Vietnam #3 Saigon to Mui Ne

I spent the rest of my time in Saigon, at least this first visit there, running around shopping, visiting temples, shopping some more. Inbetween, I checked out some of the nicer hotels – one of my favorite pastimes whenever I travel, and prepared myself for my next destination.

I’d had trouble getting a reservation for two particular nights in Saigon, so my friends suggested a small beach town up North called Mui Ne. The drive was approx. 3 hours, and rather than take the bus, as most would opt to do, I played princess and hired a private car. I much prefer this mode of travel – allowing me to stop whenever and wherever I choose both for photo-taking and bathroom visits. It’s basically a necessary luxury at this point in my life.

My driver was English-challenged, but he spoke enough to communicate with me, and was, most-importantly, extremely kind and courteous. I LOVED this drive. The road was a paved highway but along it you could see every possible activity taking place. At times it seemed everyone was in a hammock – I suppose it’s their sort of siesta, but otherwise people were working the fields, or their storefronts or attending school, or working with the students or eating a meal while watching the traffic whiz by and I felt like such a voyeur seeing all these parts of their lives but it was fascinating. Having only been in the country for around 3 days, this gave me great insight into the daily activities of the suburban Southern Vietnamese.

Once again, motorcycles played a big part in keeping my interest. They could be seen holding anything and everything: a family of 5!, a stack of 10 cages stuffed with chickens or ducks, a gigantic bundle of very long bamboo – on and on and on. Often just one person was holding something huge while driving along effortlessly. It’s a certain type of Vietnamese moto-ballet. I couldn’t get enough of it.

After a while, we stopped for gas and a short break for the driver. I was left to wander along and snuck behind the building where I saw a pathway, some palms and as I ventured further on, there was a pond and someone was knocking coconuts into it. I watched as they continued to work, noticing the few ducks and chickens scattered around and then a couple of young boys, too. Soon thereafter, the man directing the work showed his face and beckoned to me to come along further onto his land. I took pictures of him and his sons, the dogs, the pond, etc. and then he motioned again for me to follow him as he moved along further and further away from the building I’d come from. I felt a bit frightened, yet intrigued and my gut told me that all would be OK, so I listened. As we continued, we came upon another, larger pond, and he found something and threw it in. Soon a flurry of fish surfaced and splashed about. The man smiled, pointed at them, pointed at himself suggesting they were his, and again a large grin spread across his face. We went along further to a huge area covered with beautiful fields continuing seemingly for miles and miles (or here I should say kilometers!). And then he turned, motioned to the entire area and said, “me, Ho Chi Minh” and did a sort-of “bang bang bang” pantomime with an imaginary rifle, and again motioned to the surrounding area, nodding his head and pointing next at his chest proudly. My interpretation – I faught for Ho Chi Minh and now all this is mine. Wow – what an exchange between an American and a Vietnamese. Of course I have no idea whether or not he knew where I came from, but somehow I think he did.

I scurried back to my driver, just in time to stop him from getting really worried, and we continued along our way.
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Mui Ne is a cute beach town and there are lots of nice places to stay. However, by the time I was reserving, there wasn’t much left and I found it extremely difficult to get anything at all, let alone something nice. In the end, I opted for something called the Canary Beach “resort”. AS IF! We drove along passing one after another all the ones I’d heard about and my heart sank lower and lower as I saw how far from the center of things I would be and, much worse, as I started smelling the air around the area we were heading to. It was near the local fish sauce factory and one would never be able to forget it. Ugh!

Arriving at my room, it looked clean and acceptable except for one not-so-small problem. There were mosquitoes everywhere, they’d left my windows all open and there was no net over my bed. “Oh, no worry,” they said, “we’ll get you net tomorrow.” Well, that was a bit too late. The mosquito coils I’d brougnt with me didn’t work a bit and the windows didn’t even close all the way. A bad combination: putting a person who’s the equivalent of a mosquito ice-cream sundae smack dab in the middle of their favorite habitat. Next morning – I hardly recognized myself… My entire face was COVERED with bites – very large ugly ones. I looked a fright. Meanwhile, it was days before New Year’s Eve and I had a big plan for it: I was staying at one of the nicest hotels in Saigon and going across the street to the popular “Q” bar which was owned by a friend of a friend of mine. I wanted to look good – or at least halfway decent! And now, I had THIS to contend with. I’d even brought a mini mosquito-net-esque thing to put over my head but when I tried it that night, it just felt too claustrophobic so I’d thrown it off. You know what they say about hindsight. I’m writing this and starting to fear from my face on my next trip, coming up this December. I’ve asked for mosquito nets in most places – I’ll have to try to confirm that.. note to self…

So, bite-faced and all, I set out to try to enjoy the next day. I’d signed up for a tour of the place, as this was my only full day there. I was to be taken in a jeep to all the various sites which included the dreaded fish sauce factory, the fairy stream, the sand dunes of various colors and on and on. I showed up bright eyed and bushy-tailed despite my pock-marked appearance and couldn’t help but notice that when most people were speading away in bright, shiney new jeeps, mine was basically on it’s last legs. Dating back to the war (at least it was authentic!), with a plaque to prove it, my seat didn’t stay down and there was no seat belt. This coupled with a door that was resistant to staying closed made for some dangerous and hair-raising moments as we sped over the hilly roads to the dunes. But that was later. My young kooky guide, who’s name escapes me now, duly led me to the fish factory, but I couldn’t take the stench and begged him to move along to the next event. BUT the so-called fairy stream was right next to the stinky jars of sauce, and as people descended into it, I watched with horror as they removed shoes and rolled up pant legs in order to walk directly IN it. I’d imagined a nice stroll up the banks or some such experience but I wasn’t buying this. WHAT?! Vietnam is known to have leeches – something I’m afraid of when I’m NOT in my most germaphobic states, not to mention the other various creatures that love to suck at you and crawl into your skin from watery um, whatchamacallits. You know what I mean. Those fish in Brazil that climb into men’s penises from polluted waters, etc. I’m horrified by the thought of such things and I knew that, even if nothing did crawl into my feet and invade my blood stream from this innocuously-named body of hardly-any-water, when the first ailment raised it’s ugly head, I’d blame it on my lack of judgment in this instance. And so, no stream walking for me, either. So, strike TWO on this tour of the town that I had only one day to see. Was there any reason for me to be here? I started to wonder, trying not to think of my ravaged face that would be with me for much of this trip that I’d looked so forward to.

From there we headed out to the yellow sand dunes, and here’s where I had to brave the roads, as the jeep would lean over with the curve of the road and I’d be holding on for dear life with the lack of security. It was really amazing to me that this would be allowed, but then again, I was in Vietnam.

Thankfully, these dunes proved to be worth the trouble, or at least the walk up to them was. My driver stopped in front of what appeared to be a small forest and motioned for me to walk inside. I was surprised that he didn’t accompany me but, really at that point, what was I thinking? This “tour” – the first of a few that I’d end up finding to be ridiculously poorly-done, was nothing but an excuse for my driver to find his friends, hang out with them and smoke, and, probably, drink (didn’t see it but I sensed it) – a way to spend the day and make a few bucks. I suppose it often is from the point of view of the guide, but it was often much more obvious in this part of the world.

I started out through the forest, which was really very tiny but beautiful, and soon there was a lake along the left side of it and as I continued on I could see some horses in the distance and a few row boats by the shores of the lake and the dunes rising majestically in the background and it all made for an incredibly picturesque scene. I even felt serene and relaxed for a few, and I mean a few moments, before the kids started up, running up to me with pieces of thick foil in their hands, asking whether I wanted too do something and I couldn’t understand for the longest time until I realized that people were getting coerced into paying for rides on the dunes – jumping up on these pieces of foil and, supposedly flying down the dunes.. Only when I watched people actually try to do this, it was just ridiculous. They were barely moving and having to practically be pushed to get any distance between where they started and where they gave up. Pathetic. I was happy that I hadn’t fallen for it.

Still, the area was lovely… At one point one of the young boys jumped bareback onto one of the horses and cantered along in the high green grasses on the edge of the lake, just outside the forest, and then onto the dunes and climbed up the mountains of sand. I’d never seen such a combination of terrain before. Truly breathtaking (I’ll try to include photos but I’m still learning!).

On the way back, we passed more dunes, of another color, but they weren’t interesting at all. The supposed most interesting area, the red canyon, was closed for some reason. Still, we passed a cemetery and I always like to see that but it was confusing since there were swastikas on all the tombs and though they were originally an Eastern religious symbol – used in many countries and in both Buddhism and Hinduism, I kept coming across Germans in that area in particular so I couldn’t help but wonder about the significance of that particular cemetery. Well.. just being honest…

Our plan next was to go to the fish market. I wasn’t so sure I wanted to go but my nutty guide felt it would be interesting for me, so we arrived, but rather late, so all we got to see were the rats scurrying everywhere – R A T S !!!!! My least favorite thing to see. All I could think was, where the hell are all the cats! These rats were so big, they probably scared the cats away! And so there the RATS would play.

We finished the day by going by various hotels and resorts that I’d heard about – just to check to see whether or not they were nice as they’d claimed to be. I wanted to cry when I came upon the one my friends Brian and Nga stayed in and recommended… It was HEAVEN! Just what I’d love to experience. Modern, tasteful, serene, with an emerald-green pool and beautiful statues everywhere. So I had my driver leave me there and treated myself to a delicious meal. When I can’t have a room, at least I check out the food. I wish I could remember what I had as it was exquisite – drink, appetizer, entrée, dessert – I ate a lot and everything was superb but that’s what I get for trying to document by memory over 6 months later . There are photos, though. You can hopefully see it here.

When I returned to my hellhole, I noticed there was something going on just outside my hotel. I peeked in and it turned out to be a wedding. The bride and groom saw me sneak a peek and insisted I come in and join the celebration, mosquito bites and all! They were so sweet – finding me a nice table to sit at, introducing me to all their friends – truly including me in the festivities. I was really touched. I’d just purchased a traditional Vietnamese outfit that day so I snuck into the back and slipped it on in an attempt to fit in at least a bit better. When I returned, a little tiny girl was screeching out a song, sounding very much like a cat in heat, while a disheveled band backed her up. The music consisted of various singers from among the guests all accompanied by this crazy band. It was hilarious. Of course, when the food arrived, I had to make an excuse to avoid it. It’s not just that I didn’t think I’d like what was served, but I’m just too delicate to eat just anywhere. When I travel, I only eat were I know it’s good and clean for foreigners – I can’t do it any other way. In this situation, I’d certainly be hurling before the break of dawn, and to bring my bitten barfy self back too Saigon for New Year’s Eve would just be too sad. Not worth it.

I spent some time hob-nobbing with the English speaking wedding guests and even made a plan to go touring around the next day to some farther-out places in the area with a businessman who’s English was impeccable due to some family members living in the States. He was very keen to spend the next day with me and I couldn’t see any harm in it. I was leaving around 3 but had time to kill earlier on in the day. Meanwhile, I was having my picture taken with the entire wedding party, per the bride and groom’s wishes, and once that was finished, I snuck out, planning to retire upon entering my room, but I was hungry, having avoided eating at the wedding, and inside my hotel there was an entirely different sort of celebration occurring. It seemed a large group from Russia had arrived and basically taken over my hotel’s restaurant. They were conga-dancing crazily, screaming and laughing and having a fantastic time. As I sat watching, I started chatting with a couple from Poland and we ended up dining together and sharing a bottle of wine, while we gazed on at the group and they in turn worked themselves up into a frenzy. Unable to resist any longer, one of my new friends jumped up and joined the group while her man laughed hysterically. They were one of the most adorable couples I ever met. When she left, he looked me straight in the eye and said, “Oh, I LOVE her so very much.” It warmed my heart.

OH, WHAT A DAY! I thought it would never end but I finally had to drag myself off to bed. Tomorrow’s guide was picking me up at 8 sharp and I had t be on time.

Stay tuned for the rest of that story…

VIETNAM #2 W/ PHOTOS FROM FIRST FEW DAYS

FROM EARACHE TO BUTTACHES AND A PSYCHO CYCLO

I’d left home with a mysterious earache which, thankfully, decided to leave me alone upon my arrival, but yesterday my ass was hurting so badly that I could barely stand it, let alone sit down comfortably. I discovered this when I climbed onto the back of a motorcycle for the umpteenth time since I arrived in Vietnam. I’d sworn I’d never do it – having more fear of the machines than I cared to admit. But I soon discovered it’s really the finest form of transportation here, as Kelly’d told me well in advance, and it not only makes you feel quite part of the bigger picture but gets you to your destination in much better time, ass aches notwithstanding. Please note that there are strict size regulations here – these so-called “motorcycles” are extremely small, just a notch above a motor-scooter, but absolutely ubiquitous. There are far more of them on the street than any other type of vehicle.

My own initial cycle experiences were in Saigon, on my first day, when I found myself unable to figure out how to get back to my hotel. Somehow the taxi drivers around me at that moment seemed a bit too seedy to be trusted. In my extensive research, I’d learned to try to stick to the yellow cabs – one of the few things in common between Saigon and Los Angeles along with the traffic and spread-out nature of the cities. But they just never seemed to be around. So, when a nice young man asked whether I’d like a moto ride, I decided to take a chance. Of course I balked momentarily when a rather grimy helmet materialized, seemingly out of thin air, and was presented to me in a “no if’s, and’s or but’s” fashion. This was the first true test of how well my OCD meds were working and, thankfully, I passed it, carelessly throwing the protective gear onto my freshly washed hair as we sped away (apparently, helmets became law just days before my arrival). The ride was so fun – it took my mind far from my usual thoughts of who had worn the helmet before me and whether or not their hair was clean or lice infested (which I’d consider no matter where I was) and.. Well, you get the picture. Somehow I was able to avoid obsessing but, admittedly, I traveled armed with handy wipes for the duration of the trip .

As we whizzed and wound our way through the city, I thought, “Wow, this is definitely the thing too do. I felt at one with the hundreds of other moto riders all around me and certain that could easily grab hold of their hands if I tried. Smiles were aplenty and the city was aglow with leftover holiday lights creating a veritable electrical sky overhead on the main streets (the sparkling Christmas décor is very over-the-top here). Everywhere I looked there were motorcycles pouring out of streets and avenues, but more in a gliding fashion – very orderly really, streams of them running into each other at intersections yet managing to yield and keep everyone safe, -- perhaps thanks to all the beeps warning others of one’s relative location -- that seemed to do the trick in terms of reducing the potential danger while adding to the noise level considerably – much like the tendancy in India to beep incessantly yet somehow it all seemed much less threatening here than it had there.

And so I’ve been riding – all around Saigon and elsewhere since.

Saigon was much fun as I’d been introduced to various people via LA friends (many thanks!). First off, friends Brian and Nga (pronounced “nyeah”) had given me some things to drop off to their friend, Tina (since she loves Tina Turner). As Nga, Brian’s wife, is Vietnamese, they’ve traveled here several times and had all sorts of fantastic suggestions which I followed rather religiously. Each one has added so much to the entire experience. My first hotel room in Saigon was really beautiful and had a great view of the river, (well, not that I paid for it but once I complained about the construction taking place RIGHT NEXT TO MY ROOM I was swiftly moved/upgraded). A huge complimentary buffet breakfast was served on an upper-floor terrace with sweeping views of the river, too (as I write this I’m watching a gecko moving ever closer to me across the wall of the LIVING ROOM – yes, living room, of my current abode, the gouverneur’s suite in the Victoria resort hotel, Siem Reap, Cambodia. Yes, once again, mega-upgraded! But more on that later…). The Saigon river is rather ugly, but there’s so much activity on it that the muck is soon forgotten and at night it shines with stripes of colored lights. As the boats pass through, their silhouettes appear to be changing color and those taking tourists on dining cruises light up to look like giant fish gliding across the water. My views offered such great photo ops – I could never be bored in this room and took some very yummy pics from that vantage point.

I spent my first day doing the necessary stuff: After visiting the ATM and learning about the kooky money and exchange rate, I had the requisite mani/pedi which I’d put off until that moment. Why visit my local Vietnamese nail shop when I could have the real thing? This highly recommended place was all it was promised to be – very quiet and relaxing and including a massage – I thought of just my feet but somehow they got most of my body and I was sitting the whole time. Next, I jumped into a cab and had him take me on a mini city tour, just to help me get my bearings. At 5:30, he brought me back to my hotel, just in time to meet Brian and Nga’s friend Tina to hand over her loot. I was glazing over with exhaustion at that point but it was really fun to meet her and well worth it. I have to say I truly believe she’s the prettiest Vietnamese girl I’ve ever seen and we got along famously. Since then, we’ve become great friends. She even loaned me a cell phone for the trip – something that’s come in VERY handy. We had coffee that night and planned to have dinner together the next.

Meanwhile, when I’d come back from my first venture into Saigon, I’d spotted a man and woman at the registration desk. She was too old to be anything other than his mother, and they looked alike as well. He was drop-dead gorgeous – tall, ¼ “ attachment hair, chiseled, and spoke with a lovely accent. After Tina left, I dipped into the hotel shop and was chatting non-stop with the Indian guy who ran it (we all know how I love those men from India but this one wasn’t really my thing which was a shame as, apparently, I was very much his). Suddenly, in walked the mother-son duo. I figured they were shopping, too, but he addressed ME! I couldn’t have been more shocked and chuffed, though I soon learned it wasn’t my buxom bod or green/blue eyes that had attracted him. Alas, he had noticed my little exclusive guide book called the Luxe guide, another great suggestion by Brian, andwas simply wondering whether he could copy mine as he’d lost his own. He was actually asking me to do it for him, which I found to be rather strange, though I was also not thinking straight at all and, jet-lag or not, as much as I hate to admit it, this dumbass will jump as high as a tall handsome man asks me to. By that time, my jet-lag was running me ‘round in circles and I felt I could pass out at any minute, -- like a drunken bridesmaid at a depressing wedding or a kid who’s too stoned to get up off the floor pillows (not that I’ve ever really experienced those things…), but of course I kept myself vertical to pass some time with His Handsomeness and, in the process of figuring out how to make the copy happen and finally just doing it together, I learned a great deal about him (the interest was definitely one-sided).

He was an Aussie who’d grown up on a huge ranch which was so big it could hold several LA’s insided it. I think he said it was 50,000 acres so do those statements make sense? I’m not one for quoting stats so I’m not quite sure. Anyway, somehow he’d parlayed the outback ranching life into International investment banking and is currently Head of all of Citibank’s Asian investment banking offices (or some such thing), living in Hong Kong and traveling constantly all over Asia. Hot chick in every port? I’d bet on it. I certainly couldn’t tell if he was married or had a girlfriend, but didn’t spot a ring nor did he mention anyone in particular besides a “friend”. One thing that WAS extremely clear was this: once he got what he wanted from me (my guide), he was much less friendly, to the point that it was ridiculously obvious and rude, to the point of discomfort. Case in point: The hotel gave me a free dinner to make up for the noise near my room, and as I was eating, they showed up, but didn’t ask me to join them, nor did they ask the other numerous times I ran into them. This is really rare when I travel on my own – anyone I’ve had contact with, especially someone I’ve helped out in some way, goes out of their way to invite me. Well! All I can say is.. YUCK. FINE. DIDN’T WANT TO HANG WITH THE LIKES OF YOU ANYWAY! So there..

The next day all about shopping – at least mostly. I spent the morning in the huge market that features everything from fruit to candy and clothing – a covered market that lacked the usual icky ambiguous items and frightening fish and fowl offerings that most others featured so proudly. Those were tough as the smell and mess were treacherous, and I always shuddered to think what was getting caked to my shoes, which were often sandals until I learned not to wear them. But that was later on in the adventure. Here in Saigon, the central market was a tough experience mainly because the ladies were serious sales people – sitting with their wares around them and talking on their phones (the old plugged-in kind), cutting deals and flashing toothless smiles, blocking their faces as I tried to capture them with my camera but laughing about it as opposed to letting it upset them. The so-called bargains weren’t as easy to come by as legend had it, but walking away with feigned disinterest usually turned the situation around. I did well, scoring a cool green daypack for $8, a beautiful handbag for the same price (sells in LA for over $100), and various other odds and ends, while snapping photos of elderly men and women with amazing faces and smiles that kept their difficult pasts very well hidden. Such lovely people.

Next I decided to go to a restaurant where they serve only one dish – cha ca – which is “snakehead fish” (a bit like eel but not and found everywhere in this country) served with dill sauce and various herbs and other fresh compliments. As I stood outside the market trying to decide which mode of transportation to take (as the restaurant was only open until 2 and it was almost 1), the nearby cyclo rider (this is basically a bicycle with a seat comfortable seat attached to it – the slowest way to get around the city) said he knew where it was and it was close and cheap to get there. Now I’d been warned not to take a cyclo, especially on a hot day (which is ridiculous as all days are hot, sunny or not), but the guy just wouldn’t let it go and insisted it was an easy trip. Also, I thought it’d be fun to experience the cyclo one time in Saigon so I got in and we rode and rode and rode and rode and at one pt I got off and said I’d had it – time was rushing by and there would soon be no way to get there on time. Not to mention the fact that I now had a different driver as my older one had traded places with a young buck when he felt as though he might keel over (though they did it on the sly -- I didn't even notice!) so there was no longer a payment agreed to. Charming. But again, the (now) psycho cyclo insisted and after an hour of huffing and puffing, we finally pulled up in front of the place, with scarcely 10 minutes to spare, at which moment he demanded 500,000 dong – something like $25 or more (I’m sans calculator right now). What a shock. I refused, saying I’d give him 100,000 – much more than most would give for the ride, but though I ran into the restaurant which was, at this point, empty, and they proceeded to create this cha ca meal I’d been dreaming of, the psycho cyclo remained outside, howling like a wolf and demanding, per the girls helping me who were translating, that I give him the 500,000 or he wouldn’t leave. In fact, he gave BACK the 100,000, claiming it was an insult and that he wouldn’t accept it. Now had the girls in the restaurant told me that it was proper and correct for him to ask me for that amount, I’d have given it to him with no hesitation, but they laughed at the notion and even more when I told them the story of how I’d been coerced into taking the cyclo in the first place and then ended up with a different one in the end, etc.

Meanwhile, my food arrived, and it was all I’d hoped it would be – extremely fresh and flavorful, without too much spice but with tons of delicious herbs to add to it at my discretion. AND psycho cyclo was still out there, howling away, like the chilling sound coyotes when they’ve pounced upon a small animal. But eventually, realizing I wasn’t giving in, he informed the girls from the restaurant (Cha ca Hanoi though it’s in Saigon) that he’d accept the 100,000 dong, so I presented it to them to give to him and he finally left us in peace.

To be continued…

Korea, Vietnam, Cambodia 2007/2008 -- Part 1

IT COULD ONLY HAPPEN TO ME...

Some may say stranger things have happened.. I can’t help but doubt it. Here I sit in the “business class lounge” of Korean Airlines in Hanoi, Vietnam, awaiting the first of my long series of flights home. This was my one and only upper class ticket among the 8-10 (too tired to count!) flights it took to get me to all the places I needed to go. I was actually ready to just REST for a change. Other than the occasional spa treatment and 5 minutes in a jacuzzi, that just hasn’t happened during this trip. I’ve been running non-stop since I touched down in this land of wondrous things, and I’ve done so well, considering the fact that I’m a serious germaphobe. I was feeling so proud of myself for actually looking straight at rats and smashing mosquitoes with my hands and not completely losing it when a bottle of liquid sugar covered with bugs was delivered to me with my coffee at a top restaurant in Cambodia , and when tiny ants attacked the buffet my friend and her family in Saigon invited me to. I’ve handled watching fish get their heads pounded off whilst their hearts were still beating and not looking away as the blood gushed out and seeing every animal’s body part exposed and fly-ridden and, oh, I don’t think I could ever really remember and name all the disgusting, frightening and gory things I’ve witnessed and experienced here. And yet I’ve handled it all remarkably well and just taken it all in stride. I’ve even been OK about the occasional gecko dropping landing on my otherwise squeaky clean (at least hopefully) bed sheets. But when it comes to possibly coming into contact with MOUSE DROPPINGS, I crawl into that germaphobic hole again. I could have been all fine and dandy. I’d entered the lounge and taken a seat -- but then the boy-girl conversation taking place beside me became too annoying to bear. It was going something like this: boy’s English accent: “Oh, we don’t have flashing yellow lights. Ours are orange. At times they flash and others they don’t. They mean blah blah blah this and that..” and on and on about .. traffic lights? Ugh. I couldn’t take it so I packed up my numerous bags and moved to a large area, started dropping my things on the chairs when suddenly I noticed a black thing that was that unmistakable shape – and then there was another and another and even the chair that I’d placed my scarf upon had one of them and as I looked in horror the Korean guys next to me noticed and started wondering what was up, so I motioned for them to come look and they joined me in a long UGH! There I was, not knowing which of my things had been contaminated and which hadn’t and here I still sit mad as hell that my precious all-too-seldom time in the special lounge was completely _ucked up by this, along with my fantastic record for not freaking out. Because there I was after that, using wipe after wipe to try to make myself feel better about my coat, and taking other layers off altogether. The staff here are completely ineffective and I’m MAD AS HELL! How could this possibly happen? Why me? I know that sounds pathetic but you’ve got to admit, after all I’ve gone through this is really not to be believed. Time for some ativan AND… a very stern talk with the manager which, thankfully, was extremely effective. BUT.. more on that later. Let’s start with a rant about packing. You may relate, you may find it funny, or you just may want to skip down to where I actually talk about the trip.

It’s a fact – an undisputed truth: I SUCK at packing. I am literally incapable of it. You’d think that all my travels would have given me enough practice – enough chances to hone my skills, but alas such is not the case. When people say, “pack light” for a month-long journey during which I’ll encounter temperatures ranging from 30 to 100 degrees, it’s as though they were speaking a foreign language to me. Huh? What on earth do you mean? How does one do it? Is there a Learning Annex class I can take on this because THAT would be amazing and I’m desperately in need so, please, sign me up!Sure, I like the concept of limiting oneself to one bag but I need a separate suitcase just for my toiletries – 5 kinds of skin lotion including the basic, the special one for those pesky bumps on my arms, the face one with spf, the nighttime one for firming the sagging face, the eye and let’s not forget the ever-present zit creams. It doesn’t take up much room but all this stuff adds up! Next we address the bug repellants -- without sunscreen (and I didn’t even pay attention to the numbers – that would have put me over the edge), bug repellant WITH sunscreen, sunscreen with and without repellant (just to cover my bases), repellant that sprays, that’s small enough for the purse, that has deet and that doesn’t, the herbal kind for the skin and the one to be sprayed on clothes and sheets with that name that starts with a “p” pyrethrium or some such thing.. And the after-bite stuff to stop the itch along with the other one to heal the bite. And then there are the mosquito coils (which didn’t even end up working). Sigh.I’ve got a bag of individually-wrapped wet-ones and tissues for those nasty public restrooms and countless bottles of antibacterial hand gel as I really couldn’t handle running out of it, plus cotton pads for make-up removal and Q-tips (little did I know that the upper-echelon hotels I treated myself to this time came equipped with all such sundries) . Sheesh, thank goodness I no longer get my period!But I DO have hair again and where there’s hair there’s shampoo (no, I didn’t trust the one in the pink bottle one hotel supplied, called, “Mai Hao” i.e. My Hair in “Vietican”) and conditioners of various sorts and razors and styling products, not to mention embellishments to help me with this awkward “growing-out” and it would be so horrible to run out of such things so what choice did I have but to include enough for a month, along with liquid laundry soap and first aid, oy, the first aid .. bandaids and peroxide and polysporin and hydrocortisone and eye and nose drops and Actifed and Sudafed and every prescription I now need and every one I might possibly in a blue moon and vitamins and homeopathics and, back to not getting my period, my blankety blank blank natural hormones which I definitely couldn’t live without. All this adds up to bottles and bottles of stuff I may or may not use, but it’s stuff I’ve just got to have with me and that’s that.Books are heavy and I know better but I just couldn’t figure out which guide was best and so I brought 3, yep, count’em 3! And that doesn’t include the 2 Travelogues about the area I also couldn’t pass up, plus various memoirs I’m sure I’ll get to so they needed to take up some place in my ridiculously-stuffed bags as well.Now let’s talk electronics. As I write on my new laptop (this is the life, baby!), I’m listening to iTunes through my new headphones that came with my new iPod (I swear the older one no longer held a charge), also included in my bag but unnecessary when the computer’s being used (or so I thought but later a wrench was thrown into that idea). I have a Canon XPI digital slr with a 28-300 stabilized lens and my regular 28-80 lens is along for the ride in case the mega-zoom becomes too unwieldy (but ended up sitting, unneeded, unloved). My point-and-shoot has a special place in my bag, as well, for those times when I don’t dare take the big guns out and just in case of problems that might arise.All of these gadgets have their own chargers and cards and bits and bobs that need to be stored and organized.

ARE YOU BORED YET?

I haven’t even touched on the clothes. Shoes, handbags, bathingsuits, hats, pants and skirts. I can’t get into the details (you’re welcome!) but suffice it to say that the more I tried to simplify the bigger the pile of “necessities” seemed to grow until it was like Jack’s beanstalk climbing to the heavens with the promise of golden eggs if I got it right. I’m deliriously tired so if I’m making no sense whatsoever, please cut me some slack. And of course, we know how I love to shop so one can only imagine how heavy the original exandable bulbous bags (note it STARTED OUT plural) eventually became.So if any of you have tips for traveling light in such situations as leaving for a month with any and every type of weather condition, please DO TELL!

BUT ENOUGH WITH PACKING... NOW TO THE ACTUAL TRIP!

As some of you may remember, my flight took me through Seoul (or however it’s spelled – I can’t seem to get a handle on it). I planned on taking a tour of the city and duly arranged it once I’d asked no less than 10 people how to find the darned place. It’d been hard enough just to get through immigration -- I seemed to constantly pick the wrong immigration line, the one that kept stopping, to the point that I stood in two at once and growled like a mangyTetanus ridden dog whenever anyone approached from either side. After 14 hours of non-stop extremely uncomfortable air travel, I wasn’t up for fooling around or concerned about being “nice”.Still, very happily, when I made it to the tour desk a smiling face greeted me and said, “are you on this tour? So am I – let’s go on it together” and I certainly couldn’t refuse. Her name is Shelley and it doesn’t suit her at all somehow (perhaps because I like her so much, which was not the way I felt about my Aunt of the same name who is no longer with us…RIP), but she’s a Chinese-American accountant who was on her way to visit her family and, fortunately, had a ridiculously long lay-over just as I had. We got along famously and had a great time on the tour, which very well might have been miserable without her. At one point, after we visited a palace and very accidentally lost our group, we found the bus and waited there for the rest of them. Some jackass screamed at us when they finally arrived, claiming he didn’t have time to wait around all day for idiots such as we were (ugh, WE were in the bus the whole time, mister..) and I wanted to tell him to re-visit his anger-management courses but held my tongue. Our tour-guide was rather laissez-faire and hadn’t told us what to do in the event some such thing happened and she looked at us as he continued his tirade, saying with her eyes that she was on our side – he was a creep, and we needn’t worry. We liked her.Next we continued on to a street filled with adorable antique, collectible and knick-knack shops and I could have spent all day there but we had.. 20 minutes. It was frustrating knowing we would have another 7 hours to wait in the airport but we couldn’t return to this spot. It was over an hour from the airport and we couldn’t risk it. Instead we were left to our own devices for entertainment, taking lurid photos of ourselves groping a statue of Colonel Sanders, meeting people from all over the globe, drinking coffee after coffee, chatting about traveling together in the future. Too soon the time was over and we parted. Shelley was awesome – a true gift to me at the start of my journey into the unknown. I know we’ll remain friends for years to come (we’re already planning a future trip).But I wasn’t in Vietnam yet…The kind man next to me called to the flight attendant as I sat there basically freaking out, or should I say hyper-ventilating while the plane from Seoul to Vietnam prepared for take-off. My hands were shaking – I was sure something was wrong. There was a very distinct gas smell yet no one seemed to notice it – no one other than me, it seemed, as the rest of the passengers sat listlessly, watching the screen as various random and unexpected images splashed across it. There was a performance by famed Transvestite (and transsexual?) Dame Edna, for example, followed by a short documentary about artist Jean-Pierre Braissard, a very strange Frenchman who does something weird and though I can’t remember exactly what it was, I KNOW it didn’t belong in this particular cabin in front of this particular audience. What the heck was going on? Was I in some sort of warped dream state? Middle-aged Vietnamese and Korean men watched in utter shock, awe, wonder and disbelief – unable to tear their eyes away and then there was me, watching them watching and trying to get a grip on why exactly the airline would be showing such things – coming to the only conclusion possible: Someone had royally fucked up. It all made for a bizarre scene which continued on as I continued fearing for my life and the staff continuously scurried about in take-off mode while the passengers continued to sit as though it didn’t smell suspiciously dangerous – as though there wasn’t a smoky mist in the air of the craft and as though the images before them were completely commonplace in their experience of “travel entertainment programs”. So, being the squeaky wheel in the group (for a change?), I had no choice but to bring it up and explain that my eyes were burning and my chest was hurting and it was basically very difficult to breath (I left the others to deal with the audio/visual aspect of the situation). Presently, the captain came to discuss things with “Miss Grey” as it were, along with various other and sundry aircraft “officials”, in order to convince me that a) I wasn’t really smelling anything and b) if I insisted that I was, it was all perfectly normal, happened all the time and everything was fine and safe. They were concerned about my fears (“I guarantee everything’s safe” said the captain), but what good would that do me when my name was reduced to a headline in the next day’s paper, I thought?! My fear was real – palpable and soul wrenching but though a couple of the majority passengers (i.e. Asians from either Vietnam or Korea) mentioned they felt strange, too, the flight continued on and we’re now suspended in the air and so far it seems so good (the gas smell having seemingly transformed into more of a fart smell) but my eyes are still hurting terribly and I can’t help but wonder..And so I survived yet another frightening foreign airline experience and arrived at the airport, thrilled to see someone holding a sign with MY NAME emblazoned across it! I’ll never pass up on that service. For me, it’s a necessity, especially when I’m traveling solo.HELLO VIETNAM!Arriving at my swanky hotel, disheveled and exhausted, I was disappointed to see the kind gentleman who’d been e-mailing me had not succeeded at finagling me a view, nor was he there to greet me. But the room was clean (well, my white glove did find a few dusty areas but this is ME so for most it would be considered perfect) and “well appointed” as the travel books say i.e. comfortably and tastefully furnished. I was happy to organize my ridiculous amount of belongings and tumble into bed.Next morning, after a restful but rather short sleep, my alarm woke me and I proceeded to shower, loving the pressure, the heat, never wanting it to stop, but suddenly I hear the “bang” of a hammer. I stop moving, paralyzed by the thought that I actually heard such a thing, then there it was again and again and then multiple “bang bang bangs” by multiple tools of building or destruction all chiming in simultaneously and then there were the electric drills and a rising crescendo of “instruments” exploded upon my otherwise restful morning of contentment. This would not do. I was paying far more than I customarily do for the luxury, comfort, peace and quiet this hotel stay had promised, and I use that word literally as I’d written several times, specifically requesting Quiet and yes the P word had been pronounced. To put it mildly, I was Furious. I threw on something to make myself “decent” and flew down the hall, not far at all to a door left ajar and opened it to find at least ten startled men staring at me, shocked to see me in the doorway, especially in my state of partial undress. And, I’ll admit, I screamed.. STOP THIS NOW. DO NOT MAKE ANY MORE NOISE” to these men who, of course, had no idea what my words meant but my tone couldn’t be mistaken. And I’d recently read in one of my guide books that getting angry would get you nowhere in this country. But, well, I just couldn’t help it. I should add that prior to taking this extreme approach I’d more calmly called the reception desk and informed them of the situation. They’d again “promised” to get right on it and take care of it but when a full half-hour later it had gotten worse and worse, then and only then did I, admittedly, fly off the frickin’ handle.So now let me speed this up a bit. If I continue at this rate with so many details, I’ll write a hundred page book before my first destination has been covered!:By the time a Manager arrived, I was crying. I was so exhausted, and this was the LAST thing I needed. He actually had the audacity to say there was no construction going on and I had to bring him to the room in question to show him. I opened the door, and there they were, the several startled men, all standing there, covered with plaster and wielding their tools of choice.He upgraded me to one of the river-view rooms which I’d wanted all along. He offered me a free dinner in the hotel restaurant of my choice. He tried to take care of me. Perhaps I wouldn’t have cried had I not been completely shattered from the stress of getting ready with things breaking one after another at home as the pressure of take-off time had weighed on me ever heavier: dryer, internet, other things I can’t remember, and so much else that had been going on at home with everyone from Terry my bother-in-law’s heart surgery to my friend’s kitty’s very sad death to getting sick during all of it while attempting to prepare for such a long trip after having been, well, that other kind of sick and really not up to travel the last time I’d attempted it. All of this, I believe, culminated in an eruption of emotion that the manager had to deal with and probably couldn’t understand in the slightest, though he did his best. And it would have been fine and well and good if only…Well, let’s go into the rest of that day, first. I experienced a glorious breakfast on the hotel’s large terrace, looking right out onto the Saigon river, a body of water which isn’t beautiful by any sense of the word, but which is fascinating. Boats go up and down, from regular-looking cruisers to Chinese-junk-esque wonders to tug-boats pulling huge tankers. On either side are docks for ferrys which travel the width of the river on a regular basis, taking on seemingly hundreds of motorcycles each time (transport of choice in Saigon and, it seems, all around Vietnam). I first saw the cycles loading up onto the ferry and could see the movement but couldn’t quite tell what was going on but with the help of my trusty new 28-300 lens, which doubles as my telescope, I saw what it was and was able to close in on much of the riverside activity.The breakfast itself, for which I’d set my alarm in the firstplace, was a gigantic buffet featuring edible fare from around the globe, from basic bacon, eggs and pancakes to croissants, salads and all sorts of pan-asian delights and frights. The fresh fruit was amazing – several varieties I’d never seen such as a whitish fruit with black seeds and a texture like a kiwi (now I know it’s dragon fruit). I didn’t like it much but the mango was the best I’ve ever tasted in my life and I spent every morning there eating quite a bit of it – it literally melted in my mouth. The fruit lady would smile and say, “more mango?” when she saw me. I must say the Majestic’s staff was so lovely – every one of them smiley and kind and I had a great time with several of them.One of them wanted to expand his language skills so I was teaching him the foods there that he didn’t know. The two main ones were “hicama” and “cornichon”, the latter of which was hilarious as he said it with such a French nasal accent and we’d giggle endlessly every time he said it. I think we have an American word for those little French pickle things but I honestly can’t think of what it is.. Anyone?Finally, I left the hotel premises, armed with a crappy little map and my ATM card, as I still didn’t have any Vietnamese money.I must interject here that no matter where I go there seems to be construction. As I write, I am at my “resort” destination in a small beach town called mui ne. I had specifically asked whether there’d be work being done there as I’d read something online that suggested as much, but again the ubiquitous “promise” came into play so here I am and the pounding going on behind me is alarming, yet I seem to be the only guest noticing it. I suppose I’ll just try to ignore it. I’m taking a new stance, a “go with the flow” attitude (ha ha, you think – Janet go with the flow?) but I will admit to at least giving it a try. I am also trying to focus on the palm trees and ocean in front of me, separated only by a few grass umbrellas and a swimming pool which could be screaming with kids but thankfully is not. I’m about to throw caution to the wind and actually drink “Vietnamese coffee” which does NOT come decaffeinated as I feel it’s safer than the “watermelon shake” that’s calling to me but will doubtless leave me heaving. This is simply black coffee with condensed milk so I should survive from it.Also, the girls here were staring at me and when I looked up, they said, “You are so beautiful” and, believe me, I just rolled out of bed with, I think, 10 mosquito bites on my face and no make-up on so I’m a) puzzled and b) touched.But where was I…The money in Vietnam is a bit crazy: $1 = 16,000 “dong” which is their currency. In all the research I did, I forgot to check this out and, more significantly, I didn’t bring a calculator, though the thought crossed my mind for a split-second. But no one ever mentioned the need for one despite the extensive research I did. Ergo, I’m still looking and looking and looking for one. It’s just crazy to try to work out the numbers. When my money came spitting out of the ATM, I was so frightened I’d cleaned out my entire bank account that I had to run back to the hotel and get them to give me an instant lesson. Now I think I’m getting the hack of it and it’s amazing how far $100 in dong can take you. Taxi rides are less than $1 and a meal is often less than 5. It’s easy and fun to tip very well.

Now, I'm off to experience my first day here. To be continued...

India in the Time of the Tsunami

One Germaphobic “Princess and the Pea’s” Big Adventure in the Exotic Land of India

By Janet Grey

All my life, or at least for as long as I can remember, I wanted to go to India. Even as a young girl, I had a fierce crush on a beautiful Indian man I’d horseback ride with on the weekends. It seems I was always attracted to “all things Indian”, from the clothing and jewelry to the people. Still, I remained nervous about going there as I grew up and became a well-seasoned traveler. I knew it would be an intense trip and decided to wait for the right moment. That moment finally came in the form of a Wedding invitation. The daughter of an Indian friend was to be wed in December of 2004. I considered it for about half a minute, and decided to take the plunge.

I left LA on December 20. On the 26th, as the infamous Tsunami ravaged Southern Indian shores, I was none the wiser, freezing in the cold winds of Agra, staring in awe at the Taj Mahal. It took several days for me to hear of the tragedy, and longer to finally write to my family and friends, assuring them that I was OK (they had no idea where I was, let alone whether or not I had been in the throes of it). The following is my description of what I was experiencing in the various places I visited in India – from Gwalior and Rajasthan in the North, down to Delhi, Hyderabad, Hampi and Mysore by way of tiny towns and villages where it seemed certain no one knew about what was going on in other parts of their country, or if so, it didn’t effect their day to day lives and activities in any way whatsoever.


Armed with my camera, usually a driver and occasionally a guide, I saw some of the most amazing Islamic architecture and landscapes in the country – and attended the wedding of the daughter of a friend. This is the story of one very germaphobic woman’s grand adventure in India, as written while I was there.

______________________________________________________________I knew my new hotel was a bit wacky when I walked into the lobby and heard a wailing electric guitar rendition of "sealed with a kiss" but when I went downstairs to dinner and the live band was doing the Archie's "Sugar Sugar" it was all too much. Yes, I'm OK and India is really a Trip.Yikes! Some days I feel I'm barely surviving and others I’m nothing less than elated. India is frustrating and shocking, frightening and fascinating but more than anything: incredibly beautiful. It's the land of extreme contrasts -- the smell of urine overtaken by the delicious scent of sandalwood, a view of the worst possible human conditions and miles and miles of gorgeous countryside.I'm covering a lot of ground, but often on roads that are pure rock – to the extent that my entire body is in pain from the impact When it comes to transport and many other things, it's murphy's law all the way here. The train or plane will definitely be late and on my journey for the past two days, literally every road is being worked on. I decided to take a car and driver to be free to stop for photos, free of extensive airport security checks (where they’d detain me for several minutes VERY FAR from my important belongings – money, passport, camera, etc.) and the frenetic filth of the train stations, where the trains stop for around 3 minutes and people shove in and out simultaneously and hard. I did that in the first half of the journey and feared losing everything every time. I knew I’d had enough of that.
I have not gone to the bathroom in many many hours as there is literally no place to go that isn't just too scary. Bathrooms are much more challenging here than in any country I've ever been to and I still can't make out how the women actually do it with all the cloth they're wearing. There are pails and cans and all sorts of things in them that I don't use and I think I know what they do with them but I'm not completely sure. People have told me that the very poor women, who have no choice but to do their “toilet” in the very early morning along the train tracks, cover their faces with their saris to avoid the humiliation of making a spectacle of themselves to those passing by on the trains that they are very well-trained to avoid – lifting up just in time. Besides tons of gorgeous countryside, small villages and a few cities (Delhi, Jaipur, Udaipur, Hyderabad), I've seen lots and lots of incredible architecture in out of the way places - mainly Islamic from the 14th, 15th and 16th centuries. It's exactly what I wanted and very inspiring for future creative endeavors. There are many similarities but they all have their own special idiosyncrasies - carvings, paintings, mosaic tiles. Some of these structures are in amazing shape while others are in ruins. Unfortunately, often people are working on the sites and basically ruining them -- plastering over the beautifully crumbling old bits and painting them -- basically making them all nice and new. Thankfully, I’m seeing them now and not after all that “clean-up” is done. I'm documenting as well as I possibly can with my trusty Canon.

The best moments involve the need to find the little old man with the keys (yes this happened more than once) to let me into a gorgeous mosque or tomb with an incredibly ornate dome or some other interesting details. I'm always in awe the moment I walk in and look up. Often I see bats flying around or I'm taken into a dark area with a veritable bat cave. I can hear their chattering/screeching and see the shadows of them flying around together. Very eery!Of course, those of you who know me best warned that I was nuts to want to do this and, well, you were right… - what was I thinking? I finally made it over here for a wedding after years of dreaming of traveling here and waiting for just the “right moment,” but wedding aside, I'm very much alone here and it's really hard at times. Every traveler, no matter how posh or down and dirty their trip is, says the same thing: this is the hardest country to travel in and it really is like Mars as several people said. Every day there is something new to learn, something that goes awry, something you would think would be done a certain way that is done very very differently.Also, in fact, the wedding was one of the most stressful parts. The ceremony and following party - taking place over 2 days - were incredibly gorgeous but dealing with those people I know who were here was not fun and I was thrilled to leave it all and head South (inland, of course). I did meet some wonderfulFrench people who live in LA at the wedding so I'm grateful for that but otherwise.. More on that in a moment.My earlier Northern adventure was very fast -- beautiful and fun. I started out in Delhi, shattered from the 4 flights it took to get there (ah, those fabulous mileage tickets!) but looking forward to seeing the people I knew there – several Indian and American friends who also came from LA but had arrived a few days earlier. When they informed me we were going to a "dinner party" I nearly broke down in tears. I was starved and feeling utterly incapable of being social with strangers. Unfortunately, after we waited what seemed an eternity for dinner to be served, there was nothing but the most frightful ambiguous meat and other incredibly spicy things to eat. The only vegetable, "lotus root", looks more like those cow's brains you see at home at supermarkets but I still gave it a try and it practically blew my head off. I hurried back to the hotel and to bed in preparation for the next day -- my one day to discover the wonders of Delhi.

Before the dinner, I had ventured outside of my hotel, onto what had been described to me as a prominent shopping street. It was, I suppose, just that, but, as people had warned me, nothing here is as you imagine it might be. It was very dark (though stores remained open) and muddy and crowded and loud and just basically difficult to navigate. I was looking for an ATM and as people who didn't speak English pointed this way and that way, I was lead into even darker corners and faced with things I wasn't ready to deal with -- I was still in a jet-lagged haze.

Somehow, I finally filled my wallet (though that certainly didn't make me feel any better!) and found myself in a small marketplace where I was poked and prodded and shouted at from all directions. I could see nothing there was interesting to me, but when a sweet-faced young boy latched on in a nicer way, I decided to follow him. And so, he lured me to a touristy shop, one which undoubtedly gave him hand-outs for leading unsuspecting tourists like me into their clutches... After much time there, and a big lesson about how pushy the entire shopping process would be, I had booked a car to visit the main sites in Delhi with the attached tourist office, and purchased several shawls, one of which was, indeed quite special – at least I thought it was and I must’ve been right as that particular one was stolen sometime during the trip. When it was time to go, I thought that original boy would be there to point me in the right direction, but I soon learned that they may seem to be very much there for you, but when the payoff has occurred, they're instantly gone. I felt somehow abandoned and this happened several other times during the trip. In his place was a boy I had noticed upon arriving at the shop. He had a slight resemblance to Johnny Depp and looked at me as though I myself was a celebrity -- something I also eventually got used to. I was told he would take me back to my hotel in his "tuk-tuk" or motorized rickshaw, like the ones they have in Thailand. And he talked non-stop about how he wanted to be my friend and how friendship is the most important thing and this and that and he was very cute but I really wasn't ready to trust anyone yet didn't want to be mean or rude. So when he asked whether he could join me and his supposed “good friend”, my driver for the next day, I really didn’t know what to say. I told him to work it out with the driver. This is all to say that, the next day, though he didn't show up when I was picked up, this young Indian “Johnny Depp” did indeed make an appearance later and an argument ensued -- the driver really didn't want him there and then they wanted me ME to decide and I refused and finally had the car stop, telling young Johnny Depp that he had to leave -- I was really not prepared to deal with their little spat, and certainly didn’t want any drama at the moment, especially in Hindi! I just wanted to see Delhi as this was my only day to do so. I don't think I had ever felt to out-of-it but I was determined to fight the lag and see what I could.

And that’s exactly what I did. I saw so much that it still amazes me when I think about it. My list seemed short – about 5 main things and then I hoped to do a bit of shopping. But each destination was so much more than I expected – each one consisted of several different buildings, and every one was more beautiful and interesting than the last. Every detail was amazing and just HAD to be photographed. Every site was huge –- most covering the area of several football fields for lack of a better reference. It’s a wonder I was able to stay on my feet – literally. The Red Fort must have had 9 different buildings (at least) with arches and inlay and carvings that were just overwhelmingly gorgeous. I was in my own definition of heaven and I think that kept me going.

The next day I finally took off to discover the rest of the country.
I started in a small city called Gwalior with a palace and a gorgeous Fort and all was aflutter as a former Prime Minister of India (not sure which one) was staying in my hotel in which I had a massive luxurious room. Security was high but once they let me onto the grounds they announced me with a drum corps until I made it to the beautifully carved white double staircase. Mr. PM didn't seem to show up but there was a special dinner anyway at which I met a resident Frenchman who became quite enamored with me (probably because he hadn't had chance to speak in full sentences with a woman for months!). It was fun to parler in India but the next day I was off to visit palaces and forts and mosques and temples and I did so for the next several days.

One of my favorite locations was "Datia" -- a palace at the top of a hill that few know about in a town where there is still a prince in residence (there were in various places I visited but my guide had actually met this one and we almost got to meet His Royal Highness!). Alas, that did not come to pass, but I bonded extremely well with this guide and had a wonderful time with him, while being so completely overwhelmed by the deliciousness of the tiles and designs and extraordinary details in all the buildings we visited.

My guide confided in me that he was confused about something related to having children: He didn't know whether he had to wait until "she had her pleasure before he could have his" -- whether this would effect her ability to get pregnant! It's so sweet and a bit sad how those who come from the more traditional families that have arranged marriages, most of those from the service industries, I found, really can't talk about some very fundamental things when it comes to sex -- they just have noone to ask!
In India, people often visit buildings with Kama Sutra carvings just to learn from them (and whenever I saw them, my guides would often stare at me, watching formy reactions. It was excruciatingly uncomfortable). I told my guide to just go, enjoy himself, and not think about it. He asked what he should do to make his wife happy and I said to listen to her and let her know that whatever she wanted was OK and show he cared about what pleased her. Hopefully that will be one happy Indian woman!

At the beginning, I must note, I really had a bad feeling about him. After our first destination, he suddenly disappeared, leaving me with another man who showed me around the palace I was visiting that day. My original guide had done this abruptly, without warning me, and I was really taken aback. But he certainly ended up making up for it and we had so much fun that by the end of our journey together, I felt sad as I moved on to my next destination and guide.I became ill after visiting the Taj Mahal with wet hair. It was truly one of the coldest places I'd ever been as the surrounding buildings seemed to form a sort of wind tunnel there. I wasn’t warned, had no wrap whatsoever, and I was freezing (but, yes, it's very very beautiful!). The wet hair came about as my phone didn't ring (it was turned off!) so I didn't wake up and was late for my guide (these things just seem to always happen here). No time to dry it. Still, it was all so trivial considering the tragedy experienced by so many who weren’t so very far away that day. Meanwhile, I remained oblivious, along with all those around me, and continued with my journey.

We had a great drive to Jaipur, the beautiful Pink city, 3rd point of the "Golden Triangle" (along with Delhi and Agra -- where the Taj Mahal is) where there were lots of lovely things to photograph and I took a fun elephant ride up to a beautiful Fort on a hill, Amber, surrounded by breathtaking views and resplendent with those decorative details that I love. Next, I flew to Udaipur, where the "City on the lake" was reduced to a mini metropolis in mud as the "Lake" is all dried up (but they don't tell you that when you're booking)! This was such a shame as I had the perfect room with a platform bed and bolster pillows right in front of the Indian style picture window looking out at the famous "Lake palace" hotel (where scenes from "Octopussy" were shot) which had the little water that was left in front of it so you still needed to take a boat to get out there. Otherwise, people, cows, motorcycles, etc. were just moving slowly across the slush. I was very sick by this time – yet rendered worse after a great stroll through the city (where I got some of my best photos of people) and the spice market. I felt the chilis go straight into my nose and lungs and couldn't stop coughing.

Still, Udaipur was great -- I had the most wonderful guide. He was like a young Indian Morris (my almost-husband from years ago) -- tall and skinny and smart. When I asked whether he had ever touched a girl (he was 23), he said "no" in a "yuck" kind of way and made a face. They truly don't until the day they are married and apparently they don’t want to, either!

I brought an ipod with me and I'd loaded it with 1500 songs, 150 of which were Indian in some way or another. My guides and drivers LOVED it and I let them spend most of the time with it. Sometimes we sang bits of the songs I know together. Of course, germophobe that I am, I would ask them not to put the head phones all the way into their ears, but rather to hold them outside but this never happened... Along with many other things, I had to just let it go. I think “letting go” was one of the big lessons of this trip – letting go of schedules and plans, objects and expectations. The secret to enjoying it to the fullest was in those two words.

Speaking of letting go… My gangly guide in Udaipur was particularly fond of the ipod – so much so that I felt compelled to give it to him, but I must admit, I resisted. Still, his smile was so wide when he was listening.. I took a picture of it but I’m glad I kept the device as it really helped me get through some tough times later on. Nick Drake was probably most-often played when I was the sole listener. He went well with the beautiful countryside.

I spent the last night of this half of the trip at a massive and beautiful Fort/Palace -- the Neemrana -- which had been restored perfectly -- in a way that preserved all the beautiful details that I came to India to see (I learned not to take this for granted...). The room was decorated in antiques and Indian silks -- just as I'd imagined things would be everywhere yet discovered not many places actually were.

Here I had my first of many massage offers. Whenever I mentioned any pain or soreness, any man within earshot would offer a massage. Often it was the guy welcoming me at the reception desk of the hotel I was checking into. At first I would actually ask whether they were trained as masseuses but realized later that it was just in the blood -- the ability, the desire to do it whenever possible, especially, perhaps, to a Western woman (I'm just presuming here...). Much later in the trip, I did take a young man up on the offer and I was not disappointed (but please don’t read too much into this! It was just good, clean, healing massage).

My driver during this time was quite nice and at this point I liked him very much. He took me to an interesting place on the way from the Palace to the Delhi Airport (a 3 hour drive) -- a type of stepped well/fort that went down under the ground 8 floors. We were able to climb down some of the stairs and it was incredibly well preserved. But as we got into the drive back, he suddenly discovered his nose and mustache and didn't stop playing with both of them, and most particularly his nose, inside and out, for the entire trip. Needless to say, I was thoroughly disgusted by the time we reached our destination and tried desperately to avoid letting him touch my bags. What would you do? This was just another challenge to my germaphobia. At this point, I still hadn’t heard a single word about the tsunami. I don’t seek out world news when I travel (or, perhaps I should say I didn’t at that time), preferring to take a break – but strangely, noone I came in contact with had mentioned it yet.Next I flew into the City where the Wedding was taking place, Hyderabad, and waited for the ride that had been promised to me and waited and waited and waited and it basically never showed up. There I was, waiting because I wanted to be polite -- I didn't want to leave them searching for me in case they actually did come, but still I was standing outside the airport for two hours surrounded by beggars (and here you always are but moreso in the airports and it breaks your heart but you just can't give or you'll be mauled) and taxi drivers (relentless) and I was sick and so tired and it was new year's eve and well hell I was pissed off and upset! When I was finally remembered and “collected”, I was taken to the place where I was to stay as I had been promised "housing" when I'd agreed to come, but it actually turned out to be a single mattress on the floor in what seemed to be an otherwise abandoned apartment which was for this event inhabited by various guests. Still, it seemed all the others had at least some sort of structure lifting their mattresses off the floor...

There was none of the following: toilet paper, towels, shower, hot water. Help! It was time to find a hotel.The wedding got me here but it definitely wasn't the highlight. I met some wonderful people – I even ran into some old friends from my college years – over 25 years ago -- and it was an incredible experience. Nevertheless, I couldn't eat ANY of the food (some of the spiciest I've experienced here) and just felt, when it was over, that although it was beautiful, I was good and ready to set out on my own again.

Nevertheless, before I left, I treated myself to a Vedic massage that had a strange effect on me. Before I knew what was happening, I started crying and just couldn’t stop. I was like a broken faucet in the “on” position. The 3 sweet girls massaging me didn’t know what to do. They kept saying, “Oh, lady, no cry… why cry? No cry…. They were so kind. When it was over, I felt drained yet soothed and comforted – a very deep catharsis. I suppose all that traipsing around while being sick, the discomforts and disappointments and lack of sleep and food that I could safely eat had all caught up with me. I needed that release.
Now I'm driving across beautiful plains that remind me of the African Serengeti, except that every once in a while there is a plot of corn, a field of very green grass or some sugar cane. Like Africa, every so often someone appears, seemingly from out of nowhere, wearing some incredibly gorgeous ensemble (much like Africa as well) but here she’s also carrying something on her head like a huge bunch of sticks or branches, a silver urn or a bundle of fabrics. No matter how young or old she is, or what her facial features are, each one of these women looks amazingly beautiful.

I love these long drives. I look forward to seeing the interesting things we’ll find along the way: Small, delicately decorated mosques and temples sticking out from the otherwise desolate distance, goat and buffalo herders in their wonderful turbans, farmers raising water from wells using a system consisting of cows pulling pales up while being driven around a large wagon wheel, peacocks or monkeys with curly white tails. It's all so beautiful, so picturesque that it's often possible to forget all the difficulties of traveling in this country for a time. On the same road you might find people riding camels, elephants, cow-drawn carts, bicycles; driving cars, motorcycles, trucks or buses; making dancing bears perform for the passing cars, and of course those goat and buffalo herders. It's an amazing scene – like a never-ending circus. I wouldn’t want to miss a single moment of it so the choice to drive rather than fly for much of the trip was definitely a good one (though it’s still involving 7 flights within India). Also, it's such a welcome change to visit the smaller places. The cities here are dirty in a way I've never experienced. You literally need to breathe into some sort of mask (I was told to bring some and thought that seemed a bit extreme but it’s actually very realistic) or at least a shawl at times as the exhaust is overwhelming. Cars are encouraged to honk due to the nature of the driving (i.e. CRAZED!) so it's incredibly noisy all the time. There are horns of every level and speed and cadence and it's just awful. Many of the vehicles are very loud, 3-wheeled motorized "rickshaws" with blaring music. People also seem to be shouting all the time. Everyone looks like they have a thick layer of filth on them and they probably do - just from walking out into it all. Hyderabad was particularly down and dirty. I couldn't wait to leave.Now I'm waiting for another meal. Each one is a challenge - an adventure (they are for me at home so you can only imagine what it’s like here.). Every server tries his best to help me out – translating the menu and paying close attention as I use the words for “not spicey” that I learned the moment I set foot in this country, yet each meal seems more spicey than the last. Perhaps I got the words wrong?

This time I ordered vegetarian pizza and have no idea what it will be. (some time later…) OK, now I've eaten and it was basically caramelized onions with goat cheese which I can't eat so I had bread for dinner once again. Still, it was worth it as I met the sweet young Swede who walked in and we talked throughout the meal. He's the only Westerner I've seen here - another tiny town again. I'm hoping the hotel will be better than last night's which featured sheets that I had to have changed twice for stains, rips and, literally, bugs. Hot water is only available in the morning in both places. The Swede was fresh from tripping out in Goa and described what it was like when the Tsunami hit there (finally I had a chance to discuss it with someone!). It was really just a gradual rise in the water but continued to the extent that it was not only noticed, but “felt strange” – leading to lots of hurried packing up of things. His sandals washed out to a sea that had seemed miles away just minutes before. I just couldn't go too far south after all that. It feels so strange to be traveling here with such utter tragedy happening so close. I feel neither prepared nor qualified to help. I’ve chosen to stay on this course as plannedThe next morning started out rough again. The guide did not show which was no surprise as everything has been screwed up since I started the second part of the trip with this horrendous driver. He needs to pull over to sleep every once in a while and leaves me sitting in the car while he snoozes away. Otherwise, he’s lost and/or and complaining. I’ve been spoiled up to this point. He even pulled over to show me a beautiful lake and lead me through some thorned bushes that basically destroyed my feet (and part of his job is to protect me from such things!). Needless to say, when he said he was taking of a guide for today, I had very low expectations. We waited for what seemed an eternity but once we finally saw some sites, I loved every minute of it (interestingly even the guide mentioned how unresponsive the driver was).

The first structure, in a town called Bijapur, was Gol Gumbaz, one of the largest unsupported domes in the world (per my travel agency, it’s the second largest but a quick google search sheds some doubt on that so “one of..” seems safer) -- a tomb for a king and his dancer concubine and his family, all of them together (how’s that for cultural differences?). After 8 flights of treacherous steps, one can experience the "whispering gallery". The acoustics are so great that if one person sits on one side and one on the other, the two can whisper back and forth and hear each other perfectly. The sounds are said to revolve 8-10 times around the dome. Claps and cries from the kids that come in busloads here sound incredible from up there. It's very strange and beautiful. I only wish I could hear choral singing here, too.
I've experienced a few of these echoing domes in different forms on this trip. The other day, at Golconda fort outside of Hyderabad, there was one of a different sort: The lower fort entrance had a small dome. If you clapped under it, the sound could be heard far up the mountain (around 500 steps up which I did climb) warning the protectors that the fort and palace were in danger/being invaded.I would kill for a squishy pillow and, for some reason, famous Amos cookies, which I could have easily brought in the small packs. Ah, hindsight…In these small towns, I'm like a celebrity. Everyone stares at me, says "hello" or throws out any other English they know, and they all want their photo taken with me with their own cameras. It's overwhelming and exhausting at times. Even the Buffalo stare like they've never seen the likes of me before. I love taking pictures of all the kids but at times they're so much in my way that I can't do my own photography. I also feel like I now know what a pain in the ass it is to actually be a celebrity - seriously!When I arrived where I am now, the sun was going down and it was getting hard to see but I knew it was special place. I'd been told to go to Hampi but for the architecture, so I hadn’t expected the unusual landscape. Suddenly there were huge boulders everywhere -- beautiful but very "Flintstones meets Joshua Tree". Then, throw some rice fields into that mix and add a beautiful river - the sun is coming down all pink and orange - truly breathtaking. I was on my way to stay at a place called "Boulders" so I suppose I should have known about that part but it really needed to be seen to be appreciated. As we drove, the roads got progressively smaller until it seemed as though as were literally driving over boulders and through rice paddies, and as it turned out, we actually were!When the sun came up, I saw I was in the middle of nowhere again, in a little hut or cabin that truly is reminiscent of the Flintstones’ home --literally built into and surrounded by boulders. I had a lovely covered terrace in front to take my tea and just gaze and comtemplate, and I could also climb up on the roof for a wider view. The best part: the utter silence. As I mentioned, the cities here are incredibly noisy and I needed a break. Even the little towns I'd been in had sounds of horns blaring and kids screaming but here the only sounds I heard were of birds and crickets and every other type of creature imaginable but no phones, motors, TV's – nothing artificial, nothing man-made. Heaven.

Nevertheless, there were the requisite challenges at this place as well: I had no water for not one but two nights, there was a scorpion in my shower, mini ants are on the wall (and small bugs are really one of my worst fears). But in this country it seems there is always a bug of some sort on me so I'm getting used to it and I suppose this is a good thing. I was also told it was OK to eat the Papaya at breakfast and the watermelon juice at lunch and swiftly became sick so I must go back to being so very careful that my diet is most-often boiled veggies, plain rice and mineral water. Yawn. I should know better than to listen to those who say "Oh, it's fine."! No one understands how delicate my “constitution” is more than I do.Boulders is around one hour from Hampi by car or 20 minutes if I'm driven to the boat. Each morning their driver takes me through rice fields littered with just that -- boulders -- and Herons of every color to a little "dock" with the round canoe-like boats – like little buttons floating on the water. They get jammed to the brim with people, mostly backpackers, and take us to the other side where the monuments are. Sometimes I just spend the afternoon, like today, sitting at the "mango tree" café overlooking the fields and river and chatting with some German girls I met along the way. I extended my time here another day because it's so gorgeous that I can't stand to leave. I'm underwhelmed by the architecture, but love the landscape. It makes me very happy.
Yesterday morning, I woke up with the first rays of sun (and I am NOT a morning person) and watched it rise from a bamboo suspension bridge spread over boulders with the rushing water below. I was with Vikrum, the proprietor of the place, who basically seduced me (not really but figuratively) with kindness and caring and then disappeared, only to leave me to his bitchy sister and that annoying lack of water I mentioned.

Last night, I watched the sun go down as thousands of birds flew into one group of trees, their flight reflected perfectly on the still water below. The sound rose from near silence to a crazy cacophony of screeches and squawks. And then, all at once, as though they had received a loud signal, they all flew off in the same direction, darkening the sunset with their silhouettes.
This morning, I walked down the road through the rice fields with the buffalo staring at me again. I thought they were going to rush me they were staring so hard - very unnerving! Still, it only bothered me for a moment. Mostly I was just so happy to be there. I'm always happy when I'm surrounded by lush green, wherever it happens to be.

My plan had been to be there, walking down that road, gazing at the rice fields, from the moment I woke up but those plans had been derailed by a typical Indian/foreigner communication breakdown. This one went like this: I first wanted to take a quick look at the other cottages at this "resort" to see what I had been missing. I was shown the super lux location: a little faux castle facing the rushing river and boulders with multiple marble floors and a fridge and a couple of terraces. Much more posh than mine but I had expected that and wouldn't have paid that price anyway... but when I then was ready to take my little rice field walk the guy showing me the castle started motioning excitedly and saying something like, "rooms?" and I thought there were more rooms he wanted to show me and I was interested in seeing them so I followed him and kept on following as we climbed over boulders and through grasses and after a while the pathway started to look familiar and I realized he was taking me on the same little walk his boss, Vikrum, had taken me on the other day at sunrise.

I looked at my watch and realized I was losing all my precious minutes for rice field walking -- the driver would be waiting for me and so I started the difficult task of trying to communicate that I had already seen the things he was showing me, while trying not to be too hard on him and show my appreciation -- not an easy task with NO words in common and that, sadly, was the case here and in many transactions on this trip as you can imagine (no, I did not learn ANY of the trillions of languages of the country). I said "my room now" and was shown the little private party hut I had been shown the other day and I said "no, MY ROOM" and was taken further away and on and on -- I was seeing the same beautiful boulders and bridges and views and he continued on and on enthusiastically, insisting I take basically all the photos I had already taken the other day, and there was no way for me to explain I already had! Thankfully, I was shooting digital! Everyone here wants to be the director of photography. A large percentage of photos were taken because someone with me was basically insisting I take it, and I found it was easier to just go along with it and, besides, it always seemed to make them happy, especially since I could show them the result and they got a sense of pride from it, as though they had taken the photo themselves.

I can't remember how I actually accomplished it or perhaps the little tour was over but we finally came upon my new driver, Ganesh, who was able to explain my frustration to this poor sweet guy who really just wanted to make me happy and show me everything he possibly could. I hope Ganesh (like the Elephant god) expressed my gratitude to the young guide as I asked him to do so. I was sorry to be leaving that place but had more places to go to and people to meet and, of course, photos to take.
Next day:Back in the car and moving South again. I have my wonderful new driver, Ganesh, who takes good care of me after the lazy horrible one (I was introduced to the one in front of the other – very awkward!). Long story short: American Express actually stepped in and helped me get this great driver when my travel agency was ignoring my complaints, yet charging me a small fortune. Yes, I WOULD do the commercial.

Ganesh is truly a mystery to me. Lack of water notwithstanding, he always look and smells newly scrubbed and his clothes seem fresh from the dry cleaners. I just can’t figure out how he does it. As I’ve mentioned, it’s just not clean here and I can’t even recall seeing a suitcase belonging to him in the trunk of the car. Drivers who stay with you for multiple days sleep in “bare-bones” quarters in the hotels. If you’re not staying in a nicer place, which was at times the case during the second half of my trip, they find shelter wherever they can, and it’s said they’ll sometimes just sleep in the car to avoid paying for a place to stay. Whenever I’d inquire into these details, they wouldn’t share with me. I was piercing the veil between “them” and “us” and they just wouldn’t hear of it – always keeping a safe distance, always remaining polite.Last night Ganesh took me to the Monkey Temple as my last little activity in Hampi. I was shown what they said was a 2000 step pathway up the “mountain” which was really an extremely high pile of boulders (turns out this spot is a rock climber haven). The reward was said to be an amazing panoramic view while the sun set.
But when I saw the steps, I truly didn't think I had it in me. I turned back towards the car right when a young Irish lad came walking up and basically insisted on taking it slowly with me while I huffed and puffed my way up. It was steep and long but since he was being so sweet about it, I really felt I had no choice. Honestly this trip has been quite a work out!

At the top was this tiny temple to the Monkey God and, indeed, lots of monkeys – but not just any monkeys. Here, they’re nothing less than evil -- rumored to steal cameras and other tourist belongings with the blink of an eye. They continued to creep up on us – I wished I had eyes in the back of my head. The view, however, was spectacular with all the details I've described - rice fields, river, boulders, monuments – all in full view for kilometers and kilometers all around with the sun going down. The climb was well worth it.I dined with some New Yorkers that night, and afterwards discovered that I, once again, had no water.
Showers have been incredibly challenging here. By the time I discovered the water problem this time, I was undressed and everyone had long since gone to sleep. I didn't have the energy to make myself decent, arm myself with a flashlight, figure out where the staff was and find someone who spoke English etc. Thankfully, I had some bottled water so I did a little sponge bath and tried not to think about all the gross places where my feet had been and how much I'd been sweating that day (it is HOT here). I took my disgustingly dirty self to bed and the next day learned that some monkeys had apparently messed with the pipes (evil!) leaving the well dry. When the water finally worked, it trickled and was cold for quite some time. So much for the "resort"! I was desperate for a really good shower.The woman from New York had jumped into the "pool" in the dark having barely given it a second thought. I shuddered at the thought of what could be in there and she even said it was slimy with frogs jumping around next to her. I imagine there were a few snakes wriggling about in those depths as well. Yech!

By the time I left, I was rather disenchanted with Boulders, but I’ll always think of Hampi one of my very favorite places in India.

Driving here is a constant reminder that I am really in India. I just looked up in time to see a very near head-on collision between our car and a huge truck. For the most part, I have grown accustomed to the automotive acrobatics that take place here. The cars and trucks skip and dance along the highway. The horn is much more essential than the brakes and if they're not spending a substantial amount of time on the other side of the road, heading towards ongoing traffic in order to pass anything and everything that may be in front of you, they're doing something wrong. My driver explained that it's all about anticipating the acceleration of the car coming towards you. Every car says "Honk please" on the back meaning that cars should honk before passing. They come perilously close to the back end of cars in front of them waiting for the prime passing moment. It's excruciatingly scary, especially at first (and then you just get used to it). Great risks are taken - there are so many close calls - the timing has to be just right. My favorite sweet young guide lost both parents in a tragic auto accident when he was just 15. He was in the car with with them, his sister and several other relatives, all of whom survived. The driver was said to be avoiding a goat. As my current driver says, "in India, the animals have the right of way." Cows decide to cross just as we're passing by. Goat herders ignore the horn and fill the road fearlessly with their precious creatures.On another note, my belly is sick and better every other day.A crazy strung-out man on the boat yesterday asked me where I want to die and had me stumped. I suppose I've thought about the "how" but not the "where". Certainly not in India - car crash or otherwise. He then proceeded to scream that the gorgeous young woman next to him was too close. Nut!Today we're driving past fields of smiling sunflowers, large piles of bright red chilies drying in the sun, under huge banyan trees with thick ropes growing from their branches and sinewy trunks and skinny-trunked palm-like "beatlenut" trees with green and black pepper vines winding up around them symbiotically. The trees join forming a beautiful arbor over the road, shading us from the intense sun. My driver points out every detail - he really knows so much -- I'm very lucky to have him. We discuss differences between our countries, the pros and cons of arranged marriages, how rapidly technology is changing India and how those changes are likely to effect the future of his 4-year-old daughter.
Besides agricultural details, he's also showing me temple carts in the various villages we pass through. These are small beautifully-carved temples on wheels that are pulled out and about once a year on their own special festival days. I saw something sunukar in Takayama, Japan, a small mountain village we visited for a harvest festival.Speaking of which, the harvest festival is happening here in Mysore tomorrow. We’ll be passing tomorrow through villages celebrating by washing the cows and then decorating them and painting their horns. We're going to a couple of palaces as well, and a hill temple. It's a big day. The next day I leave for Mumbai. I'll say goodbye to this driver and hope to be OK as I'll be on my own again which, I admit, scares me a bit. Ganesh always makes sure I have food, a place to go to the bathroom (even if it's a field), water, and that I'm comfortable in any way he can help with - and of course that I get where I need to go. When I'm on my own, none of that comes easily.It seems there's never a moment when I'm not being asked to pay for this or that (i.e. leaving my shoes outside the temple or bringing my camera in somewhere), to buy this or that (constantly everywhere except the smallest places) or,mostoften, to give to a needy person - a mother frantically pointing at her too-tiny baby or an amputee of some sort. It’s heartbreaking. Most have obvious home/botched jobs and it is said that mothers will chop off limbs of their children for more begging power. My squeamish tendencies are overpowered by this place. A man with no hands or forearms asked for money and I honestly didn't know where to put it until I noticed his pocket. Money worth a few cents to us is, of course, so valuable to these people but it’s important to remember to be discreet with giving here. If I'm pulling away in the car, I can crack the window and do it but in the street I'll be mobbed if I give to one person.Today, after seeing a ridiculously opulent but incredibly gorgeous palace with every detail imaginable down to the spiral staircases with lacey cutouts and a patterned tile floor to die for (but no photos allowed, damn!), I ate anothertoo-spicey lunch by the beautiful banks of a river among the bamboo with the wind blustering so much that I had to hold the tablecloth down. Last night I had dinner with a Dutchman who now lives on the edge of the Black Forest in Germanyand travels around the world working on some tech. Project I didn't understand. He was cute -- but a bit boring though I couldn't tell if that was just a language barrier.
The night before, I dined with an English couple at a gorgeous hotel near a coffee plantation (Taj Garden Retreat in Chikmaglur) - an area with lots of hikes and a good place to just wind down. The pool had a ledge all around it so that you could walk, getting only your feet wet, and watch the sunset and that's exactly what I did. Lovely.

The Brits were both lawyers and nearing their later 50's but very cool and fun. This is literally their 20th trip to India! They were able to offer all sorts of tips and described how they were meant to be in the Andaman Islands, as many were, but had to rearrange everything after the Tsunamis. I was lucky to meet them. They were lucky with their timing.Before we met for dinner, I decided to splurge and get my poor, aching feet a pedicure. Another adventure ensued. I was immediately sceptical about the tools she was using to smooth out the roughness - foot files and I wondered whether they, or anything else, had been sterilized. But when the old-style, pointed metal nail file was brandished, I knew I had to act. I ran to my room to get a decent file and ended up doing so again at the time of polishing when she went to put the polish on directly, skipping the base coat part altogether. Luckily I had brought such things (and of course not the important ones.).
Put a Jap in India and see what happens.? By the end of the pedicure lesson, I think this girl, who was a masseuse as it turned out, had a better idea about what to do, but probably hoped she’d never have to do a pedicure again. Apparently, they always did it that way.After lunch today, we went to see the summer palace. It was really one of the most gorgeous things I've ever seen, painted from floor to ceiling, but again, no photos and I could just die. All day we were seeing yellow and orange cows, dressed up for the harvest festival. In honor of that, the main palace waslit up tonight (it's Saturday and it's usually only lit on Sunday so I lucked out) and my driver took me there. It was a bit Disneyland but someone was playing a mean sitar and the adjoining temples were all abuzz so I was clearly here in India.I next spent a couple of nights and one day in Mumbai (Bombay). I hated my hotel and broke out in tears upon seeing it as it was basically a nothingbut a place for pigeons (rats of the sky...) to crap on and my room was their favorite perch. But I was too tired to look into an alternative and besides, I was quickly reminded of how lucky I was (and am) as soon as I hit the ground there. I’d seen extreme poverty throughout the country but this was at a different, deeper level. People are hanging on by their fingernails just to get by -- clutching onto anything solid they might be so lucky to find in order to use it as some sort of shelter. Their creativity and resourcefulness was exemplary – something I’d imagine would be richly rewarded if they had a chance to apply it in some other way. I was told many of those in the most troubled areas I saw were Sri Lankan refugees, presumably from the tsunami that hit there. But admittedly, my transportation rushed past those areas and I did not attempt to return to them. I had nothing to give to help in any substantial way. What I would have done was to take pictures and I couldn’t be that invasive.
What I did do was to have a few adventures:* Dined with 3 cute Englishmen who live here in a university town called "Pune" where they have 60 employees working for their software biz. They were actually staying at my hotel, which made me feel a bit better about it. One of them was running in the "marathon for peace" taking place the next day.* Was unable to go to my planned destination (Elephanta Island) due to crazy traffic caused by Marathon.* Went to the Swap Meet and escaped before became Minced Meat i.e. it didn't seem to be frequented by tourists – especially single female ones.* Walked down to see the Marathon by the sea but then became so tired and hungry and when it was impossible to get a cab to my restaurant of choice due to closed off streets, so I was treated to door-to-door service by some Policemen who drove me in their tank-like vehicle right to the front door of the place.
* Walked through a very poor neighborhood with gorgeous crumbling Portuguese buildings that reminded me of Havana but the kids were all smiling. When I looked up I saw why: they were all flying small, home-made kites that were practically blocking out the sky, there were so many of them.* Hooked up with some Turkish tourists who live in Germany when, after visiting the Gorgeous train station left over from the colonial days, I was accostedby so many beggars and hockers that I was afraid to stop to look at a map. I decided to pretend I was with these people until they simply took mein.The next morning I rose at 4 to get a 7am flight to Aurangabad to see some amazing cave temples dating back as far as 2nd century bc through 9-11th AD, according to some sources (there is some controversy over this).
Some of the caves feature ornate Jain, Hindu and Buddhist sculptures, others boast breathtaking wall paintings but visiting them was very strenuous and I was exhausted -- well-ready to return home. Nevertheless, I must note that, when I was visiting the temples, there were also a great many Tibetan Buddhists, Monks and others, visiting as well, and it was so interesting and humbling to watch them. I realized that I can never even hope to experience anything like they were feeling then and I felt very much like I shouldn't really be allowed to be there -- like I wasn't worthy -- not because of anything they said or did, but because of the sheer and utter worship and devotion they were demonstrating. I was also treated to an incredible few minutes, inside one of the most beautifully carved cave temples, listening to nothing but my guide's beautiful voice chanting in the most mellifluous way, like nothing I've ever heard before -- a sweet and smooth prayer that resonated so strongly that I could feel it in my bones. This could possibly be the most memorable moment of the trip.

But I soon was back in reality, at the airport fighting another unexpected "law" stating I had to pay many rupees for my extra piece of baggage. I had been pushed and prodded for a month and I just couldn't take it anymore so I actually completely lost it and it wasn't until the tears started running that they backed off and let it slide. Obviously, as I suspected, it really wasn't necessary -- just another case of squeezing money out of the seemingly rich tourist.

Again, they tried such tactics when I was checking baggage for my flight out of the country to Amsterdam and again I somehow got by without paying an extra $200. I had much thicker skin at this point.Here a few more of my observations about India and and the Indian people:

o They nod "yes" by shaking the head back and forth as if to say "I'm not really sure about that".o They often pretend to be listening but they're not so you'll get the opposite of what you've asked for.o A simple "Namaste" can make everything OK, bring a smile to anyone's lips and serves the double purpose of avoiding the shaking of hands – a trick very much appreciated by this germaphobe.o I am practically incapable of shopping here (and I am a professional shopper!). It's another challenge. You see incredible garments and jewelry on people but finding them is quite another thing. In the shops, the more you say “no” the more they take out and unfold things, creating more work for themselves. If you mention that aspect of it, they say it's their duty.o Digital photography is making children here smile but at the same time spoiling them: If you take their picture, they expect to see it and if they can't, theydon't understand why.o There are huge mansions next to grass shacks with cows living in front of them.o Much of the countryside is painted with bright yellow mustard flowers. Beautiful.o I saw a handsome groom upon a white steed on the way to his wedding, talking on his cell phone. Also on his cell phone was an older Muslim man in all his robed glory being ridden on an elongated rickshaw bicycle.o Every seemingly mundane moment in these people's lives looks like art to me and I want to capture them but it's impossible to stop so many times so I miss so much. Oops, there goes yet another beautifully dressed woman in front of a building of a contrasting color doing something interesting… It’s incredibly frustrating.
o The spiciness of the food came in varying degrees and worked in different ways. Some dishes seemed fine at first, but the spice would creep in and then hit HARD, others were super hot upon an initial touch of the tongue. Some started off slowly, then the spice creeped in and then it came back down again. Each taste was a new experience.o I have seen dead bodies carried by me followed by funeral processions and laying in tombs and/or mosques.o There are very few solo travelers here, at least those doing it at my level (in-between posh and cheap) but as I travel South, I am more-often invitedto dine with others. Up north, people were very stand offish and often wouldn't even return my "hello".o There are "Pizza Huts" here but there is not a single Starbucks!!!!!!
o Air conditioning is such a luxury here and they are very proud of it. In hotels, it’s “displayed” or “demonstrated” to such an extreme that it made my bones hurt and I had to beg them to turn it down.o People are wily with money here. They have special tricks to get it out of you.
o People here seem to see into your soul - they are so very kind to you when you really need it. They have looked at me and told me exactly what I am feeling. o The lights are crazy. Each room has so many switches and it takes me at least ½ hour to figure out what each one does. I sometimes have to pull the key out of the socket (turning off all electricity) to get to sleep, and am left stumbling for the bathroom all night when I need it since there's some lightI just can't seem to turn off. When shopping, they turn the lights on progressively while you walk through the store, giving it a bit of a spotlight effect but it's very efficient energy use and we’d be smart to adopt it here. During the course of the day, there are usually several mini black-outs.
o Many words I use at home are actually used in India: Sheesh (Sheesh Mahal is a place), Chum Chum and Jamba (both nicknames for my cat, Mischa and I have no idea what most of them mean or which language they are from but I heard them several times. Chum Chum is actually a dessert!o You are lucky to get a larger-than-twin bed. Normally they push twins together at best and they will still be made up separately.o Even the best hotels have holey sheets and they’re often stained as well.o The pillows are rock hard and thick and ridiculous.o At any moment, in a village, you may see a child taking a shit in the middle of the road. I see a man urinating at least 4 times a day.Note to germophobes like me: THINK TWICE before you decide to go to India. Each time I enter a temple, rather than walking in my bare feet (as shoes are not allowed) on bird shit, not to mention on all the other feet that have walked there, I put on socks. It seems so silly and I feel embarrassed about it but I can't bear the thought of touching those grimy surfaces so I simply ignore the stares of both the locals and other tourists who bravely (read: foolishly!) rip their shoes and socks off without giving it a second thought (and may they enjoy their fungi

And have I mentioned the money? Not just that it's disgustingly dirty (OK money is filthy wherever it’s from) but you just never know what sort of horrible atrocity you'll notice on the hand of the person who hands it to you – perhaps they have ½ a finger or a large sore. Sadly, it happens more often than not here. Once I arrived at the car in time to catch my driver finishing his urination onto the nearby fence, shaking himself off, zipping his pants, and then he turned and immediately put out that hand to shake mine. I had no choice but to “grin and bear it” as they say… Everyone wants to shake my hand and touch my camera. I clean my hands A LOT and no matter what, I just always feel very very dirty. I seriously don’t know what I would do without “Purell”! Thankfully, I brought tons of it.

Three more flights for returning home nearly did me in -- I thought I'd never make it. I was thrilled to see my friend waiting for me at the airport, to immediately eat Sushi at my favorite restaurant in Little Tokyo where they know me by name, and finally see my furry feline who screamed at me all night long, "how could you leave me for so long" and truly, I wonder, how could I?