.
Continuing our nightly food blitzkrieg, Jeannette and Meaw shuttled us to their favorite late night noodle shop. Bam! Chinatown. It finally hit me: welcome to Asia. No other experience has come close to that noodle-slurping extravaganza in the bright, noisy turmoil of little China. We ate at a rickety street table and ordered noodle soup with everything. While I was munching on pork and fish stomach (with a few lungs tossed in for good measure) the street pulsed and hummed around us. People of all shapes and sizes dodged and weaved through shark-fin soup stalls, Durian fruit carts, garbage and refuse, and of course an unstoppable crush of humanity. We loved it.
The next day we spent with Meaw’s family north of Bangkok in the ancient Siam capitol of Ayuttayah. It was breathtaking. Raised by the Burmese in the 1700’s Ayuttayah never regained its lost glory; like so many ancient ruins, all that remains are the dusty, dilapidated buildings of a time once prosperous but now only half remembered. Meaw’s family showed us the proper way to pay respects to Buddha at the many, still quite active, Wats filled with incense and golden Buddhas.
The last day we toured through Bangkok’s famous bazaar called Jack-to-jack (my phonetic spelling) and stocked up on a variety of gifts and clothes. Our last meal in Thailand that night was appropriately the first we began with five weeks before: savory Rad-na. It was still lingering on our pallets when we woke up at 3 am the next morning to fly to India.
Part II – India
Where to begin? I’m positive this country has been showered with far more poetic prose than what I have written in my journal, so I’ll start with the nitty-gritty.
We arrived into Indira Gandhi International Airport late in the morning on the 23rd. Rashee, our friend from last summer’s program at Green River Community College, met us at the airport with a taxi, sparing us the painful process of finding a legit ride into Delhi. Our first meal? Dare I say? Yes, that’s right, McDonalds. I thought we ought to have been kicked out of the country (especially after boldly going to the ends of the culinary universe just a few nights before). Yet, as many who have traveled to other parts of the world have probably found, Micky-D’s still holds if nothing else the symbolic potency of modernity (think: clean toilets).
Our first night in India was distinctly more "India" than our first meal. Rashee had kindly found us a place to stay in south Delhi at a local dharam-shala called Durgabari. Not really a hotel, the dharam-shala is a "resting place" for Hindus that is connected to a mandir (temple). Interestingly for us, we had arrived on the first day of summer according to Hinduism, which is celebrated by the religious ceremony dedicated to Lord Shiva called Shivatri (my spelling). We were thrilled when at 6 pm the entire dharam-shala came alive with loud chanting, raucous bells banging, burning incense, monks and sari-clad women filling up the courtyard. However, what we first found to be exciting, exotic, and totally strange soon began losing its appeal as first midnight, then 1,2,3, and finally 4 am rolled around without any abatement of noise. Sorry Shiva, summer shouldn’t start until June 21st.
We spent a total of six days in Delhi. Normally, I’d be content with just six hours, but because we had the luxury of friends showing us around, it was actually very fun. The first day we toured around north Delhi, exploring the campus of Delhi university with Rashee’s friends Robert and Vashali. They showed us the site of the first revolt against British rule in 1857. Widely considered to mark the beginning of a several generation rebellion against colonial rule, it wouldn’t be until 1946 that India finally gained its independence.
The next day we headed to Old Delhi with Rashee and her friends. For those of you who have never made it to India, Old Delhi is probably what you think of when you picture India. Long the seat of power, Old Delhi is littered with ancient streets, shops, and mosques. It’s iconic street, Chandni Chowk, perhaps tells the full tale. It is as old as the city gets; straight from the medieval times, Chandni Chowk abounds in filth, noise and people. Everywhere there are people: on the street corners, in the road, behind you, crashing into you, into buildings, out of buildings, driving, climbing on rickshaws, running, hawking, pushing, shoving, staring, pissing, spitting, walking, farting and smiling. Everywhere is humanity. The stimulus is overwhelming. There are savory jalebis and succulent pakoras, gaudy saris and putrid puddles. Fat men, old men, scarred beggars, dirty children, staring perverts, delirious women, busy babus, crying babies. In the middle of all this is you – trying to stay calm in a chaotic ocean of bodies. Impossible. All you can do is look ahead and move. Don’t stop, don’t wait, don’t breathe. Count to 10, glance left and right, move forward, sideways, stop – run! Move, go, don’t wait. An ocean raging.
But that’s just my experience of Old Delhi. There’s also the picturesque Jawa Masjid and the monumental Red Fort. Both relics of Moghal rule, they stand resolutely in that ocean of humanity. We toured these, of course, and found them to be marvelous in their own right. Afterwards, we headed back to Chandni Chowk and feasted on a variety of parathas filled with chilies, potato, tomatoes, fenugreek, onion, and peas. That’s what Indian food is all about.
The rest of our time in Delhi was spent battling with rickshaw drivers, breaking into the U.S. Embassy fortress to fill out paperwork required for the Peace Corps, and marveling at more and more ancient stuff. When it was finally time to leave, we were both satiated and ready to go. Too bad we had to go through Old Delhi train station first…