Sick, but safely back in Singapore

I am home.

At least, the closest approximation I have to a home.  Part of me still longs for a bit of stability; a house of my own, a family, a place I feel like I belong.  I'll take care of that part of myself later, though, because there's still a lot to do and see before I set my roots down somewhere.

Anyway, physically I'm feeling every so slightly better when I get off the plane.  I woke up a few minutes before we landed and felt bad when the stewardess came by to take away the entire tray of food I couldn't bring myself to touch.  I had really thought I was feeling well enough to eat it until it was in front of me and I caught the smell of the food.  I lost my hunger immediately, and I willed myself back to sleep as a defense against throwing up again.  I'm sure I seriously confused my neighbor, but I really didn't care that much as my chief concern was keeping the contents of my stomach in the right place.

Emotionally, though, I'm a mess.  Walking through the airport SUCKS.  Not because of my stomach, but rather because of the music.  Christmas carols: Nat King Cole, Frank Sinatra, the Charlie Brown song, ooohhhh....all the songs that remind me the holidays back home.  Of course I start to think about my family and what they'll be doing on Christmas Eve.  The emotional rush of my trip is still with me and I just want someone here to take care of me while I'm sick and alone for the holidays.  I'm not ashamed to admit that I miss my mom and my dog and snow and wrapping up in a blanket by the Christmas tree and big family dinners...

Oh dear god.  I'm crying again.   Perfect.  It only makes it worse that I can't even call home because I've managed to lose my Singaporean sim card.  Oh screw it.  I'm too weak to fight, so I struggle under my ridiculously heavy bags and hobble down the terminal towards the train station, blubbering and snotty.  Every now and then I have to stop, though, as a wave of nausea washes from my stomach to my head and back down again.  I'm sure I must look like a 'suspicious person or article' that Singaporeans are constantly reminded to be wary of, but I don't care.  Just get me HOME!.

Ultimately, I give up on the train and decide to shell out for a taxi.  I head out into a full-on monsoon and throw my gear and myself into the first cab that I can.  It's official: this is the most comfortable cab that has ever existed.  I sink back into the seat and turn my mind off.  It helps that the driver is playing Chinese music and that the sheets of rain pouring down the window are obscuring everything outside.  It's a veil of sheer exhaustion that I'm more than happy to hide behind.

It's hard to snap out of it, though, and when my cab driver misses the normal turn to get to my condo I fumble a minute before telling him just to drop me off at the MRT station that's a short walk from my condo.  Normally, it would take me five minutes to get home; what I've failed to remember, though, is that I left my gate pass, which lets me in the gate nearest my building, in my room so I wouldn't lose it on my trip.  This means I have to walk under the train tracks an extra five minutes to get to the main gate of the compound then turn in and walk a little further along to my building.  Any other day of the year this would have been only a tiny inconvenience, even in the rain.  This is not any other day of the year.

I'm sick, my bags weigh a ton, I'm highly emotional, it's a monsoon...basically, this turns into one of the longest walks of my life.  I stop four times to rest and cry before I arrive outside my condo sweating through two layers of clothes.  I am a hot mess...but I am home.  Fortunately, though, no one else is, so I drop my pack next to the couch, fall onto--and practically through--it, and sleep for five hours. When I wake up mid-afternoon I'm still the only one here, so I just lay back down on the couch and go to sleep.

This cycle repeats (I guess my roommates are out for the holiday) a couple times throughout the day, and despite the fact that I eventually move to my room to sleep, continues basically uninterrupted for the next few days.  I would continue to feel sick for about 3-4 days and I'd guess I only ate a few hundred calories per day, which only added to the fairly significant amount of weight I lost on my holiday.  I came back quite lean and with a nice set of core muscles, at least compared to what I had when I left, but I'm sure a few weeks of ridiculously unhealthy Singaporean food will take care of that.

In any case, it's several days before I can really think about what I put myself through this past month.  I'm incredibly proud of myself for making it through alone and with all of my belongings still in my possession.  Thanks to the objectivity of time, I can tell you that I absolutely had an incredible time.  It wasn't relaxing in any possible definition of the word, but it was challenging, eye-opening, reassuring, difficult, exhausting, thrilling, colorful, dangerous, exciting, and a million other good things.  I learned a lot about what I'm comfortable with, what I'm capable of, what role I want religion to play in my life, what bad habits I have left to deal with (like judging people, pushing myself too hard and too fast, spending money to money to make myself feel better, etc.), what good traits I'm developing (self-reliance, patience, flexibility, an eye for details), how to take care of myself, how to meet new people and put myself in new situations...

For as quickly as it went by, I think I'll look back on this trip as one of the defining moments of my life.  It won't be the last trip I take like this (I intend to take longer ones to several countries), but it was the first and the lessons I learned about myself are invaluable.  When it comes down to it, yes, I would have preferred to have traveled with someone.  But on the other hand, when it comes down to it, yes, I can take care of myself and find enjoyment while traveling alone.  I'll probably be solo next time, too, but it doesn't bother me anymore.  I'm ready for the next trip, the next challenge, the next country, the next chapter.

I'm ready for whatever's going to come next.

Nothing clears up a cold faster than being around 2 cute boys

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All right!!  It’s 8am and I’m up, at ‘em and eager to get out of the hostel.  Apparently that label-less cocktail of drugs cleared out my system very well because my headache and fever are gone, there’s a hell of a lot less pressure in my sinuses and I can walk up the stairs to the front desk without wheezing or stopping!  Today I will be the queen of small victories if I can feel good enough to make it from the dorm up to the restaurant, from the hostel to the touk-touk, from the touk-touk to the fort, from room to room in the fort into another touk-touk, a restaurant, and back to the hostel.

I don’t think I’m going to take any more of those pills, though, because quite honestly it scares me that there’s no brand or label on the packet and because I was tripping balls by the end of last night but without the pleasant feelings that normally go with it.  Just to illustrate how bad I thought it had gotten, I sincerely thought I hallucinated the guy who moved into the dorm while Marco and I were at dinner last night until I woke up and he was sitting on his bed stroking his long, wiry beard, staring at the wall and rocking gently back and forth.  Now, while I’m glad I wasn’t off-my-rocker high last night, part of me wishes I had dreamed up someone this bizarre.  This guy was two feet away from me the whole night while I slept…

When I run upstairs (I can run again!) to ask about laundry services, I find a definitely un-creepy guy: Marc!  Perefct!  And he’s already had an interesting morning himself: the train arrived at 4am, at which point he came to my hostel and asked to stay in the dorm; they said it was full (blatant lie, by the way, there are 2 empty beds down there); he went to the other hostel I had considered; also told it was full; has the touk-touk take him to a random hotel then argues down the exorbitant, couple hundred rupee bill demanded by the driver.  I’m not surprised that he’s finished his breakfast by the time I get dressed and get up to the café; ridiculous Indians make me surprisingly hungry, too.  I guess my stomach knows getting some of their good food in me will automatically make me willing to deal with them for another couple of hours.

I introduce Marc and Marco, who almost immediately alienate me from the conversation by talking about cricket, living in London, traveling for long periods of time and countries they’ve been to but I haven’t.  Thanks, guys.  But no worries, I’m having loads of fun drinking the worst coffee I’ve ever tasted and picking onions out of my tomato omelet (where the hell did those come from?).  Although to be honest, I’m pretty content to listen to them talk because their accents are easy on the ears.  Marco’s got a very smooth, polished, well-bred English accent that makes me picture the rolling hills of the British countryside.  Marc’s voice, on the other hand, is more of a drawl that’s bright but a little rough and brings to mind sunny weather and beers on the beach.  I may or may not smile into my omelet every now and then when one of them says something in a way that’s particularly, albeit inadvertently, sexy.  Eventually, I force us all to bring our attention back to the guide book and we discuss the short list of sights.

We decide to head to Mehrangarh fort, Jodhpur’s finest attraction.  We cram into a small touk-touk, in which the driver somehow found the room to stuff decorative chrome, pleather, stickers and dashboard ornaments.  Our little car struggles with, but eventually takes us up, the 400 foot hill that the fort sits on, overlooking the Blue City.  Three hundred rupees is a pretty steep entry price, but the fort is huge and the views of the city alone might be worth it.  As we listen to the audio-guide and wander from room to room, I casually bounce back and forth between Marc and Marco, enjoying hearing how their reactions to things are similar or different.  The colors of Rajasthan are of course on display in every room, as is the wealth of the Marwar line: gigantic elephant howdahs (seats); gold and silk palanquins (shoulder carriages); knives, swords, rifles and daggers; throne rooms; miniature, hand-painted masterpieces of art; ornately painted courtyards; jewelry and heavily embroidered silk saris and turbans.  I doubt the bats sleeping on the ceiling of one of the stairwells are antiques, though.

When we leave the museum and walk further up to the walls of the fort, we’re rewarded with incredible panoramic views of the blue-washed buildings that lay hundreds of feet below us.  Far off in the distance, barely visible in and tantalizingly hidden by the ever-present smog, sits the gigantic palace I intend to visit tomorrow.  Further along the wall, past the cannons, sits a white temple with lines of colorful flags blowing in the wind.  Despite the idyllic situation of this rather small temple, Chamunda Devi has a bloody history: last year 250 people were killed and 400 more injured when worshippers, during a Hindu festival, stampeded into the temple when it opened.  The scary thing is that I can picture this happening; rides on trains and buses as well as visits to temples and stores have shown me that Indian people enter and exit almost everywhere the same way: through force.

At this point I think we’ve seen every part of the fort we can possibly see, from the cannonball dents that Marc doesn’t quite believe are all from cannonballs to the throne they use to crown each maharaja (the current lord was crowned at the age of 4 on the death of his father).  We take a short walk down the hill towards town to see Jaswant Thada, the memorial to maharaja Jaswant.  This large, white marble cenotaph has a good view of the city and fort, but, after 3 weeks of seeing so many similar structures, is just another white marble cenotaph and I can’t be bothered to take my shoes off to see inside.  Besides, the grass under the shade of a tree is calling me to sit and rest and stop pretending that I’m not getting tired from all of the walking.  Soon enough Marc confesses he’s tired, too, so we go get veg thalis for lunch.  These are basically sampler platters: a large silver tray with naan/roti/parantha in the middle surrounded by several little cups of different foods.  I chose dhal, veg curry, boondi raita, jeera rice and a few other veg mixes I can’t remember the names of anymore.  Not the greatest I’ve had, it tasted like cheap ingredients, but the dessert was like an Indian take on a donut and not bad despite being served sitting in sugary water.

The boys have errands to run so I’m going to take a nap at the hostel then get back online.  I sleep well for a couple of hours –actually a good hour longer than I intended—but have trouble finishing what I wanted to do online.  It takes me an incredibly long to type up a blog post for a day, sometimes 2 or 3 hours!  When I started to feel sick about a week ago I got off-track and didn’t have the energy to put down what had happened for several days.  I have spent all of my spare time yesterday and today making up for it, but I’m finally finished.  And what’s even cooler is that I was able to upload a photo album for my Delhi shots onto Facebook!  I’m not sure why, but it really feels incredible to know that I’ve finally been able to share SOMETHING from my trip.

But all too soon I’m out of time for the internet, again.  Marc has bumped into a couple of girls he knows from home (how that happens in India is beyond me) so Marco and I are going out to dinner by ourselves.  The restaurant is on the roof of a very nice haveli that has been turned into a hotel.  Marco, all class, is impressed by the large brass knockers on each door and decides to try one out before dashing up the stairs.  Very mature.  But he manages to keep a lid on his inner ten-year-old and we have a nice candle-lit dinner looking up at the fort—oddly not lit up—and Jaswant Thada, glowing an incredibly bright white from the floodlights around it.  I decide to try a lemon honey lassi (the real chunks of curd made it like drinking very watery, thin, sweet cottage cheese, in a good way) and govind gatta.  This is the dish that kicked my ass when I had dinner at Ambrai with Marc in Udaipur, but I’ve made them promise to keep it mild so I can actually taste it this time.  And despite my suspicions that it was better at Ambrai, it’s quite nice, as is the company at dinner and on the slow walk home.  Marco likes to tease, but I can give as good as I get and at least he leaves mocking my accent to my other favorite Brit, Bhavesh.

I’m sorry Marc and Marco are leaving me tomorrow; these guys have been a buoy of normalcy for me as well as amazing company these last few days.  It’s tough to know when you meet someone whether you’ll still be able to stand them hours later and I’m really glad we seem to get along so well.  Although, I guess I should have expected it because over the whole trip I’ve been pleasantly surprised to find that 99% of the people I’ve met have just been incredibly cool.  If you think about it, though, most people traveling the world alone and on the cheap probably have similar interests and personalities and thus would make good friends.  Shared traits of the poor world traveler: can stand a certain amount of physical and mental discomfort; like to try new things; extroverted and adventurous; have a solid sense of humor and a lot of common sense; laid-back, level-headed and flexible; can always find something to entertain themselves; curious about the people and things around them.  Does this sound like you?  Then you would probably do fine traveling the 2nd and 3rd world alone.

And alone is definitely what I will be tomorrow, but that’s okay, I’ve got work to do.  I’m going to update my blog and finally ADD PHOTOS!  I’m excited to share the images I’ve been capturing so that people will finally be able to see exactly what I’m talking about in my posts.  Any skill you see, though, is due to my kick-ass camera, not any skill of my own.  Hopefully you can enjoy them, anyway.  Signing off from Jodhpur.  G’night.

Who spent only $25 and got a ton of new clothes today? This girl

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Since this is my last day, I’ve talked Bhav into checking out the restaurant my guidebook most highly recommended, Devraj Coffee Corner. We’re going for a proper breakfast and to enjoy the view out over the river as we eat (we really can’t get enough of the Ganges). We’re very nearly knocked over when we leave the dorms, though, because the mother of all winds has is blowing angrily and chillingly through the valley. I’m fighting great bouts of panic as we walk across the footbridges that are now bouncing slightly. If you’ve seen the video of the oscillating bridge that collapsed in Minnesota, you’ll know what I am thinking about.

Devraj looks like everything Lonely Planet promised. Fresh-baked goodies in the case (Nutella croissant for me and jam croissant for Bhav), piping hot chai, homemade brown bread served in thick slices with yak cheese (DELICIOUS) and toasted under the broiler, porridge with honey…there is absolutely no way I’m going to lose weight in India if I spend much longer in Rishikesh. We’re both in a much better mood this morning, but even if we weren’t there is no way to stay unhappy with all of this delicious food in front of us.

After we’ve feasted the day is still quite young so I order a cup of coffee (Real! Not instant!) and Bhavesh and I talk about what we’ve learned here in India. So I present to you now, in no particular order and with the last 5 added solely by myself, the ten lessons India has taught us:

1. Rupees go a long friggin’ way. Our breakfast today was a little over $4 total.
2. Not everyone dressed as a guru IS a guru (see post from 4 days ago)
3. There’s nothing wrong with chillaxing and gathering your thoughts in the Himalayas for a while sometimes.
4. A blog is an awesome way to release thought-traffic.
5. Bhavesh is a poser and totally annoying when he makes fun of my accent. 
6. You don’t really need that much to be happy and live a good life.
7. Always make friends with the locals, or at least a good look-alike.
8. There’s a fine line between negotiations and getting taken advantage of.
9. A lifelong friendship can start with the most innocuous of sentences.
10. You can be subconsciously spiritual without practicing a religion.
11. This country is colder and less mosquito-y than expected this time of year.
12. Trust is a very valuable commodity.
13. Little white lies may be expedient, but they don’t feel good to say.
14. You don’t have to cross everything off of your list to be able to say you’ve “seen” a place.
15. It can be tough to be alone, but it develops strength, friendliness and appreciation.

After so much introspection, I think it’s time to be a little materialistic and shop. Bhavesh has been looking for a knit hat with a little tassle on top and strings that hang down past your ears (all the rage here) and I need to pick up some Indian-style clothing so I get treated more like a local on the rest of my travels, Our first stop is at a nearby ashram’s textile store, where I finally find an attractive blouse and some scarves for Rs660 (about $15). I’m not getting pants because they aren’t ready made and I don’t have time for the tailor to make them for me. It’s nice to find a store with fixed prices, though, rather than worry about having to haggle to get a good deal. While Rs660 is a little high, it’s still a good deal and I’m happy to pay a little more to support this kind of practice.

On our way back to Rishikesh proper, Bhav gets a shirt for his mom and I pick up a couple more for myself. I even manage to beat the deal he got because I held out basically all the cash I had and asked the vendor if he’d take it. Before you know it, I’m walking away having paid Rs355 for two instead of his 300 for one. Love it. Unfortunately, it means I won’t have quite enough to get a phone card and talk time in town, but I’ll get my phone sorted so that all I have to do tomorrow is buy talk time and start calling the US!!

Rather than return to the ashram for lunch, we decide to walk along what appears to be a local farmers’ market lining an alley near the phone kiosk. The vendors are packed in, side-by-side for a good quarter mile. The produce is stacked in gigantic piles of vibrant reds, oranges, purples, greens and whites. Giant bags of spices, beans, lentils and chilis practically overflow onto the road and I fight the urge to grab a handful and let them spill out between my fingers. This is a REAL farmers’ market and the food has obviously been pulled from the ground in just the last few days. We each buy an orange and as we walk along dropping the peel where we please and spitting seeds into the gutter; I’m almost starting to fit in here.

For some reason, though, as we head back to the ashram I start to get this sick feeling in my stomach that my train tickets aren't going to make it off the waitlist.  The feeling only gets worse when I get to internet cafe and there's a power outage that prevents me from getting onto the IRCTC's website.  My subconscious must know that something has gone wrong, because sure enough when I get online I find out that neither of the two tickets I booked for the early train has been confirmed.  I've also bought tickets for the later train, though, so there's still a chance I could be leaving tonight. 

A couple hours later I realize that I’m hoping I DON”T make it onto the train today. I’m sure I’d be able to get onto one tomorrow, and I could be happy enough with just one full day in Khajuraho instead of two. Lo and behold, when I log-on again I find that the chart has been prepared and I didn’t make it off of the waitlist again. I’ll be automatically refunded for both of today’s tickets so I go ahead and book two more (one 2nd class and one 3rd) for tomorrow’s train. I feel comfortable sitting at waitlist 2 and 4, but to get rid of any nagging concerns I find the street vendor selling hot sugar cookies baked then and there on his cart under a small fire. Mmmm….toasty.

I catch Bhav at the evening aarti (river ceremony where candles are lit and Mother Ganga is thanked for her gifts) and we randomly stop by the office where he finds out not only did his orientation meeting get moved ahead a half-hour and is just finishing, but the course is going to cost a lot more than they said. Now he understands the frustration I’ve been feeling about being told different things by different people and the outcome being very different from what anyone said. He’s fuming and says he’s seriously considering joining me for the next part of my own trip. He’d be very welcome company, but he’s loath to give up his harmonium lessons because he’s found an excellent instructor at the ashram. The course is also a big part of the reason he came to India and he’d feel like he was giving up and missing out on a great chance to learn about the yogic lifestyle.

After dinner we enjoy one last late-night (here 8:30 means late) ginger lemon honey drink as we look out over the Ganges under the moonlight and a few unexpected fireworks. Around 9:30 he stops by my room to tell me he had a conversation with the ashram office manager about his course and that they’re willing to let him pay the lesser amount as long as he helps out a bit in the ashram (his first assignment: data entry, perfect for an accountant-in-training). He’s decided to stay, which I think will turn out to be the right choice for him in the end.

By this point Kim has wandered into my room to recommend a bookstore down the lane where I can pick up a few books by her favorite swami so I can use them to kill time before the train. So here’s my tentative plan for the morning: yoga, internet café to blog and check train and hotel reservations, breakfast, get books at bookstore and read by beach, lunch with Bhavesh at Devraj, finally dunk in river, check-out of ashram, get online if needed, yoga, auto-rickshaw to Raiwala, train. Let’s see what it turns into.

Before You Know It...

Wow, my trip to India is less than a month away!  I can't believe I'll be there for 4 weeks!  I go back and forth feeling really excited and confident in myself to scared to death that I'm going to get ripped off/groped/overly hassled/all of the above/etc.  I'm looking forward to the time alone, though.  I think I'm going to learn things about myself that might be surprising/encouraging/difficult to accept.  With that much time spent in my own head, I'm really going to learn what I'm made of, what's important to me, my prejudices and dispositions, what role religion plays in my life...

The latter is what I'm most looking forward to investigating.  I don't feel religious anymore, let alone Christian.  It would be great to get back the joy of faith in something, and while I've been pursuing this in my spare time in Singapore, I think this trip will be the shot of spiritual steroids I need to make real headway.  Or who knows, maybe I'll find that I'm happy with a secular lifestyle.  But what better place to investigate your spirituality than in a country that has birthed so many religions and continues rituals and practices that originated hundreds and thousands of years ago?  One thing is for sure: being alone for that period of time will definitely help show me if I'm happy being religion-less or if I need someone divine in my life.

That being said, the basic consideration on my mind is that I have never done anything even remotely like this before.  FOUR WEEKS ALONE IN INDIA WITH EVERYTHING I OWN ON MY BACK.  Brilliant.  I've never gone so far outside my comfort zone or depended so much on my ability to take care of myself.  Geez, I've never even lived out of such a small suitcase before.  I've heard both horror stories and sarcastic disappointment in how smoothly some peoples' trips went.  I can expect to be ogled and harassed as a lone, curvy, white woman, but also protected and respected for being alone and learning about their culture.  Trial by fire, indeed.

Well, the plane ticket's bought, the itinerary's planned, the blog is started...guess I'm just going to have to go through with it.  Time to feel the fiber of my fabric.