May 27, 2009

[Arrival in Srinagar (written from memory as I was having way too much fun to journal at this point).]

We arrived in Srinagar in the evening, after a wonderful one hour flight equipped with a full meal, snacks, movies, and beautiful attendants in red skirts, heels, and bright red lipstick. Two men in a red Jeep picked us up from the tiny airport and drove us through the beautiful town in the setting sun. We were immediately shocked by the amount of military personnel lining the streets, spilling out of large trucks, and manning barbed wire fences. For those of use who have only seen men with black turbans, tan military uniforms, and rifles on the evening news... this was a bit unnerving. When we asked our drivers, they simply retorted that they were the "traffic police"...

But the vibes were good. It certainly didn't feel like a threatening place. Shrugging our shoulders, we turned our attention to the beautiful brick homes with fascinating, intricate windows flashing by in the most brilliant colors, shapes, and sizes.

Our fist sight of Daal Lake was breathtaking. There stood hundreds of beautiful houseboats, floating amongst lilly pads against the brilliant backdrop of the Himalayan Mountains.

We were dropped off at the edge of the lake and hopped into a small canopied boat in which we were paddled to our new destination.

Home at last. As soon as I saw the magnificent "Young Alzira" floating gracefully amidst the vegetation, I knew it was home. Instantly, the rich smell of the lake, clean Himalayan air, and clarifying altitude lifted me out of the stress experienced just the night before. I knew we had come to the right place. Here a beautiful, rich adventure lay waiting for us.

As I peeled back the lace curtains and stepped into the magical fortress, I nearly stopped breathing. Every inch of the boat's walls and ceiling were covered in the most ornate hand-carved flowers and designs. The floor was decorated with brilliant red rugs, and fresh vases full of flowers sat on the table. Max and I were led down a small hallway to our room and collapsed in sheer bliss. I'm pretty sure that the walls were made of cedar, as I've never smelled anything so incredible, so calming, and uplifting. For what seemed like a year, we laid down on our beds feeling the gentle sway of the boat, listening to the birds, and inhaling the moist, rich smells.

The kind boat worker beckoned us out for tea, which we enjoyed in the living room with light heads and joyful hearts. We spent the evening in conversation with Shafi's brother and father and stuffed ourselves with a ridiculously incredible meal after it grew dark.

We finished the night with a pot of Kashmir tea on the rooftop of the boat, feeling the cool Himalayan breeze, listening to cars zipping through the town, the chorus of prayers from the Mosques, and staring in amazement at the explosion of stars. Life had dealt us a hand that I never could have foreseen, hoped for, or expected. Thank you thank you thank you.

May 27, 2009

[Departure for Srinagar, Kashmir.]

Sitting in the Delhi airport with Max. Our flight was delayed 3 hours and Max left his wallet in the checked bag... so we are a bit hungry and out of sorts. Max also left his phone in the cab and we made several phone calls (with a pay phone we thought was free...) to find the number for the travel agent. Luckily, he called the cab driver and Vakesh brought the iphone back. We were not allowed back outside the airport, though, and had to ask all of the 4 door guards and receptionist and Kingfisher staff multiple times before someone let Max out. Each kept sending us in a circle to ask someone else.

A very kind boy Max's age has been sitting and talking with us. He reminds me a lot of Max's friend Dede. He and Max love the same music, movies, and are getting along very well. He has finished his third year of college and is studying computer engineering. He may get a phd in the U.S. His father is a surgeon in a sketchy town near the Nepal border and since age 8 he was sent away to boarding school. He explained that arranged marriages are still common, especially in his home town. Families of his caste have already been making financial dowry offers to his older brother.

[Note: the guy we met (named Nekman) somehow remembered our names and found us on facebook after the trip. We are now friends and keep in contact... what a world!]

May 27, 2009

[Midnight freak-out after the longest day of my life!]

Awake again in the heat of the night. Plagued this time by fear and panic. Hot, stifling fear, trapped fear fielding panic. Why do I fear Shafi and his trip? He has been so kind and showed us another side of India we may not have ever seen. Two random encounters and a wrong turn led us to his doorstep. He has taken care of us with kind words, love and friendship. Perhaps I fear the combination of business and friendship. Is it the large financial cost of the trip? Maybe so. If it were just $500 I would be okay with it. But $900 is very frightening, choking. It may prevent us from experiencing the beautiful Tibet while we are stuck in the stifling India. Panic, fear. It is just money then. Without money we are nothing in this part of the world. Everyone sees us as money. As fat piggy banks from which to get change. “You buy scarf. Which one you buy? Just one?” “You have tip?” “That’s all?” “ You have more?” Stifling, hot, dirty. Rotten, Hot.

Similar fear with Shafi as with Dr. Benedek [the professor whose trip I turned down at the last minute to take my own adventure]. Similar men with similar disposition/angle. Very kind, welcoming, generous, but demand a large sum of money for the exchange. This leads to mistrust, fear that I will be financially locked to them. Lost/give up power to them.

This trip was intended to be a struggle, a search, a time to fall and pick myself up, to descend into the dark. But if I have everything prearranged already, what will I learn? Without the darkness how can there be light? Trips do not allow for the dark soul searching. You are tied to itinerary and people. Fear, panic. How can fate work its magic if you are stuck to an itinerary?

Like the Sahaj Marg class [a meditation program I started and quit the summer before]. How can fate work its magic, how can a soul explore life when tied to a routine? When you abdicate your power to a master? A surrender/release of power.

How I shudder and run from the “have to’s”! How I hide from the solidity of a “plan”. Fear of setting anything in stone. Fear of missing out. Because I am afraid of missing out on something, I leave myself open to everything and choose/lock myself to nothing. This leaves you empty handed, Leaves you with nothing.

Why do I choose nothing and everything over and over again! Fear of being let down, of being wrong, of failing. Of falling short of expectation.

Perhaps expectation is the root of the problem. Perhaps I must stop imposing my will on life. Perhaps I will go with what feels good. Perhaps I will go with the flow and stop saying no to life. I will stop fighting the current and damming the river.

If I don't fight, I will not drown. I will simply lift up my feet, say my prayers, and allow the cool, powerful river to deliver me where it may.

I miss Casey. I love him sooooo much.

May 26, 2009

[Wandered around Delhi, random acts of kindess led us to a travel agent, booked a trip to Kashmir/through India, toured the city, joined travel agent and family for dinner.]

Today was a very busy, exciting, and exhausting day. We started the day out with a walk around town and headed along a busy road to Connaught Place. There, we strolled through the park, watched a family playing cricket, and stretched in the shade of a small tree. From there, we began walking towards Central Delhi. We made a wrong turn and stopped to check the map. A man with his wife stopped and asked if we needed directions. (Quite a change from New Jersey where no one was helpful). He also asked if we needed train tickets and gave us directions to a circle down the next road. We followed his directions and ended up at a circular building. There another kind, cheerful man stopped to help us and said we were not at the right place for tickets. He then walked with us for about ten minutes, asking questions until we were led to the India Tourism office.

Let the story begin….

Walking into the office, we were greeted by a kind, joyful man. He showed us into his office, an opaque walled cubicle, and introduced himself as Shafi Shalla. When we told him our itinerary and that we would like to book train tickets, he immediately recommended that we escape the 45 degree heat (113 degrees Fahrenheit) and spend time in the mountains. He then told us about his family’s houseboat in the glorious mountain town of Srinagar. The town, he said, was the most beautiful place on earth and that overcrowded trekking in Nepal could not compare. We then spent hours looking over pictures of Srinagar and letters from past customers. We entered into a long discussion of life over a delicious cup of Chai tea (maybe the best cup ever). He carried on about the value of family and religion. His parents are the most important thing in his life. He would do anything for them, and now sends them money to live on. He said that the worst thing a person can do is leave or disrespect their mother after everything she has done for them. His soft voice, pure heart and playful eyes instantly gained our trust. This open, joyful welcoming man was truly a diamond in the rough. A jewel in the pained city of Delhi.

He spoke of Srinagar as a paradise city tucked away in the untouched Himalayan mountains. He spoke of his loving family and wise father, whom we would instantly adore. He showed us pictures of his daughter, just three years old, living so far away in Srinagar with their mother. He said he misses his wife not so much (arranged marriage) but his daughter was his world. He spoke of all the amazing people he has met in his life. The author of Be Here Now is a good friend and many famous people he wouldn’t name. A Harvard professor once offered to get Shaffe a scholarship, but he declined as his mother didn’t want him to be so far from home.

And so before we knew it, we had fallen in love with Shafi, with India, and were trusting the fates that our changed itinerary and expense were well worth the trip to Sringagar. And as Shaffe said, nothing happens by chance, it’s always fate. When you are joyful and open, life brings you joy and vice versa. Do not worry. Do not think too much. Just trust, love, and open yourself. This is the way to live.

And so, several cups of incredible tea, bottled water, and Indian omelets later (onion seasoned omelets on white bread), we were sent on our way with a whole new itinerary.

Vakesh, our new driver, waited for us outside to take us on a car tour of Delhi. His gelled hair, tight pants, and blue button up shirt as well as his humble yet sexual swagger reminded me of a young Latin American. Much of Delhi and Indian culture reminds me of latin America. The upbeat, rhythmic music, bright colored and busy architecture and clothes, religious focus, as well as the overall light and positive outlook of people living with so little.

With his Bollywood tunes a-bopping, we headed down the busy streets with wide eyes, full bellies, and a new lightness about us. Before the first destination, Max discovered a raunchy romance novel tucked away in the seat pocket. He began reading pages of Sexcapades as I squirmed uncomfortably at the filthy storyline. Max then explained to Vakesh that he liked his book. Vakesh nodded, a bit confused before realizing that Max meant his book. His eyes grew wide in realization and a sheepish grin covered his face. He, too, squirmed in his seat, wiped his face, and laughed “My book”. He explained that the book “make him happy though he don’t know why. And he cannot understand much of the words, but reads it anyways.” There it was, the ice had been broken. Vakesh was our new friend. To change the subject, we explained that Vakesh looked like Prince (whom he had not heard of) and showed him a pic on the iPhone. This boosted his confidence back up a bit.

Our first stop was Humayan’s Tomb, a magnificent red fortress with fountain and tree lined lawns, few tourists, fake tour guides, and a sweltering mid-afternoon sun. Though amazed by the beautiful architecture, I could barely stand the brilliant sunlight beating down on us. After grabbing an ice cold Mirinda (an orange soda, my new favorite drink) we wandered through

the gated and walled tomb, amazed by the ancient architecture, photographing everything in sight.

Next, Vakesh drove us to the great Qutb Minar, a soaring victory tower built to proclaim the arrival of Islam in India. Gazing on the sandstone tower amid hoards of people in the blazing sun, we decided we’d had enough of this touristy business and wanted to do some shopping. Vakesh, however, told us that he wasn't allowed to take us shopping and it took a bit of convincing and promising that we wouldn't tell his boss to get him to go.

Vakesh drove us to the Crafts Museum, where high quality, inexpensive traditional clothing was made and sold. Stores in India, though are nothing like those in America. Upon entering the red carpet-lined room, I noticed a quiet white bearded man smoking casually with his legs crossed in observance. We were warmly welcomed, and a boy my age began pulling clothing off the shelves for me. Unfortunately, the colors and styles in India are not made for a white girl’s frame or skin tone or personality. Needless to say, the entire glass countertop was covered in dresses before I decided on a gold tunic, tight pants and shawl. We were then escorted upstairs to try on Saris, the more exotic Indian dress. The shop boy showed me the complicated process of wearing a sari and we posed for a photo together. However, tired of the pressure to buy and truly uninterested in the bizarre colors, we left the second shop empty handed.

Next, we were driven to the beautiful Lotus Temple, where we waited in the car for a bit, too early to enter. Vakesh purchased a coke for us, knowing that we’d be ripped off if we bought one ourselves. He refused the offer for us to buy him one also. Sweet Vakesh. As we waited in line I watched families interact, throw trash on the ground, and push past each other to get a good place in line. We waited too long to hop in line ourselves and ended up at the end of the very long walkway up to the temple. When we got near, we were expected to leave our shoes behind. Remembering Slumdog Millionaire, though, we opted to tie them to our bags and hope no one noticed. We finally made it to the marble white stairs, which led up from pools of pale green water. We stole a peak inside of the pew-lined building before being refused entry due to our hanging shoes. We then sat with our hot feet in the pool’s cool water for a bit, copying the rest of the families. The beautiful white lotus towered above us as a powerful symbol of world peace and beauty. Truly a treat!

Next, Vakesh explained that the beautiful Red Fort was not much different from the Taj Mahal, also built by the "Moghuls", and he would take us to free places instead. So we went to a beautiful yellow and red temple where we were refused entry, most likely because my ankles showed and Max was in shorts. So we purchased some ice cream instead and relaxed for a bit out front.

Vakesh then drove us to the beautiful India Gate and around the Parliament and Prime Minister’s Home, where parking was not allowed and we watched from the car. Vakesh then brought us to another shopping location, where he most likely received a commission. His primary motivation was, of course, glimpsing me in a beautiful Sari. We looked at incredible Kashmir carpets, which were unfurled before us, tasted and smelled delicious teas (my favorite being Kashmir tea) and tried on shawls. We also visited a craft shop and examined wood carvings and paintings. The ploys of the shop owners weren’t able to take us over, though we did purchase one beautiful silk scarf.

We were then driven back to the office where we waited with Shaffe before being invited back to his home for dinner. We enjoyed an incredible meal of chicken, vegetables, and rice on the floor of his living room, where we ate with our hands (which is surprisingly much more efficient and adds to the taste experience). His kind and very friendly nephews (whom he lets live with him) joined us and spoke of their aspirations to go to school in America. We enjoyed watching a soccer game with them… and suddenly the world seemed a lot smaller. ;)

Perhaps I should take a moment here to explain what driving is like in India. Insane. Absolute insanity.

Years ago, I remember thinking that NYC and NJ drivers were out of their minds, but in India it’s downright terrifying. Imagine motorcycles and bicycles. Now imagine bicycles pulling enormous loads on carts behind you. Now imagine small doorless cars, giant buses, trucks, and thousands of small SUVs and sudans. And now, if you can, imagine that there are no rules. You feel like driving in the right lane? (Remember traffic here is the opposite). No problem. Someone will honk at you when they’re coming to get you out of the way. Feel like stopping in the middle of the road? No problem. Everyone will honk and go around you. Thank God for the honking. They honk for everything, at every car, to let them know you are near, going around them, or just for the heck of it. Miraculously, though, there are no bouts of road rage. These rabid drivers are peacefully zipping about in the chaos, following their own foreign method and the insane Indian driving ethos. Oh and don’t forget—there are also cows, dogs, and cats all in the road as well, peacefully ambling about.

May 26, 2009

[First morning in Delhi.]

Woke up feeling very nauseous. Don’t think it was the soda. Heat, backup, birthcontrol, claustrophobia… could be any number of things. Ready to get out and soak up some “fresh air”! ;)

May 25, 2009

[Arrival in Paharganj, New Delhi.]

My first trip out of the country. Wow. We spent an hour in the airport waiting for our bags, exchanging money and booking a cab. The airport was miraculously empty. We were the only Monday night flight picking up bags. The bathroom had no toilet paper, but luckily there were paper towels on the floor…

What a first introduction to the world. The cab ride was a 45 minute whirlwind adventure over highways and market streets. 99 degrees and humid when we set out at 9:00 PM. It began to rain and lightening as we zipped, honked, swerved, slammed and jumped. All the drivers quick, all over the place, honking, but not aggressive. Very different.

The hotel is a great cheapo. Marble tile floors, corduroy head board, cool shower and a couch… oh and an incredibly nice, overly present hotel worker, desperate for a room service order.

We ate at the Diamond Lounge, where I took just a few sips of my delicious, but sketchy looking lemon mint soda. We also drank a beer at the Gem bar with a bunch of locals who were watching the cricket game… very interesting. I was given help by four young men, all trying to get the plastic off of my water bottle.

Big, bloated cows, small skinny dogs, poop-filled barnyard smell (subtle), dark, dingy side stores and carts. Very few women out at night. But despite the poverty and filth, this place has a light-hearted, positive vibe. The people are kind, somewhat open and joyful, despite and in the face of circumstance. What a place.

“Welcome to the world", says Max, from a dark bar in Paharjang, Delhi!!

May 24, 2009

[Departure from Atlanta, New Jersey.]

Sitting here in the sunlit terminal with Max, awaiting our departure. We sit quietly, with a cup of piping hot Egyptian chamomile tea and Well-Being juice. A busy silence, an excited calm. Like the tea, I am a container of light heaviness, alert and joyful, yet exhausted and relieved. The tea is too hot to drink.

Travel as a teacher. Does it really matter where? A jungle, a desert, a monastery, a ghetto. A few shady trees, an island paradise. When we move- when we uproot ourselves and leave our surroundings behind, we are given a unique opportunity to look inside of ourselves. When the roots lift, we sway, we rock, we search, we reach. We panic. And then we realize…

People, people, people. So many different lives, so many stories. Hopes, dreams, tears, fears. All of us, connected. Like organs in the body. No, like cells, the blood pumping life into all the different organs, all the different locations on earth. So far, so close. So different, yet one and the same.

No matter how closed off, how clouded with pain, how twisted and full of fear… we are… one and the same. How can I hate my brother? He is but a part of me, a shadow, a reflection of myself. He and I are one. If I judge, if I condemn, I separate myself, I cut myself off from us both. Like cutting off one’s own leg.

Rather than judge, rather than cut and divide, take a second look. Understand. See through other eyes, through another history, in different surroundings. This is how hate dissolves. And acceptance is realized.