My friends, the most unexpected thing happened to me today. With very little to do and a completely diminished interest in sightseeing, I opted to spend the day reading in one of Delhi's "gardens". Naturally, all the shady places were occupied by extended families and kinship groups, so I had to settle for a partially-shaded, sun-dappled bench by the main thoroughfare. Naturally, I was too distracted to read. Not long after I sat down, a guy dressed like a holy man--who turned out to be a holy man--sat down beside me. I have to admit: I did not want to talk to him. He had with him one of those little holy man baskets they all carry around, with the assorted paraphernalia of extortionate blessings. So I kept my head in my book ("Romance" by Barbara Fuchs), hoping he would ignore me. He didn't. But he didn't offer to sell me a blessing, either. It turned out that he spoke English perfectly (normally, the holy men are only able to say "money! money!") and just wanted to chat. It further turned out that he used to be a university professor--already an austere enough life, I reckon--before relinquishing his post to become an ascetic. At first, I totally didn't believe any of this and kept waiting for the scam to kick in. But he never brought up the subject of money, except to say that he only begs from Indians, because he doesn't think foreigners should give money to holy men if they aren't Hindu or Indian themselves. To be honest, this only made me more suspicious, but that was the last any mention of it was made. Really, the conversation was quite interesting, one of the most interesting I've had for as long as I can remember. We talked about academic life, India, the meaning of it all--the usual sorts of things you might expect. We talked for so long, we eventually got a chance to move into the shade when space opened up. I think he appreciated the opportunity either to talk to a foreigner or to speak English or maybe just to have a sophisticated conversation with anyone who didn't dismiss (or revere) him as just another holy man. In fact, he went to great lengths to downplay his "holy man" status, and eventually I felt like I could have been talking to anyone. Then he did the most unexpected thing: he invited me to join him, if only for awhile, in his nomadic holy man life. Of course, I was taken aback by this, and my mind was already coming up with excuses when I suddenly blurted out, "Yes!" I did start hemming and hawing a bit, but he was extremely reassuring about all of my reservations. Above all, I have an extremely good feeling about him, and I've come to trust my instinct more and more lately (poor judgment on overnight buses notwithstanding). I don't actually know what this means, how it will work, or what he expects me to wear (not gold and saffron rags, I hope), but I decided it's an opportunity I shouldn't pass up. I have plenty of time left before I'm supposed to be home--if I even decide to come home--and I've always been fascinated by asceticism, the itinerant, and holy monk vow of poverty guys. He's even given me a "spiritual" name already: Satrang, which means "rainbow" (it rained this morning in Delhi, and we both remembered seeing a rainbow in the sky, hence...). Unfortunately, my friends, if I'm going to do this, it means cutting myself off from my usual comforts of life. I want this experience to be as real and meaningful as possible, since I may never get another chance, and that means trying hard--and it will be especially hard for me--not to be a hypocrite about it, like all the smoking, drinking, drug-abusing, scumbag backpacker hippies I'm currently surrounded by. So this will be my final blog entry. Thank you all so much for following me in spirit on my adventures, and I do hope we meet again, someday, in real life. Pray for me, my friends. I will surely be doing the same for you.
In peace and love,
Satrang
01 April 2008
30 March 2008
Everything I ever wanted to know about sex, and I'm not afraid to ask.
I am curious about the gender demographics of my readership. I don't know why; but please tell me which of the following two categories best describes you: female, male. I have added a new poll for this purpose. If you are one of my transsexual, transgendered, or hermaphrodite friends, sorry, I didn't know I had any!
Old Delhi
Yesterday, I went to New Delhi. Today, I visited Old Delhi. Makes sense, right?
Unfortunately, I can't really make my day sound interesting. I walked into Old Delhi from the New Delhi train station (which is located, strangely, in Old Delhi). My first stop was Raj Ghat, where Gandhi was cremated, thus bringing to an appropriate closure my Gandhi-related sightseeing. I then walked further on to the site of Jawaharlal Nehru's pyre. In the movie, he's Gandhi's friend with the hat. Later, he becomes the first prime minister, and his family, which he renames Gandhi (?), continues to rule India raj-like until, basically, now. Just about all of them were assassinated and have memorials along the river, but it was hot today so I didn't visit them all. After this, I went to the Jama Masjid, India's largest mosque. To my delight, I was able to ascend to the top of one of the minarets for a view of the city. People, Delhi is really, really big! I think the population is 16 godzillion. It was all concrete chaos to the horizon. Strangely beautiful in a way. In a way. Next up was the obligatory Red Fort, which I also felt let down by (given that tickets, as at Purana Qila, cost 100 Rs. for foreigners). I have decided that most of these monuments are less for historical interest than they are giant, well-maintained parks for Indian families and young lovers to escape to, given the dearth of green spaces in the cities here and since Indians only have to pay 10 Rs. (a quarter) to get in. So people-watching opportunities abound, but personally I'd rather not pay $2.50 a pop for them. I left the Red Fort to wander around the market area outside, and when that got old (quickly), I took the amazingly modern and lovely metro back down to Connaught Place so I could sit in Barista's and read. Which I did. That's it! Not exactly the stuff of epic-romance. I'll try and up the body count tomorrow (snap! double-entendre!).
Unfortunately, I can't really make my day sound interesting. I walked into Old Delhi from the New Delhi train station (which is located, strangely, in Old Delhi). My first stop was Raj Ghat, where Gandhi was cremated, thus bringing to an appropriate closure my Gandhi-related sightseeing. I then walked further on to the site of Jawaharlal Nehru's pyre. In the movie, he's Gandhi's friend with the hat. Later, he becomes the first prime minister, and his family, which he renames Gandhi (?), continues to rule India raj-like until, basically, now. Just about all of them were assassinated and have memorials along the river, but it was hot today so I didn't visit them all. After this, I went to the Jama Masjid, India's largest mosque. To my delight, I was able to ascend to the top of one of the minarets for a view of the city. People, Delhi is really, really big! I think the population is 16 godzillion. It was all concrete chaos to the horizon. Strangely beautiful in a way. In a way. Next up was the obligatory Red Fort, which I also felt let down by (given that tickets, as at Purana Qila, cost 100 Rs. for foreigners). I have decided that most of these monuments are less for historical interest than they are giant, well-maintained parks for Indian families and young lovers to escape to, given the dearth of green spaces in the cities here and since Indians only have to pay 10 Rs. (a quarter) to get in. So people-watching opportunities abound, but personally I'd rather not pay $2.50 a pop for them. I left the Red Fort to wander around the market area outside, and when that got old (quickly), I took the amazingly modern and lovely metro back down to Connaught Place so I could sit in Barista's and read. Which I did. That's it! Not exactly the stuff of epic-romance. I'll try and up the body count tomorrow (snap! double-entendre!).
29 March 2008
I promise not to pun on the word "Delhi"
The day after visiting the Taj Mahal THE MOST BEAUTIFUL MONUMENT TO LOVE EVER BUILT (and the only one, to my knowledge) I took a bus from Agra over to the UNESCO site of Fatehpur Sikri. I went because I could not resist the description "Mughal ghost town". I went because I had nothing else to do that day. I went because Kajori told me to, and Kajori will not be denied.
Fatehpur Sikri was built to be Akbar (Ahkbar? Akbhar? Ahkbhar?) the Great's personal capital city in the 16th century. Like most private capital ventures of this sort, however, it failed for lack of long-term planning (that is, for lack of available water sources). Strategically located--wait for it--on a hill, the red sandstone city lords it over the modern SLT of Fatehpur Sikri below, where tour guides mate and breed. I was quite stunned by the state of the city's preservation--quite good! The main mosque is ginormous, its entrance "Arch of Victory" possibly the largest arch of victory in Asia (and therefore the world? Europe, hello?). In the city itself, one cannot help feeling it was a pity the site didn't last, given the exquisiteness of the decorative carvings on many of the structures and the intriguing architectural styles employed throughout. I was intrigued. One lone guard tower is studded with elephant tusks.
I only stuck around FS for a few hours, because I had a train to catch to Delhi, a train I barely made. You see, I had arranged with a rickshaw driver to take me to a bunch of shops around Agra. The deal was, each shop would pay him 100 Rs. just for bringing me there to browse, and he would split that with me. I learned of this neat little scam from the Swiss guy I met in Hampi, I think. Unfortunately, I didn't get back to Agra in time for the execution, so I'm going to have to work it again here in Delhi, where I am now (in time, but not in the course of this narrative--hang on). Anyway, when I got to the train station, I met a French girl going to the same place. We had adjacent seats, so we chatted. She's studying Arabic in Cairo. We were also seated with two Chinese girls studying Hindi in Agra. What am I studying? English, in America! Anyway, the French girl was cool and is the first French person I've met who laughs at jokes and even my bad French accent, which I adopted for her amusement for the rest of the trip. An Indian guy joined us partway through the trip and ended up inviting me to visit him in Amritsar even though the first thing I said to him when he introduced himself was "Please don't ask me 20 questions!"
Upon reaching Delhi, I found a cheap dormitory by following the Japanese. That is, I looked for a hotel with a name rendered in katakana, where I knew I'd find a low price and reliable dormmates. And I did! A ten bed dorm with one Japanese guy and no other people (and a hot shower! my first in India! even though I don't need it!) for only 150 Rs. a night. Score! Everything in India closes at like 10 pm, annoyingly, so it was difficult for me to find a place to drink with the French girl. But she was flying back to Cairo the next morning--spending the entire night at the airport--so it seemed proper to get her drunk to make things go more smoothly. At last, I found an SLR that was willing to illegally sell us bottles of beer wrapped in plastic bags. Cool.
The next day, I decided to check out New Delhi. I'm an idiot, you see, and didn't even realize I'd be arriving here at the beginning of the weekend, so now I have to wait until Monday for the Syrian embassy to open. But I'll make the most of it. Everyone I've met has told me that Delhi is smelly, but so far, I think it's really an OK place. The seedy neighborhood where I'm staying is dirty and crowded as hell, but it's more (God forgive me for using this word) authentic than sucky Thamel in Kathmandu. Thamel sucks! And New Delhi is lovely enough, built at the inhuman scale of most planned capitals (except Fatehpur Sikri), but not unwalkable (ahem, for me). Kajori, I walked from Main Bazaar near the New Delhi train station to Connaught Place, then down to the Parliament area, further along to the Gandhi memorial, and then from there to India Gate and finally to the definitely-not-worth-100 Rs. Purana Qila fortress. In Crocs! Please tell these people how awesome I am for doing that. They'll never understand.
En route, I bought a copy of the Lonely Planet guide to Mediterranean Europe at the truly fab Oxford Bookstore. Luckily, the store had a toilet, because I had to run to it after looking up the prices I should expect once I *get* to Mediterranean Europe.
The Gandhi memorial deserves explication at greater length. In Hindi, it's called the Gandhi Smriti. "Smriti" reminds me of "smrt", my favorite Czech word, which means death. This is strangely appropriate since the memorial is located at the site where Ben Kingsley was assassinated. Lame Richard Attenborough jokes aside, the memorial and accompanying exhibit is one of the most top quality monuments I've ever seen. The rooms Gandhi occupied during his last 144 days are perfectly preserved. Adjoining them are several long corridors of beautifully done (if loooooong) photo-accompanied narrative of Gandhi's life, accomplishments, final days, and legacy. Upstairs is a remarkable multimedia exhibition that allows you to do such things as imitate Gandhi's seating postures, checking yourself against the real thing; light up a "tower of castelessness" by joining hands with people; and experience what salt feels like (or something). No, really, this thing has high production values. I would have loved it when I was a kid or if I were drunk. Someday, I'll take all seven of *my* kids to see it. It's really cool! Finally, outside, a paved path, complete with raised concrete footprints, follows the route Gandhi took on the day of his martyrdom, ending at a modest stone pillar. The guards yelled at me when I tried to touch it. I was genuinely moved and impressed by the Gandhi Smriti and spent quite a long time there, enjoying its informativeness and historic resonance as well as its beauty and serenity. When I learned that this whole affair is run by the government, I had to run to the toilet *again*!
My feet were sore by the time I got to Purana Qila, which is not worthy of explication, so I got an autorickshaw back to Connaught Place, the double-circus of high-end boutiques and cafes in the north part of New Delhi. I asked the driver to bring me to the subway. Next to the subway, to my delight, was a Subway! I immediately went in and ordered a 6" veggie pattie on hearty italian. I picked out an Israeli couple and sat down with them for a nice chat. We're going to meet later for beers. In fact, I'm running late, so I'd better finish up. Don't you think this is too much detail?
Fatehpur Sikri was built to be Akbar (Ahkbar? Akbhar? Ahkbhar?) the Great's personal capital city in the 16th century. Like most private capital ventures of this sort, however, it failed for lack of long-term planning (that is, for lack of available water sources). Strategically located--wait for it--on a hill, the red sandstone city lords it over the modern SLT of Fatehpur Sikri below, where tour guides mate and breed. I was quite stunned by the state of the city's preservation--quite good! The main mosque is ginormous, its entrance "Arch of Victory" possibly the largest arch of victory in Asia (and therefore the world? Europe, hello?). In the city itself, one cannot help feeling it was a pity the site didn't last, given the exquisiteness of the decorative carvings on many of the structures and the intriguing architectural styles employed throughout. I was intrigued. One lone guard tower is studded with elephant tusks.
I only stuck around FS for a few hours, because I had a train to catch to Delhi, a train I barely made. You see, I had arranged with a rickshaw driver to take me to a bunch of shops around Agra. The deal was, each shop would pay him 100 Rs. just for bringing me there to browse, and he would split that with me. I learned of this neat little scam from the Swiss guy I met in Hampi, I think. Unfortunately, I didn't get back to Agra in time for the execution, so I'm going to have to work it again here in Delhi, where I am now (in time, but not in the course of this narrative--hang on). Anyway, when I got to the train station, I met a French girl going to the same place. We had adjacent seats, so we chatted. She's studying Arabic in Cairo. We were also seated with two Chinese girls studying Hindi in Agra. What am I studying? English, in America! Anyway, the French girl was cool and is the first French person I've met who laughs at jokes and even my bad French accent, which I adopted for her amusement for the rest of the trip. An Indian guy joined us partway through the trip and ended up inviting me to visit him in Amritsar even though the first thing I said to him when he introduced himself was "Please don't ask me 20 questions!"
Upon reaching Delhi, I found a cheap dormitory by following the Japanese. That is, I looked for a hotel with a name rendered in katakana, where I knew I'd find a low price and reliable dormmates. And I did! A ten bed dorm with one Japanese guy and no other people (and a hot shower! my first in India! even though I don't need it!) for only 150 Rs. a night. Score! Everything in India closes at like 10 pm, annoyingly, so it was difficult for me to find a place to drink with the French girl. But she was flying back to Cairo the next morning--spending the entire night at the airport--so it seemed proper to get her drunk to make things go more smoothly. At last, I found an SLR that was willing to illegally sell us bottles of beer wrapped in plastic bags. Cool.
The next day, I decided to check out New Delhi. I'm an idiot, you see, and didn't even realize I'd be arriving here at the beginning of the weekend, so now I have to wait until Monday for the Syrian embassy to open. But I'll make the most of it. Everyone I've met has told me that Delhi is smelly, but so far, I think it's really an OK place. The seedy neighborhood where I'm staying is dirty and crowded as hell, but it's more (God forgive me for using this word) authentic than sucky Thamel in Kathmandu. Thamel sucks! And New Delhi is lovely enough, built at the inhuman scale of most planned capitals (except Fatehpur Sikri), but not unwalkable (ahem, for me). Kajori, I walked from Main Bazaar near the New Delhi train station to Connaught Place, then down to the Parliament area, further along to the Gandhi memorial, and then from there to India Gate and finally to the definitely-not-worth-100 Rs. Purana Qila fortress. In Crocs! Please tell these people how awesome I am for doing that. They'll never understand.
En route, I bought a copy of the Lonely Planet guide to Mediterranean Europe at the truly fab Oxford Bookstore. Luckily, the store had a toilet, because I had to run to it after looking up the prices I should expect once I *get* to Mediterranean Europe.
The Gandhi memorial deserves explication at greater length. In Hindi, it's called the Gandhi Smriti. "Smriti" reminds me of "smrt", my favorite Czech word, which means death. This is strangely appropriate since the memorial is located at the site where Ben Kingsley was assassinated. Lame Richard Attenborough jokes aside, the memorial and accompanying exhibit is one of the most top quality monuments I've ever seen. The rooms Gandhi occupied during his last 144 days are perfectly preserved. Adjoining them are several long corridors of beautifully done (if loooooong) photo-accompanied narrative of Gandhi's life, accomplishments, final days, and legacy. Upstairs is a remarkable multimedia exhibition that allows you to do such things as imitate Gandhi's seating postures, checking yourself against the real thing; light up a "tower of castelessness" by joining hands with people; and experience what salt feels like (or something). No, really, this thing has high production values. I would have loved it when I was a kid or if I were drunk. Someday, I'll take all seven of *my* kids to see it. It's really cool! Finally, outside, a paved path, complete with raised concrete footprints, follows the route Gandhi took on the day of his martyrdom, ending at a modest stone pillar. The guards yelled at me when I tried to touch it. I was genuinely moved and impressed by the Gandhi Smriti and spent quite a long time there, enjoying its informativeness and historic resonance as well as its beauty and serenity. When I learned that this whole affair is run by the government, I had to run to the toilet *again*!
My feet were sore by the time I got to Purana Qila, which is not worthy of explication, so I got an autorickshaw back to Connaught Place, the double-circus of high-end boutiques and cafes in the north part of New Delhi. I asked the driver to bring me to the subway. Next to the subway, to my delight, was a Subway! I immediately went in and ordered a 6" veggie pattie on hearty italian. I picked out an Israeli couple and sat down with them for a nice chat. We're going to meet later for beers. In fact, I'm running late, so I'd better finish up. Don't you think this is too much detail?
27 March 2008
I am New7Wondersful!!!!!!!
Hey chumps, I just realized that as of today, I (unlike you) have seen all the "new" seven wonders of the world, which are:
Angkor Wat*
Chichen Itza
Colosseum
Great Wall of China
Maccu Picchu
Petra
Taj Mahal
So allow me to take this opportunity, unusual for me, humble guy that I am, to BOAST!
BOAST!
There. Thank you. Sorry, my friends. You aren't really chumps. Bye.
*Angkor Wat is not actually an official wonder. Neither are the Pyramids, as you can see. But I've seen them both, and they certainly kick Christ Redeemer's ass. I do not acknowledge that so-called "wonder" (more like.. plunder!). For what it's worth, I saw a bigger one in Cochabamba anyway.
Angkor Wat*
Chichen Itza
Colosseum
Great Wall of China
Maccu Picchu
Petra
Taj Mahal
So allow me to take this opportunity, unusual for me, humble guy that I am, to BOAST!
BOAST!
There. Thank you. Sorry, my friends. You aren't really chumps. Bye.
*Angkor Wat is not actually an official wonder. Neither are the Pyramids, as you can see. But I've seen them both, and they certainly kick Christ Redeemer's ass. I do not acknowledge that so-called "wonder" (more like.. plunder!). For what it's worth, I saw a bigger one in Cochabamba anyway.
Wow wow wow part 2
My initial reaction seemed to need a post of its own, so as to convey the acuteness of the feeling. It isn't often anymore that I have an awe-gasm when I see something supposedly "amazing." I had one when I saw the Potala Palace in Lhasa. Choquequirao, Peru qualified. I think I had two at Yosemite. And today I had one when first I saw the Taj, which we've all seen a million times, and those million times prepare you for the real thing NOT AT ALL.
I think it's appropriate that many tourists have their photo taken with their arm raised and fingers pinched above the Taj, so they will appear to be dangling it like an ornament. It *is* an ornament! But is it really an ornament of love? Mumtaz was dead, Mr. Jahan, and it could only have served your own ego to build such a thing, and it is only poetic justice that you were imprisoned at the end of your life, only able to gaze at it from afar (and not do much else). What I realized when being blinded by this miracle of marble--honestly, I couldn't look straight at it--was that it might be India's last great monument. Wasn't it built at the zenith of Mughal civilization, the last great Indian suzerainty? Didn't the Mughal empire start to fall apart shortly thereafter, only to be conquered by the British, who stuck arguably fetching statues of Victoria everywhere? Doesn't it always happen this way?
But forget all that Jared Diamond nonsense. The thing is spectacular in ways I can't describe after a beer, and it was worth paying $18 to get in--oh wait, they made a mistake and only charged me $6. Still worth it! And they give foreign tourists a free bottle of water so we don't dehydrate and die in the vast gardens out front--good thing, because I passed more than one Indian (I counted three, actually) taking a piss in them. Real nice, guys! India's most important monument and one of the most famous in the world--your own national heritage of which you should be proud--and you piss all over it! I think they worked there on the restoration team. I yelled at two of them and even tried to embarrass one. Didn't work. So I just told the police and assume nothing will be done. Sigh.
So the Taj. How to describe. Google "Taj Mahal" and see for yourself. See how lazy I am getting with this blog thing? Didn't my posts used to employ extravagant verbosity and literary flair--at moments? OK, it's like a giant wedding cake with lots of yummy frosting and highly detailed colored icing piped on by a pro (and a Muslim pro at that). I sat on a bench for two hours staring at it, eating it in my imagination. Then I left and ate real food, Indian food, which in India they call Indian food. Seriously!
Oh yeah, I also saw Agra Fort.
I think it's appropriate that many tourists have their photo taken with their arm raised and fingers pinched above the Taj, so they will appear to be dangling it like an ornament. It *is* an ornament! But is it really an ornament of love? Mumtaz was dead, Mr. Jahan, and it could only have served your own ego to build such a thing, and it is only poetic justice that you were imprisoned at the end of your life, only able to gaze at it from afar (and not do much else). What I realized when being blinded by this miracle of marble--honestly, I couldn't look straight at it--was that it might be India's last great monument. Wasn't it built at the zenith of Mughal civilization, the last great Indian suzerainty? Didn't the Mughal empire start to fall apart shortly thereafter, only to be conquered by the British, who stuck arguably fetching statues of Victoria everywhere? Doesn't it always happen this way?
But forget all that Jared Diamond nonsense. The thing is spectacular in ways I can't describe after a beer, and it was worth paying $18 to get in--oh wait, they made a mistake and only charged me $6. Still worth it! And they give foreign tourists a free bottle of water so we don't dehydrate and die in the vast gardens out front--good thing, because I passed more than one Indian (I counted three, actually) taking a piss in them. Real nice, guys! India's most important monument and one of the most famous in the world--your own national heritage of which you should be proud--and you piss all over it! I think they worked there on the restoration team. I yelled at two of them and even tried to embarrass one. Didn't work. So I just told the police and assume nothing will be done. Sigh.
So the Taj. How to describe. Google "Taj Mahal" and see for yourself. See how lazy I am getting with this blog thing? Didn't my posts used to employ extravagant verbosity and literary flair--at moments? OK, it's like a giant wedding cake with lots of yummy frosting and highly detailed colored icing piped on by a pro (and a Muslim pro at that). I sat on a bench for two hours staring at it, eating it in my imagination. Then I left and ate real food, Indian food, which in India they call Indian food. Seriously!
Oh yeah, I also saw Agra Fort.
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