The White Tiger: a quintessential India book

The street and residents who live around Asha, the place I volunteered.

I read “The White Tiger” by Aravind Adiga the other day. This is considered the book about India, the one the guidebooks tell you to read for insight. Of course I didn’t read it before going over, or even while I was there.

Anyway, I wish I’d read it first, because there are also things in the book that would have soothed me on those days when Delhi was driving me mad. This passage had me laughing out loud, and reminded me of the time I got lost looking for a nearby restaurant. 

More local residents

“The truth is that Delhi is a crazy city. See, the rich people live in big housing colonies like Defence Colony or Greater Kailash or Vasant Kunj, and inside their colonies the houses have numbers and letters, but this numbering and lettering system follows no known system of logic. For instance, in the English alphabet, A is next to B, which everyone knows, even people like me who don’t know English. But in a colony, one house is called A 231, and then the next is F 378. So one time Pinky Madam wanted me to take her to Greater Kailash E 231. I tracked down the houses to E 200, and just when I thought we were almost there, E Block vanished completely. The next house was S something.”

The timing's the thing

I start a great new job tomorrow, and I wouldn't have gotten it if I hadn’t gone to India.

No, really. Here’s my recent life timeline: in November, I was fired from a job I hated. I decided to finally follow through on a long-held dream to go to India. I arrived on New Year’s Eve and loved being there so much, I stayed…and stayed…stayed. Despite my father’s claim that I promised to come home after one month (I recall no such promise), I didn't return to the States until mid-May.

A little over a week later, I got a temporary contract job to help with Olympics coverage at a fun tech company that’s kind of hard to get in with (I’ve applied to them twice before and gotten no response). I had a blast at the job and when it ended, the company—which likes to pull from its contractor pool—offered me a long-term contract position, where I'll be doing something I'm actually interested in (it involves following current events, which I already do hours every day for fun).

What I'll miss most about India

People really like having their picture taken. After you show it to them, they inevitably thank you.

Most of the time on this blog I complain about India—the men are too aggressive, the postal system sucks, I got robbed, etc. It’s easier (and more fun) for me to write about the bad than the good. But now that I’m back in the States, I want to mention all the things I'll miss about this enthralling, vibrant, lively place.

I’ll miss sitting in the open doorway of a train, parking my feet on the steps, and watching the sun set on some of the most beautiful landscapes I've ever seen.

I’ll miss seeing cricket games in the weirdest of places—narrow alleyways, mountainside trails, a slum’s garbage heap—and the kids who let me play with them (as it turns out, I’m not a bad bowler).

I’ll miss getting afternoon chai in the office, and drinking a cold lemon soda on a stifling hot day.

I’ll miss those random sights that never fail to surprise or delight me: women draped in saris, swinging pickaxes and doing construction work alongside men; the colors that look like a rainbow exploded; the little girls and women in the south, wearing flowers in their beautiful sleek hair.

Backpacker strong

One thing I have to be careful about coming home is gaining weight. When I returned to the U.S. after spending a year in Vietnam in 2006, I quickly gained five pounds thanks to my fierce desire to hit up the dollar menu of every fast food joint within a five-mile radius.

Right now I’m in good shape, even though I don’t work out (I brought a jump rope on my trip and used it twice). I call it backpacker strong. Like how construction workers are fit not because they exercise, but because it’s what they do.

When I was traveling, I’d walk for miles each day. In the steep hill stations of Shimla and Darjeeling, I worked up a sweat just by getting lost.

I’d also stand for hours. Once I couldn’t get a seat on one train’s general seating area and stood for 4.5 hours. Another time I couldn’t get a seat on a bus through the winding hills of Wayanad, and had to hang onto a hand grip for dear life. My arms and shoulders are toned from carrying my heavy backpack from hotel to hotel, in constant search of a good price.

On top of that there are the touristy things you do that make you strong—trekking, whitewater rafting, renting a scooter, etc. I don’t know if I can keep it up now that I’m home. I may have to join a gym.

The kind of traveler I am

As much as I’ve loved my trip, I have to admit that I didn’t really do India the way I should have. I spent two weeks visiting Rajasthan when I first got to India, lived and volunteered in Delhi for ten weeks, and then traveled what seems like the entire country in my final seven weeks. I visited Mumbai, Goa, numerous places in Karnataka, Kerala and Tamil Nadu, and then went north to see Kolkata, Darjeeling, Varanasi and Rishikesh. At some point I liked the idea of criss-crossing the entire subcontinent.

I realize now that I just tried to see and do too damn much. I get bored easily and so insisted on doing something almost every day and visiting every damn site that the guidebook says you should see. But it also exhausted me. And when you don’t sit in a hotel or café and linger and read for a few days, you also don’t meet other travelers to see and do the stuff with. I think learning to be independent is important, but the highlights of my trip still involved seeing and doing things with other people. I don’t think I had nearly as much fun as other backpackers.

The other mistake I made was just being too cheap (it feels like blasphemy to say that, but it’s true). I spent $40 on a 30-hour AC train instead of $150 on a two-hour flight. If I was traveling for months, maybe that makes sense, but I had just seven weeks. I think we can agree that I might have lost a bit of perspective there.

If I did it all again—if only there were a time machine!—I’d see less, do less, move less, spend more, and soak it all in better. 

My home before going home

After seven weeks of traipsing India—from south India to Darjeeling, Varanasi and Rishikesh—I went back to Delhi (where I lived for ten weeks) to fly out. Literally, I pulled into the city at 11 pm, crashed with a friend, and headed to the airport the next morning.

It felt just a bit like coming home. For seven weeks I’d pulled into a new city, uncertainly pulled out my guidebook, and slowly figured out where to go and how to get there. Sometimes I walked for ages, unsure if I was being cheated. But when I stepped off the train in New Delhi Railway Station, I was all confidence.

To the rickshaw drivers: “How much to Vasant Vihar?”

“Vasant Vihar is very far, ma’am. It is 25 kilometers. 350 rupees.”

“Sir, I lived here, and it is not that far. So how much?”

“300, ma’am. This is night price.”

“That’s still too high. Night price is just 20 percent higher than the meter. Why don’t we use the meter then? Or maybe I’ll take the metro.”

“The metro is closed now.”

“Metro closes at 11 pm, sometimes later. It’s only 10:45 now.”

We settled for 220, although when he asked for more I threw in another 20 rupees.

I’m glad I took the rickshaw. On the way to my friend’s place we passed several of my old haunts—Connaught Place (where I had jeans tailored), Palika Bazaar (where I fixed my camera), Sarojini Nagar (where I bought cheap scarves and clothes), Chanakyapuri (where I played softball), Safdarjung Enclave (where I lived), R.K. Puram (where I volunteered), and even, from far off, the Gateway to India, the first tourist spot I visited.

I loved how familiar it all felt, and was saddened that I didn’t leave at least a few hours to see Delhi one last time. 

Hiking the Singalila Ridge Trek from Darjeeling, India

Day 3: Our first--and only--clear views of Khangchengzonga.

Place: Singalila National Park (from Darjeeling)
Dates: April 30-May 4, 2012 (five days)
Cost: 1,400 per day (7,000 per person, for a group of two)
Distance: 86 km
The Travel Agency: Himalayan Getaway, down the street from Tower View Hotel in Darjeeling
Difficulty Level: Moderate

This the most popular trek from Darjeeling, going through the Singalila National Park on the border of West Bengal, Sikkim and Nepal (for the first three days you’re weaving in and out of India and Nepal, and the numerous border outposts means you’ll have to register your passport about 6-7 times. On the fourth day, you can briefly trek in Sikkim).

Day 1: Passing Chitrey Gompa.

It’s a pretty trail, taking you through rolling green hills, meadows, rhododendrons, villages and pine and bamboo forests, and on clear days you’ll have amazing views of Khangchangzonga, the world’s third-highest mountain (8,598m). The best times to do the trek are May-June or October-November. Most days start around 7 am, though the guide (required in the national park) will get up around 5:30 am to see if the views are clear and worth waking the trekkers for (we never got up that early). I did the classic five-day trek. See below for how the three-day and four-day treks differ, and other suggestions.

Day 1: 11km from Maney Bhanjyans (2,100m) to Tumling (2,895m)

We hopped in a jeep around 9:30 am and by 11 am reached Maney Bhanjyans for breakfast. The first 2.5km was sharply uphill, the rest more gently sloping. You’ll pass Chitrey Gompa, the only gompa on the trail. We arrived at Tumling (in Nepal) at about 3:30 pm. You haven’t yet entered Singalila National Park, so you can actually do this bit by yourself (get there using shared jeep or public bus from Darjeeling). The scenery is pretty, green like Ireland. 

Robbed in India! (AKA ‘Reached my breaking point, Part 2’)

So guess who got robbed? If you’re saying me, you’re right! Hey, it had to happen sometime, right? At least it was just a phone. A phone that sells here for 6,000 rupees ($120).

I was charging my Nokia Nuron at one of the train station’s phone charging points. I was loosely keeping an eye on my phone, but was also distracted by my first mosquitoes in a week and the havoc they were wreaking on my ankles. Instead of sitting by phone I was standing and scratching like mad.

I suddenly noticed a man disconnecting my phone from the charger. “Hey!” I said. He pointed innocently to his own phone. He just wanted to use the charger! I was reluctant, since I was mad about him not asking before attempting to use the charger, but I’m often rude to Indian men who are intrusive and then feel guilty about it. And when I lost my charger and couldn’t replace it for a week, I’d wished I could borrow someone else’s for just a few minutes. So it seemed a harmless thing to let him use it for a bit. “Two minutes,” I said, leaving my phone on the shelf next to the charger.

How being so cheap I didn't want to waste 20 cents saved me almost $200

This post is dedicated to my mate-in-cheapness, Andrea.

So a few weeks ago I found a one-way flight on Thai Airways from Delhi to Los Angeles for $640. It was far cheaper than anything else I’d seen in weeks. I booked it, but with Thai Airways in India, you can’t pay for the flight online; you have to book the flight and then come into a Thai Airways office within 72 hours to pay for it.

It was my last day in Kolkata (and my last chance to make the payment, as I wouldn’t be in a major city with  Thai Airways office again for another two weeks), and it was around 3:45 pm, almost two hours before the office closed. I went online for half an hour to look up the directions and check email and then rushed out, intending to go straight to the office. I asked how much for the Internet.

“Twenty rupees,” the man said. Forty cents.

I paused. In Kolkata, 20 rupees is usually what you pay for an hour, so half an hour should have been 10 rupees (20 cents).

“How much for an hour?” I asked.

“Twenty rupees is the minimum,” he said.

“Yes, but how much for the hour, sir?”

He tried to ignore me. I poked him.

“Twenty rupees.”

I went back to the computer and sat down. If I had to pay for an extra half an hour anyway, I might as well use some of it. 

I started to check my favorite news sites, and then thought, oh, I should re-check the price of my flight. Of course, I didn’t expect it to fall. $640 was already a good deal.

The lowest price was still with Thai Airways. But for some reason, the price had dropped to 22,298 rupees. I did the math and my jaw dropped—it was now about $440 for the exact same flight I currently had booked. I quickly re-booked the flight at the new price, and soon after left to pay for it.

I was literally on my way out the door to pay $640 for a flight that was now $440, and the only thing that stopped me was the café owner declaring I had to pay 20 rupees regardless of whether I used half an hour or one hour. Thank God I’m so cheap I won’t even waste 20 cents. It saved me $200. 

One month in South India (Mumbai, Goa, Karnataka, Kerala and Tamil Nadu) (with pics)

Chinese fishing nets in Kochi.

Hampi is more gorgeous than it appears here, I swear.

For anyone interested in planning a South India trip, here’s how I did mine: 

Days 1-3: Mumbai

Days 4-6: Goa

Days 7-8: Hampi

Day 9: Hampi/Transit to Gokarna

Day 10: Gokarna

Day 11: Transit to Kerala

Days 12-13: Varkala

Day 14: Kollam

Day 15: Alleppey/Transit to Munnar 

Days 16-17: Munnar

Day 18: Transit to Wayanad

Days 19-20: Wayanad/Transit to Kochi

Days 21-23: Kochi

Day 24: Madurai

Days 25-26: Pondicherry/Auroville

Days 27-28: Mamallapuram

Day 29: Chennai/Transit

Day 30: Transit to Kolkata

“Kunichiwa!”

I get that a lot. Or the shopkeepers and rickshaw drivers will ask, “Where you from--Korea?” (I guess they don’t they know “hello” in Korean)

It drives me crazy, the presumption that because I’m Asian I must be Japanese, Korean or Chinese. One girl I traveled with is Japanese, and she hates it when people call out kunichiwa. Again, it’s just that assumption that because she’s Asian she must be Japanese (even if it’s a correct assumption). I don’t really get annoyed by people asking where I’m from, even if after I say “the U.S.” they respond with, “But you don’t look like you’re from the U.S.” I know not everyone understands how much diversity there is back home, and then I can explain that my family is from Vietnam.

I always appreciate it when someone puts some thought into their guess. When people asked if I was from Thailand and Indonesia, I said, “No, but good guess!” Yesterday a man called out confidently, “Vietnam,” and I whirled around and said in wonder, “How did you know?”

My sister and I spoke to an Indian guy yesterday who was curious about us being Asian-American. He asked if we ever got teased back home for our race. We said no, but explained that California is incredibly diverse, so there are many Asians. He told us that for him, it was strange to see Asian faces but hear perfect English. 

Beaches, scooters, wildlife and slums in south India

 Some specifics on what to do with 30 days in south India.

Days 1-3: Mumbai
Walked around Colaba and Fort districts, checking out the colonial architecture and the courtroom. Toured Dharavi slum with Reality Tours. Spent ages trying to mail a parcel. Hopped on 8 pm overnight bus for Goa.

Days 4-6: Goa
After 18 hours of travel and two bus changes, checked into a hotel in Palolem in south Goa at 2 pm. Relaxed on the beach. Rented a scooter and went to the nearby beaches of Agonda and Cola (a beautiful lagoon), as well as Cabo da Ramo, an old Portuguese fort. Went on fun canyoning tour in morning. Hopped on overnight bus to Hampi.

Days 7-9: Hampi
Took an auto rickshaw tour to see the ruins. Moved to the island side on Day 8 and rented a scooter to see the beautiful surroundings and swam in the dam. Visited Hanuman Temple (a 570-step climb) after sunset, and the following day at sunrise. Spent the rest of Day 9 taking local transit to get to Gokarna (rickshaw to Hospet, bus to Hubli, bus to Ankola, bus to Gokarna, rickshaw to Om Beach).

Trains vs. buses in India

India has an extraordinary public transport system, with buses and trains connecting just about every city. But they all have their positives and negatives.

Trains

POSITIVES: Very smooth ride, once the train gets going, and faster than buses. I also love gazing out the window or standing in an open doorway, seeing the world go by. Tatkal ticket scheme helps get tickets the day before travel.

NEGATIVES: Longer trains are almost always late. If an overnight train is only one hour late, I consider that on time. For popular or longer routes, it’s hard to get day-of tickets unless a travel agent can handle things or you go to the train station (where you’ll only get general seating—shudder. If you can’t get a seat in second seating, it’s completely miserable).

WORST TRAIN EXPERIENCE: Once I waited more than 3.5 hours for the Kalka Mail. I told myself I wouldn’t lie on the ground like everyone does, but after yet another delay, I succumbed, spreading my thin airline blanket on the floor. It was after 1 am. I put on my headphones and read my Lonely Planet in a dream-like state. I was at the part about India being crazy for cricket when I heard a cheerful roar go through the station. I immediately thought, “Did India beat Pakistan in the cricket?!?!” I asked someone, “Why is everyone cheering?” He announced, “The Kalka Mail has arrived!”

Public buses

POSITIVES: Almost always leave on time. Often have one leave every hour to major cities, creating plenty of last-minute options.

NEGATIVES: They’re bumpy, lack AC, and if you don’t get one of the Super Fast buses, they make multiple stops to pick up more passengers. They’re also more expensive than trains, which boggles the mind. Oh, and winding mountain roads can be downright scary because of how close the driver is willing to get to the edge (there’s nothing between the bus and a 100-foot cliff except a two-foot-high barrier). I was standing at the front of one bus and when the driver looked like we were going to hit the barrier, I literally squatted and whimpered, unwilling to see us go over. “Just don’t look. It’s better if you don’t look,” my sister said.

WORST PUBLIC BUS EXPERIENCE: I took the overnight bus from the hills of Shimla to Delhi. After an hour of winding round and round the mountain, my seatmate threw up in the aisle. He motioned to me to trade seats so he could get fresh air from the window and I complied. Only after we switched did I realize he hadn’t quite missed the seat.

Private/tourist buses

POSITIVES: More comfortable than public buses. You can pay more for AC or a sleeper for overnight buses. Also conducive to last-minute bookings (I once booked a bus an hour before it was to leave).

NEGATIVES: Considering you’re paying so much more than for a public bus, the service isn’t THAT much greater. Some lines still make multiple stops to pick up stray passengers, instead of just going from A to Z as promised. Also, they don’t have many for short distances.

WORST PRIVATE BUS EXPERIENCE: Even though my ticket clearly stated that I had a single sleeper, the man who took my ticket wouldn’t return it and gave me another sleeper instead—a double, with my bedmate a random American guy (who also was supposed to have a single seat). I blew up, declaring, “I’m not sleeping next to some man I don’t know!” Truth be told, I didn’t care (as I told Zach later), but I was angry because they would NEVER make an Indian women sleep next to a man she didn’t know, and I was annoyed by the assumption that I wouldn’t mind (even if it was true). Later, Zach and I learned a man had used our bed to illegally smuggle liquor out of Goa, where the liquor is cheap. I think he was using the cover of foreigners to do it. I felt like Maria, full of grace. 

Stray dogs

Stray dogs are a fact of everyday life here.

I ain't 'fraid of no rabies!

One of the things I love about India is how stray animals are treated—as though they have a right to exist. You don’t see nearly as many strays in the U.S. since we’re quick to put them in pounds. I think we Americans tend to associate strays with rabies and other dangers.

But here, stray dogs and cats (especially dogs) are just a fact of life. You see them everywhere. Locals don’t necessarily pet them or play with them, but they accept that the strays have a right to take up space. I think as a result, the strays become quite docile, and I pet them all the time (after making eye contact and seeing the dog’s tail wag, indicating to me that they’re open to it)(I admit I had two rabies scares, but that was just me panicking about overly playful puppies and kittens!).

Less squeamish about dead people here in India

I was unwrapping my naan from the newspaper it came in the other day when I saw two pictures of dead faces. One was a woman named Sumitra, the other an unknown man. “APPEAL FOR IDENTIFICATION,” the ad said. “General public is hereby informed that one unknown person age: 50-60 years, has been found near the park Baljeet Nagar, in the area of PS Patel Nagar on 23.06.2009. The body has not been identified till date…Sincere efforts have been made by the local police to trace out identify of dead body but no clue has come to light so far. Any person having any information or clue about this dead boy may kindly inform to the following.”

I asked an Indian friend about this ad, and she said that Indian police are required to follow certain steps upon finding a dead body, including reporting it in the newspaper.

This is strange to me, since in the U.S. it’s a big deal for a media outlet to display dead bodies. We can’t even show the coffins of dead soldiers without controversy. Yet Indians post pictures of their dead in the newspaper as a matter of course.

It’s not just newspapers either. I was at the Sikh Museum at the Golden Temple complex in Amritsar, reading about the many ways Sikhs have been martyred over the years (and oh my GOD, it reminds me the many horrifying ways humans have managed to torture each other over the centuries. We’re talking dismembering children and making their parents wear the body parts as necklaces). One of the displays featured about 20 Sikh men killed (in an incident I don’t recall). As part of the display, there were giant pictures of the men’s death faces, about 1.5 by 2 feet. Their eyes were closed and bloated, their faces bruised and smashed. In the corners were smaller pictures of the men in their prime. For me, it was surreal. 

One reason why I get groped

At Palolem, my friend Amy and I were chatting with a late 20s Indian guy from Mumbai when I said, “Can I ask you something? I’ve been touched a lot by Indian men. Just light brushes against my leg or butt. Are they doing that to everybody, or is it because I’m by myself? Except some of this has happened when I was with friends or other travelers.”

He looked a bit uncomfortable and said, “Please don’t take this rudely, but many prostitutes here are from Nepal. They may think you’re Nepali.”

I nodded. This was actually something my Indian-American friend had warned me about earlier in Delhi, that most sex workers are Asian and people might look at me differently.

Amy asked, “So how should she respond when people touch her?”

The man said matter-of-factly, “Just tell them you’re not a prostitute.”

More journalistic differences between India and the West

Back home, when reporters write an article highlighting a bureaucratic or government absurdity, they usually try to find a sympathetic victim of said absurdity. Say you’re writing an article about how jails are filled with old people who are nonthreatening and unlikely to recidivate. You probably find the 60-year-old man who got 40 years for stealing a pack of bread at age 25 to feed his starving family.

That’s what I expected when I started reading, “Jailhouse Shock” in the Feb. 20 edition of India Today magazine. The subhead said, “They are people with a criminal past. They are also very old now. Some of them are so weak that they can’t walk without assistance. Yet the state regards these geriatrics in Rajasthan’s jails as threats to society and insists on keeping them in.”

The first guy the article highlighted, Omar Mohammad, fit the bill. He’s 90 and has been behind bars for 2 years and 2 months. He was convicted in 1985 for a robbery attempt, escaped after 20 months in jail, and then was rearrested in December 2010.

Then I read about the others that the article focused on. Anop Singh Rajput, 73, behind bars 12 years for killing her daughter-in-law. Sharbati Meena, 75, in jail for eight years for burning her daughter-in-law to death. Badlu Ram, 87, behind bars seven years for beating a man to death with sticks along with his two sons. With the exception of Omar Mohammad, all of the people cited in the story had been convicted of murder.

Tired of Indian men

After several mostly hassle-free weeks, Indian men have amped up the harassment factor. Yes, they have always stared and leered and made smooching noises, but before this week, no one but little boys actually touched me.

So first, while walking around Old Delhi, someone slid his hand down my butt. I whirled around. “WHAT THE FUCK! DON’T DO THAT!” I smacked him in the chest. He didn’t look at me, and moved to the other side, and I turned toward him and smacked him again on the chest. The guy tried to point to another guy, but he was the only one there when I turned around. My guy friend grabbed the culprit and muttered something, though I doubt my harasser understood.

Breaking point in India

I yelled, “I HATE INDIA!” today. I’m not proud of it. But I just had it with the bureaucracy here. I just wanted to mail a package home. When I did it in Delhi, it took three trips to the post office. On the first trip, I learned that post offices don’t sell mailing boxes (which the men at my hotel had claimed). On my second trip, I learned that you have to sew a white cloth around the box. On my third trip, I finally managed to mail the package.

I thought I was ready in Mumbai. The day before the attempted mailing, I stopped by the General Post Office (GPO) and was directed to a man who sews the white cloth around parcels. We agreed that I’d bring my items the next day and he’d have a box ready. By 4:10 pm, I was there. He commenced packing, I commenced filling out the proper forms.

At 4:40 pm, he walked with me to the appropriate counter at the massive post office. Really, the process should have ended there. But no. The system was down. I waited for half an hour as they hoped the system would come back up. Finally, I went to the desk. “What can I do, ma’am, there is nothing I can do.” “Can you do some of this by hand? Just weigh it and charge me?” “No, there is nothing I can do.” “There must be something you can do, I’m leaving for Goa tonight.” (that added to the frustration) “I cannot help you, miss.”

Good-bye, Delhi

I’m in a plane right now heading to Mumbai. The expat part my trip has ended, and I’ll finish India as I started it, as a backpacker.

My ten weeks in Delhi has been mixed, mostly because there were a few weeks when I didn’t feel I was accomplishing much with my charity. With so much of India to see, I probably should have left two weeks ago. But right now, it feels like my time in Delhi was just enough. Delhi doesn’t have the best reputation compared with some of India’s other cities—too aggressive, too in-your-face, not exciting enough—but once I got past that, I found a Delhi filled with green parks, wide open spaces, and a thriving social scene.

And good people. That’s what I’ll miss most about this place. There’s a line from a song I love by Dolly Parton’s Traveling Through, where she says good-bye to everyone and adds, “…you meant more than I knew.” When I sing along, I always change that to “you meant more than you knew,” because the truth is, I always can tell how much someone means to me. They just never know the ways in which they’ve enriched my life.

So I’m thanking them all here, all those people who helped make Delhi a better place for me (even though I’ve told none of them about the blog and don’t intend to).

Crossing the street

There is a moment in Delhi where, for a few seconds, I feel utterly connected to the great throbbing mass that is India. I am talking, of course, about crossing the street.

In most of Delhi, you can cross the street alone. But then there are the city’s most crowded spots, such as the downtown commercial district Connaught Place, where cars, motorcycles, rickshaws, buses and pedestrians battle for such a limited amount of road real estate, all without a traffic light, that you simply can’t cross the street alone.

So here’s how it works: One person stands at a street corner and waits. Another person joins him. Then another. Then maybe a couple. We all just stand silently side by side until there is a critical mass. Someone will take the first step, usually holding out one hand to signal to cars to stop. What can that one hand do against a car? Yet everyone moves at once, joining this fearless leader. As a group, we have protection against that unwieldy conglomerate of motorized vehicles. As a group, we command their respect, insist they not only notice us, but make way for the era of the pedestrians—we’re here, we’re crossing the street, and we ain’t going back! Nobody puts us on a street corner!

Then we reach the other side and in an instant, everyone scatters, possibly never to see each other again. I always take a moment and lament that the powerful lobby I was so briefly a part of, which acted with one mind and without words to achieve a goal, is so quick to dissolve, so willing to let go of the grand connection that saw us safely across the street. 

Scenes from India: Shimla

Shimla is cute. There's kind of not much to do besides go for walks, so if you're by yourself like I was, it's not hugely fun. Oh, and everything closes at 8:30 pm. For a capital city, that's a bit early. But the views are really amazing.

The pedestrian mall.

Indian police to women: Don't want to be raped? Stay inside at night

A few weeks ago I met up with some female friends for dinner. One of them, who was in town for a wedding and was staying about an hour outside of Delhi, had hired a driver for the day. The male friend she was visiting said she should try to get back to her area by 10 p.m. 

But she wanted to have drinks with us. She told the driver to take us to a specific bar. The time was nearing 9 p.m. He reminded her that her friend suggested she be home by 10 p.m. She said screw it. He started talking about the safety issue for women, particularly outside of Delhi. Apparently we're not supposed to be out late by ourselves. He talked about women get attacked, that it had been in the newspapers. We said we hadn't heard about it. He said we were lucky.

When we got out of the car we all scoffed. Ethel said Indian men try to keep women fearful and under their control. The driver's argument was particularly fallacious because, well, the girl wasn't by herself, she was with him and she was in a car. Basically, the driver wanted to go home early.

But I learned today he's right in some areas: according to this article, there have been numerous rapes against women in Gurgaon, a booming industrial city just outside of Delhi. And worse than that, the police's tactic to fix this seems to rely on making women more afraid (Headline: Gurgaon: 'Stay indoors after 8pm if you don't want to be raped').

Taking the toy train from Kalka to Shimla

What exactly is a toy train? In India, it's a train with far fewer compartments than a regular train that only runs on historic railway lines through the mountains to the hill stations. And the Kalka-Shimla railway line is one of the most historic in the country. Back during the time of the Raj (when the British controlled India), the entire government would uproot itself to Shimla to avoid the hot, muggy Delhi summer.

Happy Holi! (AKA "I just threw a water balloon at your back!")

Holi Eve.

It was Holi last Thursday, also known as the "Festival of Colors." It's a spring Hindu festival that's mainly characterized by throwing colored powder and water on everybody, as well as by getting drunk and high (mainly groups of men). The week before Holi, small boys get ready early by throwing water balloons at unsuspecting passersby. My pre-Holi tally was five water balloon attempts, with three finding their target. In one case I was going downstairs into the subway when multiple bombs came from above (not including the F-bombs I lobbed back). In the other two cases, the boys ran after me to hit their mark.

Yes woman

You know that Jim Carrey movie "Yes Man" where he decides to say yes to everything? Well, as I'm in the middle of a four-month solo stay in India, that’s what I've decided to do.

Ok, I don't say yes to everything. Feel free to say no to drugs, touts, uncomfortable situations, absurdly high prices, and sex with people you don’t want to sleep with. But mainly, I say yes.

Want to change your plans and come to Udaipur with us?

Want to come to my party?

Want to talk to my friend who needs a roommate?

Yes, yes, yes.

Journalism in India

India is a democracy, yes, with a flourishing media, but the areas where Indian journalism differs from Western journalism fascinates me.

Take, for example, this article that ran in the March 3 edition of The Hindu, “Gujarat riot victims still awaiting justice: Amnesty.” It mentions that Amnesty International found that most of the victims of the riots that took place a decade ago still haven’t received compensation for lost homes, and warns that those living in transit camps are in danger of being evicted. Ten years ago, 2,000 people were killed in the riots, and today 21,000 people are still in transit camps.

What doesn’t the article mention? That the riots were perpetrated by Hindus against Muslims. Not once are the words “Hindus” or “Muslims” mentioned. Why in the world would the newspaper leave out such a crucial fact?

My main guess is that everyone already knows the facts and they don’t feel the need to repeat it. The paper had just run a larger article prior. But I still find that strange. At least say the riot was racially charged!

Days when India drives me crazy

There are days where India just drives me mad. Three days this week, little boys have thrown water balloons at me (balloons that twice found their target). They’re celebrating Holi, a festival where people throw colored powders and urine and dirt at each other, early. I shudder to think that the whole next week I’ll be a target until Holi passes.

But even when it’s not crazy festival time, India can be frustrating. Take just now. I walked to the nearby market to look for a restaurant that had left a takeout menu at my door. Bhutan Kitchen’s address: 85, Humayan Pur. Now, you’d think that the 80s will come between the 70s and 90s, but not in Humayan Pur, apparently. Goes right from 77 to 95.

Eventually, I found the 80-block. Now, you’d think that 85 would be between 83 and 86, but not in Humayan Pur, apparently. I called the restaurant.

“Are you guys a sit-down place? Do you have a restaurant, or are you only delivery?”

“Yes, we have a restaurant. We are behind 610-A, by the chicken place.”

There was not a chicken place in sight. I asked some men in a store if they knew where the chicken place was. No. And what the hell does 610-A mean?

I gave up, and ate Chinese instead.

Checking out the 'Brides Wanted' section of the classifieds

I was at my favorite restaurant when I spied, among the newspapers they use to wrap up naan, the Matrimonials section of the classifieds. “Wanted Brides,” it said, and further on down, “Wanted Grooms.”

The ads are divided by age—people in their 20s, 30s and 40s, and nothing above that (in fact, for the 40s section there was only one ad each). I recognize some of the categories, such as Christian, Muslim, Sikh and Brahmin (the highest, priestly caste). There’s also SC/ST, which means “scheduled caste/scheduled tribe,” the PC term for lower castes (such as the Untouchables).

Using OkCupid in Delhi

Out of curiosity, I changed my OkCupid location from "Los Angeles" to "New Delhi." What did I learn? 

• That lots of Indian guys, like their American counterparts, will you send form letters that could be cut and pasted to every woman (most of the letters I received fell in this category). 
• That lots of Indian guys have bad English grammar. Yet another similarity to the American guys who write to me. 
• That according to OkCupid's match system, most of the guys writing to me are really poor matches (this is a big difference from the U.S., where most guys who write to me match quite high, for what it's worth).

Here's a sample of the letters I've received (full disclosure: I'm printing the cheesiest and worst of the lot. There were also nice letters from people who actually read my profile. But those are boring)

a_wonderguy: Hello Gorgeous....How are you....Can you buy me a Coffee...???? :) :)

wyliein: show me that wonders can be true

deven_kolaveri: Girl you are making me so high ... are you weed ?  :-P (NOTE: He actually sent this twice a week apart. When I wrote, "You already wrote that. Perhaps a new line," he responded, "umm hi babe i am more inclined towards you you Rock hard :-) )

Four ways to avoid getting taken advantage of by Delhi touts

(Also see: the five tricks touts in India use to cheat you)

These should be pretty obvious, and yet I had to learn it the hard way.

Tout-avoidance method No. 1: Actually read my guidebook and process what it’s telling me. Direct warnings I didn’t heed:

• “New Delhi railway station is the worst place for touts; assume that anyone who approaches you here—even in uniform—with offers of help…is up to no good.”
• “On Connaught Place and along Janpath, steer clear of phoney ‘tourist information offices’ (which touts may try to divert you to).” (I went to four. Four.)

The five methods used by Indian touts

(Also see: Four ways to avoid being tricked by Indian touts)

My unfortunate experience with touts when I first got to Delhi has helped me break down some of their methods. A primer:

1) Touts gain your trust.
This can work in a variety of ways. First, of course, they can pretend to be someone else (like Viki, the man who approached me at the train station with an “Employee of India” badge). Second, they reveal personal information (like Khan, who informed me he was a 23-year-old virgin)(Khan also may have been trying to get in my pants). Third, they warn you against touts (like Anil, who told me to be sure to go to the government’s tourism information office and even circled them on my map, trusting--correctly--that I wouldn’t check the map when he didn't bring me to those offices). Fourth, they play to your vanity (“Why did you come up to me?” I asked Vijay, who said sheepishly, “Indian guys like Western women.”).

Scenes from India: Jaisalmer

The sleeper compartment in my overnight bus.

From Udaipur I hopped on an overnight bus--the coldest, bumpiest, smelliest bus there was (according to my fellow travelers). Here are some pics (to go with the earlier set from my post on the camel safari).

View from the bus on the way to Jaisalmer.

Scenes from India: Udaipur

Yes, Udaipur really is as beautiful and romantic as they say. (for more pics, see this post)

Lake Pichola.

Scenes from India: Ranthambhore National Park

A few pics from Ranthambhore and on the way to Udaipur (to complement those in this post).

They both stopped to look at me.

Our first wild animal during the tour.

I don't know why, but these two girls took a liking to me and waved every time they saw me.

At the Subway in India

Server: What sauces would you like?
Me: Chipotle and ranch.
(server puts the chipotle on, and then what looks like a thicker, whiter version of Italian)
Me: That's not ranch.
Server: Yes it is, ma'am.
(pause)
Me: Well, that's not what we call ranch in America.

Yes, I've become obnoxious.

Adventure activities in Rajasthan (Part 4): Ziplining in Mehrangarh Fort (Jodhpur)

ACTIVITY #4: Ziplining

The Place: Jodhpur
The Date: Jan. 13, 2012
The Cost: 1,350 rupees (but try to get a discount by booking early)
Thrill Level, from 1 to 10: 7.5 (don’t do it if you’re afraid of heights!)

The Mehrangarh Fort is already one of the coolest things to see in Rajasthan (the upcoming Batman movie was partly filmed there). It has tons of history, and a kickass audio tour that’s included with admission. But on top of that, Flying Fox Asia, a British company, built six zip lines into the outer part of the fort. You can ZIPLINE across a historical fort, from one layer to some of the outer defensive walls. It. Was. SO. Cool. The views and the rush are amazing, prompting the two French women in my tour to keep proclaiming, “Fantastique!”

Adventure activities in Rajasthan (Part 3): Camel safari in Jaisalmer

Seeing the sun rise before our trip.

 ACTIVITY #3: Camel safari

The Place: Jaisalmer
The Date: Jan. 11-12, 2012
The Cost: 1,700 rupees
Thrill Level, from 1 to 10: 3 (there’s always the danger of falling off the camel, and there’s a tiny rush when it’s time to get on and off the camel)

For my 1.5-day trip, we left Jaisalmer in the morning by jeep, had a basic breakfast while watching the sun rise, rode a camel for about two hours, had lunch, and then rested for two hours. Then we got back on a camel for another two hours until we reached some sand dunes, where we set up camp and had dinner and beer (not included in the price). The next morning we had a simple breakfast and rode camels for about two hours until we reached a jeep that brought us back to Jaisalmer by lunchtime.

Adventure activities in Rajasthan (Part 2): Horseback riding in Udaipur

ACTIVITY #2: Horseback riding
The Place: Udaipur
The Date: Jan. 9, 2012
The Cost: 1,100 rupees
Thrill Level, from 1 to 10: 2 (we only did a slow walk)

It was beautiful ride through the hills and villages surrounding Udaipur, but slow. They’ll only let you do anything faster than a walk if you have experience (but other horseback riding tours I’ve been allowed to canter, despite my inexperience).

The guide, the co-owner of the hotel, gave us details on the villages we passed, such as explaining whether the inhabitants were lower-income or middle-class farmers. We also rode up to a beautiful lake/reservoir with monkeys. The trip included a delicious lunch at Krishna Ranch, which is owned by the same people who run Kumbha Palace Hotel, where we booked our tour.

Adventure activities in Rajasthan (Part 1): Tiger safari in Ranthambhore National Park

Why they call it a tiger reserve is beyond me.
The chances of seeing one are slim.

When I first started reading about Rajasthan, I realized that there are a plethora of monuments, temples and forts—things that don’t exactly thrill me. I’m big on doing, not seeing. But I was pleased to learn that there are quite a few interesting things to do in the state. So here’s Part 1 of my review of some“adventure” activities and the cities they took place in.

(And here are Part 2, Part 3 and Part 4)

ACTIVITY #1: Tiger safari

The Place: Sawai Madhopur (Ranthambhore National Park)
The Date: Jan. 5, 2012
The Price: 795 rupees (I paid 475 to book online, and had to give another 320 to the guide)

But you'll see lots of spotted deer.

Thrill Level, from 1 to 10: 1 (It’s not hard sitting in an open-topped bus looking for animals.)

The guidebooks say that Ranthambhore is one of your better chances to spot a tiger. I’ll just state now that no, I did not see a tiger. But my jeep did see numerous spotted deer, monkeys, sambars (a type of antelope), crocodiles, and birds, and it’s still exciting seeing any animal in the wild.

Our best shot at tiger spotting came in an area where, according to our guide, there were two recently orphaned baby tigers. The park rangers had tied a live ox to a tree stump, as the tigers weren’t old enough to hunt on their own yet. So we waited nearby for five minutes in silence to see if the baby tigers would make an appearance. The ox kept baying balefully. “It’s saying, ‘here’s your dinner, come get me,’” our guide said. But the tigers didn’t come out while we were there, and I felt bad for the ox that didn’t have a sporting chance.

Watching the Super Bowl at the U.S. embassy in Delhi

Giants fans cheer the victory.

I’m not remotely a football fan, but when I heard they were showing the Super Bowl at the U.S. Embassy in Delhi, I wanted to go. They were showing the game at the American Community Support Association (ACSA) restaurant, but you needed to be a member or a guest of one to come in. So I texted a guy I met once who works at the embassy requesting an invite, and he agreed to sign me in.

Just before 5 am on Monday I stepped through a metal detector, showed the guards my passport, and was on my way to a posh restaurant where the game was playing on a projector.

Out of a Pahar Ganj hotel and into an apartment

Pahar Ganj's Main Bazaar

Last week I moved out of Pahar Ganj and into the upper-middle-class neighborhood of Safdarjung Enclave. I love it. My commute to Asha is now 30 minutes—walking. The neighborhood is comparatively quiet, and no one’s yelling at me, trying to get my attention, or asking me where I’m from.

Pahar Ganj, which is right off the New Delhi Railway Station (a hub for trains out of Delhi) is chock full of backpackers and cheap hotels. It seems to have a bad reputation amongst Delhi residents who don’t live there. The Indian employees at Asha always expressed concern for me staying there. “Is it safe?” “Don’t eat the food there! I heard they don’t use clean water.”

Dealing with Indian men who think foreign women are sluts

So the tough thing about being a solo female traveler in India is that some local men think we're quite promiscuous. That’s according to the 2009 Lonely Planet: “The skimpy clothing and culturally inappropriate behavior of a minority of foreign women appears to have had somewhat of a ripple effect on the perception of foreign women in general.” Of course we can’t say every Indian man thinks this way, but we can certainly say some do. What did this mean for me? A series of uncomfortable situations. (Not quite as uncomfortable as being sexually harassed by two little boys, though.)

Khan (a 1 on the 1-to-5 skeaziness scale)

This is my New Year’s Eve buddy, who saw me walking by myself on the street and opted to join me. Since it was New Year’s, I didn’t discourage him. Khan brought up the subject of casual sex and how attitudes toward it differ in India and the West. He mentioned that he’s 23 and a virgin, and wanted to know my history (I made up stuff). He did suggest a kiss at midnight, and when I said no he tried to kiss my hand, but I pulled away and made clear I was not up for anything. 

How many tries does it take to get on a train in Delhi? Four.

I could not get on the damn train.

 In "Outsourced," NBC’s short-lived series about an American guy who moves to Mumbai to run a call center, there's a scene where the American is going with his colleagues on a train out of the city. Except when the train doors open and everyone rushes out and rushes in, he’s overwhelmed and can’t get on. It takes several attempts before he managed to get on the train.
On Monday, it took me four tries to get on a train. It happened at the Rajiv Chowk station, which is always a mess because it’s a connecting station. The first train stopped, and while I could have squeezed myself on, it was pretty full and I decided to wait for the next train.

Unfortunately, the next train was a shorter one. I, and all the women around me (we were waiting for the ladies’ compartment), rushed down the platform to try to get on; I was crushed among them, and at one point could feel the top half of my body leaning far over where my feet were planted. I thought, “If I fell, would they run over me? Would it be like Wal-Mart on Black Friday?”

IM conversation with my sister after she's read the last post

Jackie: what does 10 rupees equate to?

 me:  20 cents

why

don't judge me

 Jackie:  just wondering

 me: that's breakfast

 that's almost a thums up

WHY?!!??!

Jackie:  because I want to know how much you're getting cheated

 me:  quit being a Judgmental Jackie for once in your life

10 rupees buys a lot here

it just got me 6 momos

PERSPECTIVE MEANS NOTHING HERE!

Paranoid about being cheated in India, Part II

(For Part 1 click here.)
JAIPUR

I was walking briskly through Jaipur’s Pink City when I heard a man frantically call out, “Hello miss! Hello!” I ignored him, because when you’re a tourist walking through a tourist area, lots of people call out to you. But this man followed me more than 100 feet, still calling out. I only stopped when he said, “I just have one question, miss!”

“One question,” I said. He said, “Why do all the tourists just ignore Indians when we try to talk to them?” I said, “Because it has been my experience that when someone calls out to me, they usually wants something from me, and sometimes I don’t feel like giving them anything.” He said, “But do you think all Indians are like this?” I said, “No, but it’s happened enough times that after awhile it gets easier to just not deal with it.”

Paranoid about being cheated in India, Part I

(See Part 2 here)

They say travelers either love or hate India. I’m leaning more on the side of “really like.” But I can tell you what I hate—the notion that I’m being cheated, that I can’t trust what I’m being told, or that someone has a hidden agenda. I hate to admit how much it colors my interactions with locals.

AGRA

I climbed a few stairs to one entrance of the Jama Masjid to be greeted by an old man with a piece of paper. He told me, “Donation for the mosque, for renovation,” and then showed me the paper, which had people’s names, countries, and a monetary amount written down, usually 500 or 1,000 rupees. Confused because my guidebook said nothing about an entrance fee, I dazedly handed him 100 rupees and added my name to the list. As I wandered around the mosque, I started thinking I’d probably been cheated. My realization was confirmed when I left the same way I came and the man was nowhere in sight. I took some comfort in the fact he looked like he really needed the money.