Things have been really great. The air temperature...perfect; the water temperature for frequent dips in the sea...also perfect. Our private stilted bungalow...fantastic. Views of sandy beaches, limestone cliffs, and another jagged island across the way...stunning. Our favorite restaurant on an adjacent beach, 3 minutes' walk away...spectacular food. It's rainy season...so there are relatively few tourists about, and deflated prices to match...and aside from our very first day here (and today) we've had unseasonably clear, sunny, blue skies.
In all, a week of sublime weather and scenery and food, being shirtless most of the time...can't ask for more.
Really the only complaint is that mosquitos harass us each morning and towards/after dusk which limits the amount of time spent hanging in the hammock on our bungalow porch. I guess a few itchy insects are a small price to pay for what is otherwise paradise, though. Also less than perfect is the fact that the Americans failed to beat England in the first World Cup match. Alas, we settle for a tie I guess.
We've read a handful of books, got some color (Rebecca, brown; me, more of an off-white), had a Thai massage (which, in my experience, is voluntarily paying to have a meaty Thai woman pummel you with her hands and feet and elbows, with some acrobatics that border on the intimate thrown in for good measure), and I've poked beached jellyfish with sticks (Rebecca says she outgrew this when she was five; me? well, I grew up 2000 miles from the sea so never did this when I was young and even if I had, I wouldn't give it up. no way! it's fun!), and spent a fair deal of time studying the movements of hermit crabs and spider crabs (though Rebecca tells me there must be more than 5000 types of crabs and that these are probably some other type, which is likely true - but regardless, I like watching them and sitting really still until they decide I'm okay and crawl out of their holes - why do they dig these? - and go about their business unfettered).
We're rested and recharged now, ready for the final phase of our trip.
In a few hours, we leave the island of Ko Phi Phi by ferry (provided it's running...after a week of sun, today it's storming...good timing!) back to the larger resort island of Phuket. There, we have a flight back to Kuala Lumpur (tomorrow), where we'll spend a night in the airport ahead of Saturday morning's flight to...China.
When we began this trip, China was not part of the plan; but then, neither was this stop in Thailand. A web of visa issues and discounted airline tickets dictated this course, and we're happy to follow.
Rebecca has officially bailed on writing these updates. She just doesn't want to. So for her friends and family tired of hearing from me, I guess it's Brian or nothing, or perhaps you can complain via email to her and see if that helps.
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Our visit to Kuala Lumpur was brief. It was hot and muggy, but a nice respite from chaotic India. In a span of only a few hours, Rebecca tried multiple new fruits: rambutan, mangosteen, dragonfruit, salak, and the smelly-but-tasty regional favorite, durian.
We'd planned to visit one "sight" during our one full day in the city: the Petronas Twin Towers, until 2003, the world's tallest building(s). But being Monday, they were closed. Instead, we explored Chinatown. Fruit sampling aside, the highlight of the visit was paying a few ringgit to dip our feet in a "fish spa," where hundreds of 2-3" long fish nibble your feet, eating the dead skin. It's supposed to be therapeutic in some way. Certainly it's weird - and very ticklish.
The following morning we flew to Phuket, Thailand, and we're currently relaxing on the island of Ko Phi Phi. That's it. We await the start of the World Cup and the USA - England match. Football/soccer aside, the course of the next week-plus is: eat and stagnate on this beautiful tropical isle.
Rebecca, to me on the plane today as we're leaving India: "Next time we travel, I'm going to have more say on the destination."
She exaggerates, though; she loved it, at times more than I did - certainly there were days she handled it better. But we were both ready to depart...had we really been on the subcontinent for just a few days shy of 5 months?!
We left off in Srinagar, Kashmir. Contrary to popular opinion, we genuinely believe that the danger of Kashmir isn't Kashmir itself, but getting in/out of it! As stated previously, a day or two after our arrival from mountainous Ladakh, an avalanche took out the road on that section. We exited a different route, southwards, for Jammu - meant to be about 8 hrs. This day, I describe as "interesting," Rebecca calls it "the journey from hell."
Why? Oh, a trishaw overladen with steel bars tipped over just in front of us. We were stuck in a steep valley for 2 hrs waiting for a crew to remove a flipped petrol tanker (on passing, the narrow highway was still soaked with gasoline; I turned to our driver and stated, "no smoking!"). Another road jam held us up a further hour. Lunch was shitty. It rained. It hailed. We got stuck for a half hour waiting for an impromptu parade of 100's of buffalo plod past. Then, at dusk, a crazy sand/windstorm hit. Trees were falling in the road, something landed on our jeep, a heavy rain made visibility appalling. We arrived nearly 12 hrs after we'd begun.
A slightly less eventful day saw us arrive in Amritsar, a Punjabi city near the Pakistani border. Back into the heat of India proper. But it was great. Few beggars, a city where white travellers can still be somewhat of a novelty, lots of smiles and genuinely friendly people. And the Golden Temple, the holiest place for Sikhs (a large % of the men in the city wore the colored turbans indicating their creed). We spent 4 days in the city. Finally saw a Bollywood film at the cinema. Found one of the best 4 lassis (yogurt shakes) in India (for details, or to know the other 3, email me). Great paneer butter masala and butter naan. Free meals at the community kitchen at the Golden Temple. Amritsar was great, and was perfect for our final "real" stop in India.
Then: departure. Our train ticket to Mumbai, 32 hrs away by train - and much longer by bus...we'd booked tickets 5 weeks ago, but it was full and we were waitlisted. As the day of departure (and our eventual flight out of India) grew closer, our trepidation increased. On May 31st, we went to the station. No luck - still on the waiting list. Many conversations, a few officials, several offices, and finally a visit to see the "Divisional Traffic Manager" got us on the train - apparently they reserve a few seats on each train for VIPs and emergencies, and we qualified (somehow).
[This train deal was WAY more stressful than this simple paragraph can demonstrate. Had we not miraculously gotten on that train, we'd have faced a 3-day-ish true night-and-day hell-odyssey to get to Mumbai before our flight out of India. Despite that multi-week advance booking, we did not know that we had berths until a mere 2 hrs before the train's nighttime departure!]
OK, then. 32 hrs on the train. Piece of cake. We had friendly neighbors, and a sack full of fresh mangos and lychees to supplement the meals served on the train and bits purchased from station platforms en route. Outside, the landscape was pretty dire: hot plains and hot plains and pretty much just hot baking plains. Inside, friendly neighbors, a good book, and relative comfort.
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And: MUMBAI! For Bollywood and beach? No! For A/C and comfort and hot showers and a laundry machine: my friend Mike and his family live in the northern suburbs of the city. He made his home our home, and for our final 4 days in India we scarcely left the comforts of that refuge/sanctuary/insulated palace. I'd previously met my friend when he'd lived in Burma and Turkey, so in addition to some creature comforts completely foreign to us in recent months, I had a chance to reconnect with an old friend. It was fantastic.
We left this morning. A flight brought us to Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. Landed about 4 hrs ago.
Thoughts? This is a WEIRD place: no wandering cows and goats, no one honks their horns, intersections aren't filled with scooters and autorickshaws vying for position, people obey traffic regulations, there seem to BE traffic regulations, buildings generally look like they'll still be standing in 15 years, nobody hassles us, things are orderly.
We're still getting used to all this newness.
India is now behind us. In all those months, just a few illnesses (Rebecca: two, Brian: one) and a lot of great experiences.
Kuala Lumpur, our current destination, is just a way station. 36 hrs from now, we'll be on another plane to somewhere even more comfortable, we think...
Kashmir, our home since the last update. We left cold Ladakh, and headed west, somehow hitching a ride in a completely empty bus for several hours. That spat us out in Kargil, a town that saw Tibetan Buddhists swapped for Muslims.
That very night, we got the last seats on a bus heading down into Kashmir. Our "seats" consisted of a narrow bench located directly - that is, inches - behind the driver. Great views, but incredibly uncomfortable. We had no backrests; instead, some uncomfortable bars. I had a cabinet located just to the left of my skull. The road was terrible. The journey lasted some nine or ten hours through the night, crossing a sketchy pass that remains closed (snowed in) for most of the year.
An hour out of Kargil, for a while we closely paralleled the Line of Control with Pakistan. It's safe now, but road signs ("SKILL X WILL X DRILL = KILL" and "WARNING: YOUR MOVEMENT IS UNDER SURVEILLANCE OF THE ENEMY" [Pakistan]) hinted at past problems - the neighboring country was on the hillside just above the dark valley to the north.
Sleep was pretty much out of the question. Each time I/we nodded off, one of the roads heavy jolts banged our heads/backs into metal bars behind us and that damn cabinet on my left side. It was like losing a fight. We emerged from that journey with bruises, literally.
But what a journey! Curves, mountains, and dark. A road that clung to cliffsides and inspired gasps at times. Snow drifts 1.5 times the height of the bus carved away to make way for traffic. A constant drizzle (thankfully, not freezing). The whole time, me peering over the driver's left shoulder, and Rebecca the right - a bird's eye view of all the scary drops awaiting us if anything went wrong.
And after hours and hours of toiling upwards to the snowy pass, we descended into the Kashmir Valley. It was like crossing from Afghanistan (most of Ladakh looks like any photo you've ever seen of that country) and dropping into Switzerland: green, stone cottages, constant hairpin turns, a deep valley framed by tall mountains, shepherds and goatherds and ponies and horses slowing traffic, stone cottages and green, hand-tended fields. If it weren't for the long beards and the skullcaps of the men here, it would have seemed a rustic, faded glimpse of Old Europe.
[A sobering footnote: a day or two after we crossed, a snowstorm closed the pass, stranding some people for several days. Two were killed in an avalanche that destroyed part of this tortuous road.]
OK, so we ended up in Srinagar. It was awful. Rain. And incessant shouts and hassle: houseboats! rickshaws! beggars! shikaras (Venetian gondola-esque boat rides)! baksheesh! carpet and pashmina shawl emporiums! a sh$%load of Indian tourists! Those things aside, the city is not bad. It has a spectacular setting, located on Dal Lake and surrounded by Mughal Gardens and snow-capped peaks. And a fantastic climate, being a mile high in elevation.
Little did we know then, Srinagar would be our longest stop in any city on this entire trip.
We'd long wanted a Kashmiri silk carpet, and this was the place to find them. Negotiating the shops was an experience: sleaze, lies, mostly evil salesmen, "escapes," and free tea (and Kashmiri "kahwa" - cardamom, cinnamon, and saffron tea) and biscuits. But during the eight days it took us to seal a deal, we became experts in assessing quality of these carpets. And along the way, we had many interesting meetings, ate fresh trout (from one salesman that turned bad), had food from a wedding feast (at one of Kashmir's most prominent and wealthy families). We got driven around old parts of Srinagar and saw winding lanes and mosques that we never would otherwise have seen, and saw factories, and carpets washed/clipped by hand. Fascinating...
We ended with two carpets. An expensive time (about the same as what we've spent during our WHOLE time in India), but we are thrilled with these eventual additions to our eventual home in Vancouver....eventually.
Meanwhile, that rain that had initiated our first days in Srinagar had turned to sun, making the past week a wonderful, warm, sunny one. Aside from the guns and soldiers that roam the streets of now-calm Srinagar, it is a reasonably welcoming place. Like on all extended visits to a place, we have our favorite dhabas (eateries) where we are welcomed once or twice each day with big big smiles and eat our favorite curries and chais.
We had planned to leave Kashmir immediately after completing our carpet purchase, but part of our final deal was that we were offered a night on our salesman's family's luxury houseboat (a five-star floating hotel - three rooms only - full of carved walnut, sumptuous decor, and a stunning lakeside location). OK, for this...we will stay another day! We did. It was amazing. A four-poster bed, a wonderfully soft and warm feather duvet, a private chef, and a veranda facing the lake and the mountains to the east.
OK, after this, we leave Srinagar. But no: stuck again. We met a friendly American woman and end up the next day on the houseboat she was staying at. A shikara ride through the canals of Old Srinagar, a lot of socializing, a completely new (and water-based) look at the city that we've now been in for twelve days.
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Srinagar turned into a saga. Safe if at times unsettling (all Western embassies still advise against coming here so there are few white faces around). A chance to savour some final moments in a cool climate before descending into the steaming plains of north India in summer. It was an unlikely "longest stop" for us, but it was good.
We leave here in an hour. Jammu - our next destination - was 46C/114F yesterday. So much for pleasant climate...but that is just a quick stop. Our exit from India is just around the corner now, but we've quite a way to travel before then...
Ley was not "closed," of course. The day after our previous update we flew from Delhi to Leh, tucked deeply into the western Himalaya. It was a stunning flight-voyage...from the plains to a blindingly white crumpled mountainscape, ending in a high altitude valley.
And wow, what a change from India! Rosy cheeks, smiles smiles smiles, warm hearty authentic hello's (here in Ladakh: "joolay!" - conveniently, this same greeting also means goodbye, thank you, you're welcome, and how's it going). No beggars, no hassles. The people of this part of the world are ethnically Tibetan, and this is the heart of the region of Ladakh. It didn't feel like India at all. What's more, the heat and haze of the lowlands was swapped for brilliantly blue, sunny skies, and refreshingly cool weather.
Speaking of that weather, after exiting Nepal many weeks ago, we'd posted our shoes and all of our warm-weather gear to Leh, so that (a) we wouldn't have to lug it all over steaming northern India, and (b) we'd be equipped for the cold once more. A cunning plan. In theory. However, our f-ing package was lost by Indian Post. Snow-capped mountains all around, nippy weather...and us wearing flip-flops and t-shirts. This wasn't really ideal.
We persevered. And bought yak-wool socks (and me a pair of Chinese-made shoes that began to self-destruct within two days).
One of the first things we did was rent a motorcycle and tour up and down the Indus Valley. We chose a Yamaha over the more-romantic Enfield (having owned an Enfield seven years ago I knew full well that it's outward appeal is countered by a dismal tendency for breakdowns). The trip was fantastic: mountains, parched terrain, flowering apricot trees, people driving zhos (beasts of burden, like a cow-yak mix) through terraced fields...and gompas (Tibetan monasteries) perched on hilltops or burrowed against vertical hillsides. Tibet doesn't "do" monasteries that aren't spectacularly located it seems. Within those dimly-lit gompas, bright paintings of heaven and hell and dragons and bodhisattvas, gilded and cracked giant Buddhas, smoke and candles and drums and chanted prayers.
Meals were traditional - momos (stuffed dumplings), temok (steamed heavy dumplings), thukpa (heavy noodles in a soup)...if you haven't noticed, it's all various combinations of wheat noodles/dumplings/broth. Starchy, hearty stuff complemented by our stash of dried apricots and nuts.
Accommodation varied widely but was always interesting. One night we stayed with a monk at a monastery; most nights we stayed at simple family homestays, eating meals together with our hosts. Often we were offered a dozen cups of tea per day: milk tea, Kashmiri tea, (traditional) butter tea. Our "homes": red/white mud-brick structures, dirt floors, rustic kitchens/dining rooms with plates, pots, ladles, and neatly-stacked copper and brass pots. Animals housed in the lower section of the house. Cow pats (for fuel) drying atop walls, stacked/bundled hay lying on rooftops, ladders connecting the rabbit-warren structures within a family compound, Tibetan prayer flags hanging everywhere. Sleeping was on rug-covered thin mattresses that doubled as floor/sitting cushions during the day (not too clean), with dusty pillows and heavy duvets that you hoped were free of bedbugs.
It was very peaceful. Most nights, the silence was broken only by donkey bellows and the odd dog or rooster.
Other than the motorcycle trip, we did some hitchhiking (once with four monks) and several days of hiking through spectacular country in snow leopard country (but we saw neither them nor the elusive yeti). We helped one family flood their field in preparation for barley and vegetable planting. Tough life here: long hard winters with little contact with the outside world. Cut off by road from the rest of India for upwards of 2/3 of the year.
For the most part, we saw no tourists. It was great to meet so many genuine people, to trust and smile at them without having to wonder (as in the rest of India) how they were about to try to screw you over. The Ladakhi-Tibetan people won our hearts.
Our last stop during just over two weeks in the region was in the village of Lamayuru, a seemingly four-dimensional construct beneath a monastery that looked as if it were about to topple off an eroded hilltop. A vertical maze of crumbling homes, tangled stairways, mud and hay and steep footpaths.
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After a pair of nights in that final destination, we walked to the "highway" and waited for transport - heading West. We were cold, and it was time to descend a bit.
Our final thought on Ladakh...so yeah, the sloping dirt floor toilets weren't ideal, but as you're squatting over a concave, gaping hole below and trying not to fall in, you can at least look out a windowless opening and see 6000m+ snow-capped peaks.
Greetings. This is Brian again. I know that I promised that Rebecca was writing the next one, but she didn't want to, so it's boring me...
Mt Abu, that hill station we were just heading to after our last posting, was a dive. I liked it; Rebecca didn't. It was full of holidaying Gujarati males. Minnesotans: it was like an Indian Wisconsin Dells; Brits: it was like an Indian Blackpool. Kitsch, photo booths, horse rides, a decent climate, lots of restaurants, and even a lake with cheesy plastic paddleboats for rent. Only two nights there.
Then: Jodhpur, our final stop in deserty Rajasthan. We loved it. Got an A/C room. Had makhania lassis (saffron-flavoured yogurt shakes) each day, I worked, Rebecca went out for takeaway lunches and fruit. Life was good.
We got back to Delhi just two days ago. Logistics: picked up our passports (they were at an embassy these last weeks), bought some cookware and housewares, posted a large box home, and...that's it. Mixed between all this, I got to see some cool new neighborhoods I'd never seen on my previous four visits to the city. It's a fascinating (if incredibly crowded/polluted/filthy) place.
Tomorrow bright and early, we fly to Leh. This is a Tibetan town far in the north, a region called Ladakh. When we arrived at our hotel in Delhi, the receptionist enquired our next stop (something that must be filled in each time you check into a guesthouse here). When I said, "Leh," he said, "No. You cannot. It's closed."
OK. So Leh is "closed." He was referring to the fact that all roads to Leh are snowed in for eight months of the year. Most travellers heading there go via Manali; the road this way takes 3-4 days from Delhi and usually doesn't open until June sometime.
Thus, Leh should be empty of tourists. And quite cold. We'll be showing up in the mountains in flip-flops, fingers crossed and recrossed that our shoes and warm gear (that we purchased before our trek in Nepal) are there - we posted this stuff to Leh once we crossed back into hot hot hot India several weeks back.
So, soon off for one last North Indian dinner, and an early night before a 4am taxi to the airport. That's it for now!
I (Brian) am writing this one alone. Rebecca's doing the next...
Okay, here we are in Udaipur, India's "most romantic city," southern Rajasthan. Yes, it's hot here. The lake, part of Udaipur's ambiance, is almost entirely dry. We see animals grazing there (even two elephants yesterday), and in the mornings and evenings Indian youth play cricket in what used to be lake. Gone is the Udaipur I saw 7 years ago - colorful women washing laundry and people bathing on the lakeside ghats, water everywhere.
All of this we can see from our lakeside room, which has nice ceiling paintings and stained-glass and A/C! Being off-season, we got a steal on the place. Still a splurge, but a reasonable one: Rs600/night ($14/9 quid). Mornings here, we alternate who goes out for a quarter-litre of fresh, cold milk from a corner shop 200m up the road. Then we sit on the divan next to our lakefront window, set up our bowls on the squat wooden table between us, recline on pillows, and eat our cornflakes (North India lacks the nice un-fried breakfasts of the south, so we've opted for this lighter option...ah, to have idli -fermented steamed rice cakes - again!).
And that's Udaipur for us. Since the city's a travellers' hub, it was a good place for us to swap books, replenishing our supply. Far from the tourist zone, we have a place we go for fantastic Gujarati thalis. The palaces, the lake - all secondary, I suppose, a nice backdrop but not a reason for being here.
Other recent destinations have been like this, too. In Orchha, we skipped the central sights. Instead: a walk, find an abandoned chhatri to climb, sit on the roof and watch riverside bathers and colorful kingfishers and bright green parrots, and vultures perched atop the other chhatris (temple-like monuments) surrounding us.
In Delhi: the procurement of train tickets, applying for Chinese visas (for later - I guess we won't be the whole half year on the subcontinent after all). In Agra: the Taj Mahal, of course. And it was wonderful. But too, we mixed in other things: I filed my US taxes, we found the best banana lassis (yogurt shakes) in India.
In Bundi, a slightly off-the beaten track destination in Rajasthan, we hung out for five days, spending our nights in an old haveli (mansion) converted to a guesthouse. There, I worked a lot on editing my book and we did walks in the early mornings when the weather was tolerably cool - walking up to a hilltop fort devoid of tourists (or ANYONE, for that matter), wandering alone among crumbled palace ruins amid pools and pavilions...bat guano, marble columns, paintings, tilework, stunted trees, metal-studded wooden gates still hanging from their original hinges. Very atmospheric. Lunches there in Bundi were mangos and almonds and raisins and grapes and bananas bought from the market.
These last few destinations have been good to us - 4-5 day relaxed stops instead of the relentless grind of the road.
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We are now past the halfway point of our trip. There was never any danger of a repeat of 2002 - when I departed the USA for "a year" and didn't ultimately return until the latter half of 2006. Maybe because I'm older, I don't know. Travel seems less monumental than it did then - not as heavy or life-changing. Fun, good - yes - I don't mean to downplay it at all. It's a great way to give you perspective, solidify desires...but in the end, travel is a temporary indulgence from which you know you'll return.
Rebecca and I continue to learn how to deal with each other (and with India). We get weary of Indians some days. There's a shirt on sale in Delhi that says, "No rickshaw, no hashish, no rupees, ..." The list goes on. A hundred or a thousand times a day you're approached, hassled. It can be so tiresome, but it's part of the whole experience. Dealing with it is a challenge, an opportunity.
Travel for us is more about adapting to a different type of life than about sightseeing: how best to fill a day, to enjoy life, to find the proper mix of movement and relaxation. We haven't kept up with the yoga - rooms too small, days too hot, or simply that we're too lazy? All goes up and down; two weeks ago, Rebecca was just barely tolerating India. Today, she's loving it more than me.
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For better or worse, life beyond the trip is never really far away. We still have to deal with logistics (Australian and US taxes, for example, and bank accounts and interviews), and we're still dealing with post-trip plans. In fact, just two days ago we had a celebratory dinner. I've been offered a spot at grad school for September, in a country Rebecca's never visited, a place that I went to once 15 years ago on one blurry day. So there's that - and soon (no decision yet made) maybe finally we can answer the question, "What are you guys doing after the trip?"
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That's it. Tonight is our last in Udaipur. We're taking a four-hour cooking class. We both absolutely love the food in India (aside from the slight tedium of all the North Indian deep-fried snacks), and are excited to learn a bit more! Tomorrow, we're off to Mt Abu, a 1200m/4000' hill station. Though not originally part of our plan, it was a heat-inspired decision; daily temperatures these last few weeks has seen temps of mostly 40-44C (104-112F). It's meant to be cool there.
We're excited! And not long after, we're heading into mountains once more. But that will be another story...
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"...the blessings of leisure - unknown to the West, which either works or idles..." (EM Forster)
