This has been my third weekend in a row travelling, and it has been quite exhausting (and moderately expensive). Spending anywhere between 5 and 18 hours on a train every weekend for almost a month has taken its toll, and I will be spending my next weekend here relaxing. I figured I would do this before heading off to my last and most exotic trip. It will be from Thurs-Sun, August13-16th, spent in the Himalayan mountain town of Leh, the capital of Ladakh in the Jammu and Kashmir northern province of India.
Anyways, this weekend trip was in Jaipur, on my own. It was a last minute decision since my plans to visit Dharmsala or Nepal had to be cancelled due to monsoon hitting them both, severely. Jaipur is the capital of the desert province of Rajasthan, 5 hours west of Delhi. I left after work Friday, and the excitement started right away.
Stuck in Delhi traffic, I arrived at the Old Delhi train station 20 minutes after my train was scheduled to leave. Pissed off, I went into the tourism bureau hoping to get a refund. I was told no refund, sorry. But then the man's eyes widened after hearing an announcement on a loudspeaker in Hindi and said platform 4! So I ran, saw my train slowly moving, and jumped on, landing in the lowest class of 'seating'. After 20 minutes of hard staring, I jumped off at the next stop and re-locate to my actual seat in comfortable 2nd class.
5.5 hours later I arrived in Jaipur after midnight and was taken to my hotel. A very quaint (see: affordable) place that was very nicely decorated. The next morning I ate breakfast on the rooftop restaurant and head off for the city centre. I saw the underwhelming City Palace and the largest observatory in the province right next door. The highlight of this was seeing a snake charmer with his cobra right next to the gate. A crowd had gathered to take pictures, and I was the closest to him. He looked up at me, stopped playing, and patted the spot on his mat next to him, motioning for me to sit. I made hand gestures signifying, 'Uh, how about no?' but he insisted. I sat next to him, with a cobra about a foot away, staring at me and hissing. He said its fine its fine, and continued to play, as if that would soothe it. I had done enough research on the topic to know that the serpant couldn't actually hear the music, the only reason it was actually mesmerized was because it was suddenly subjected to the heat and light after being in a dark, cool basket. It also can't strike upwards, but i was sitting right in front of it. Then, he turned the basket around so the cobra faced the crowd, and motioned for me to touch it. Again, I made the 'no-thanks-i-have-many-reasons-to-live' gesture and he insisted again. So, I stroked the back of the cobras head, and was lucky someone took a picture of me doing it with my camera. Very cool, but not to be done again.
We then went to Amber Fort (pronounced Am-er) which is the most popular fort in the province. Winding through the hillside like the Great Wall in China, it's a huge and impressive complex with gardens and a beautiful view. Being in an adventurous mood, I chose to take the unpopular 2km uphill trek on the rocky path to the fort on top of the Amber Fort, Jaigarh Fort. I was out of breath about 100m into the 2000m uphill walk, but I was able to take breaks when locals insisted on pictures of me. I was either recognized as a WWE wrestler ora 'beautiful man' as only the men would say... great. Eventually I reached the top, where the world's largest cannon is perched. Using 100lbs of gunpowder to shoot, it was used once and the cannonball fired 35km. Here the view was even better, and I tragically ran out of batterypower after 3 pictures.
I walked down, and got into my driver's auto-rickshaw. 4 white people, about my age, asked if they could hop on since they were going back into town. I obliged, and we got to talking. They were a group of Irish younth working in Delhi for an educational NGO, teaching at local schools for the summer. 9 of them were in Jaipur, and invited me to go to Chokhi Dhani, an authentic Rajasthani 'ethnic resort' (essentially a theme park) later that evening for dinner and drinks. I took one of their numbers and went back to the hotel, after taking a few pictures of the floating palace.
I got home and napped until 830 (after dinner) and took the 45 minute tuktuk ride to the resort. I got there and it was huge, wondering how I'd ever find them. I saw a shock of red hair not too far in front of me and ran to meet th egroup. We paid 300IR each, then sat down in a traditional hut. Sitting cross-legged, we were fed traditional desert food. Upon viewing its freshness and ingredients, I was happy I had already eaten. Full on bread and water, we walked around the compound. We found a man-powered ferris wheel (with an acrobat powering the wheel from within its spokes, doing flips) and walked past the elephant and camel rides. We settled into a bar (I'm with 9 Irishmen/women, what did you expect?) and got to know each other and share our experiences.
It closed at midnight, and half the group wanted to go home. I wasn't tired ande ager to learn more about Ireland and talk with James, a guy who had just graduated from university and had spent his past year at Queens University in Kingston. We asked our driver to take us to another bar in Jaipur. He took us to the rooftop of a closed hotel, and we all had a KingFisher while enjoying the rare quiet of the Jaipur night.
Speaking for hours on topics ranging from the ridiculousness of immigration (its very new to Ireland) to the aghast displeasure that I had never heard of their beloved sport of 'Hurling'. This sport is apparrently much like a rugby and lacrosse hybrid, with ancient Gaelic origins. I matched their displeasure when they remarked that they had no idea how hockey was played. Overall, we had great fun talking about our differences, but internationally, youth can always count on bringing drinking together.
I returned to my hotel around 3AM, and rested up for my last sight-seeing for the weekend the next day. Around 3pm I went to Monkey Temple, a short hike through the hillside. I bought a bag of peanuts to feed the monkeys, and was on my way. Aside from being the only tourist there at the time, which seemed to encourage the local youth to throw rocks at me and laugh while running away, it was very beautiful and fun. Beautiful because of the hillside scenery, fun because I got to play with monkeys. The place was overrun with them, many of them jumping into a water tank to swim. A mother walked up to me with her young strapped to her stomach, and looked at my peanut sack. Once I gave her one, a dozen or so monkeys came to investigate. After trying to feed them in an organized fashion, I realized I was surrounded. I was told it was safe to hold out my hand, and the monkeys would gently pry open my fingers to take the nut. After snapping a few pictures, I noticed one fat monkey wouldnt move from her shade. I thought she was crippled and couldn't walk, as she was eying me curiously. I walked up, kneeled in front of her, and tossed the peanut a few feet away. She looked at me, then the peanut, then walked towards it. She looked at the nut, crushed it with her palm, looked at me and sat back down. Dumb unappreciative monkey!
I then went to catch my train and saw my Irish friends at the railway, we were in seperate cars but talked about meeting up in Delhi. All in all it was a great and adventurous trip, although very tiring from all the hiking, sun, and late nights. Travelling on my own was fine, and in person I can tell of more little exciting events that happened along the way that I don't have time to describe.
I hope everyone in Canada is enjoying their cold summer (I know it sucks for youbut there's some days I'm really jealous) and I will see you when I get home inless than 3 weeks!
Monday, August 3, 2009
Friday, July 31, 2009
July 26th, 2009
Hello again, it's been about a week since I last wrote and it has been a very busy one. A brief overview of the projects I undertook at the Embassy this week is in order.On Thursday, July 23rd, 120 Indian students who were registered at Canadian colleges and universities in the fall were invited to a pre-departure orientation at the High Commission. I was told to work on two projects for this event. One was a powerpoint presentation about student life and what foreigns tudents should expect of campus culture. I then presented in front of the attending students and answered questions they had afterwards. I also was told to design the feedback form of the orientation and then tabulate the results/opinions into a word document the next day. After the presentation, some eager students, many going to York, made a beeline towards me hoping to either get a personal anecdote about what to expect at York, advice on how to adjust to life in Toronto, and recognition for getting into the Holy Schulich School of Business (to them it's the Crown Jewel in their post-secondary education, to me, its just a building blocking the view from my doorstep). I also produced a quiz on Canadian innovations in the science and technology sector and the finished copy of a Bhutan-Canada relations four-page factsheet, which I've spent a couple weeks on and has been very challenging. It will be used by the High Commisioner during his trip to Bhutan in two weeks.
On to the trip! This past Sunday, July 26th, I travelled to Agra, the home ofthe Taj Mahal and the worst place for a tourist in all of India. Well, the worst for a naive tourist, but quite the laugh/experience for me, as I have come to get enjoyment from messing with smooth talking businessmen and touts. I think it's my outlet to the frustration from many people in this country wanting to rip me off and lead me to believe they want to be myb est friend, as if telling me I have beautiful white skin won't lead me to the conclusion that by beautiful white skin they mean beautiful, plump, white wallet. Which is far from the truth, I am a struggling student afterall. Us Canadians here have a tendency to look at India cynically, but at least our sense of humour keeps us sane.
Stephen and I arrived in Agra at 830 Sunday morning after taking a 615AM train from Delhi. We walked out of the train station and I told Stephen to keep walking no matter what anyone offered, because the first few swarms of taxidrivers and tour guides were going to be the most malicious. I weaved through the rows of tuktuks and taxis, going nowhere really, when a man chased me down and waved a pamphlet with prices in my face, to which I politely told him to go away. He chased me, and continued yelling the price, lowering it as I ignored him longer. Finally, he said 400 roupees for four, five, six, hell, as many hours as I wanted. (This is about CAN$10) I turned to him, he smiled, I asked 'AC?' He nodded. We had a deal. Usually, taxis for a day in Agra run for 1600 roupees, so I felt I had gotten the best of it. I knew not to believe I ever got the best out of a haggler, but really, how could this go wrong? ...
So, we ask to make a beeline to the Taj, we wanted to get there before the swarm of tourists. We flashed our diplomatic cards, and instead of paying 750IR for entrance, we paid the locals price: 20IR (50 cents instead of $19). We walked up to the Taj and it's really everything and more that people describe it as. It looked like a mirage, was literally completely symmetrical, and even the four outside pillars were designed to lean ever so slightly outwards so that in case an earthquake ever struck the city, the pillars would fall outwards instead ofonto the main centrepiece. It was a beautifully clear blue sky and I took many pictures. We couldn't take pictures inside, but I assure you it was a work of art. We planned to return that evening for another 50 cents to catch the sunset, and so we went back to the taxi.
We told the tour guide who jumped into the taxi with the driver that we wantedt o go see Fatehpur Sikri, a UNESCO World Heritage monument 45 minutes away from Agra. He told us no, it would cost us 1800 roupees and the gas it would take to get there. Hey now, I said. You told us 400 roupees for as many hours as we wanted, you didn't say anything about where you'd go. After a wave of the hand, he reassured us he would take us to the absolute best places in Agra. We grudgingly accepted, knowing we couldn't win. I asked him to take us to a South Indian restaurant. He found one in a hotel, and I ate South Indian food while Stephen ate his packed lunch (he dipped a boiled egg into pepper from the restaurant... the waiters stared, for good reason, they would have done the same in Canada lol). We ate and left, excited for the 'best places in Agra' promised to us. Silly tourist.
It turns out the best places to go in Agra where all ridiculously overpriced tourist shops that pay 5% commission for tour guides to bring their customerst here. Walking into a store that sells exclusively marble furniture inlayed with semi-precious stones and being the only customer there reeked of pressure, and I got a chuckle out of the absurdity that they thought I could afford anything. After telling the store owner I was a struggling student, I asked him with a straight face if he accepted food stamps for payment of a marble chessboard. It was promptly made clear that they in fact, do not accept such forms of payment and that it was time for me to go.
We got out to the taxi and I asked the tour guide what the hell he thought he was doing. He explained these were Agra's hotspots. I told him he was full of it and that we didn't want to do his stupid little sales tour. He said fine, he would now take us to a place where we could listen to music and relax. It sounded pretty good, so we went. So we step into a shop that sells exclusively instruments, and we are greeted by a terse storeowner. He tells us to sit on a couch facing two grim musicians, one with a sitar, the other with some form of percussion instrument. The two of them play, eying their tip jar, and stop after a minute. The owner gives us his sales pitch, and we sit there in awkward silence for about 5 minutes as he intermittedly asks us questions, which led to an exchange that almost made me spit out my 'complimentary' tea from holding back a laugh.
Store owner: Which one do you like?
Stephen: I like this one, I collect instruments from around the world, do youhave it in black?
S.O: yes, I'll go get it for you.
Stephen: How much?
S.O: 28,000R.
Stephen: Ohh.. I have to ask my mom before I can make a purchase like that.
S.O: Is she here now?
Stephen: No, she's at home in Delhi. (trying to get out of it)
S.O: Well you can call her then.
Stephen (thinking quickly and ever so smooth...): Uhhh, I don't know her number.
S.O: You don't know your own phone number?
Stephen: ....No. (Eric sitting next to him thinking in his head AAAAAHAHAHA)
More awkward silence. Well........ I think it's time we head out. lol.
We continued this process, going to 4 or so more shops, telling the cab driver and tour guide each time how stupid this whole process was and that we werent going to buy overpriced marble elephants or string-instruments. He kept telling me to remember to give him a big tip. On the way back from one of the stores, Stephen and I walked alone to the car and saw the two men weren't there. I checked the doors, and they were unlocked. Our bags, with our train tickets, money, cameras, everything we had, were left sitting in the unlocked car. I was pissed. The men came back and I asked them what the hell they were thinking leaving the car unlocked, I had told them specifically to lock it. The tour guide yelled at the driver in Hindi, I told the tour guide it was his fault, and he told us he was leaving to go home since it was 4 o'clock. Oh, and don't forget to tip. At this point I really didn't think he deserved anything, but thought I'd give him 100R and see what happened. We get out of the car, Stephen goes to hand him the 100R bill, and he just stared at it. 5 seconds of an outreached bill turned into Stephen saying fine, and walking away with me. The tour guide yells at me, wanting to know where my tip was. I said it was half of Stephen's and that he barely deserved it for taking us to his shops and for being reckless with our bags, and we kept walking away. He jogged up behind me, and punched me square in the back. I turned around, shocked I had been struck by a dishevelled man that barely weighed triple digits , and just stared at him. He grabbed the 100R from Stephen and walked back to the car, and so did we. We were going to take our bags with us, we knew he would just steal them if we left them with the taxi driver.
We went to Agra Fort, which is similar to the Red Fort in Delhi, except there is a view of the Taj Mahal from its roof. We then got a drive over to the Taj Mahal at night, and watched the sun set beautifully behind it. I took lots of pictures with the sunset and the moon, I will be adding them on facebook if anyone is interested. We then had to catch our train, so we found our taxi, got in, and asked to go to the station. We got there, handed the man 580 (180 tip) and said thanks. He got out, looked at it like it was used toilet paper, and his boss came over to see what he was hollering about. His boss was the guy who had originally approachedme with the 400R 'deal', and asked me what the hell I was thinking, giving 580 for 12 hours of service. At this point, I had no patience left and went on a rant.
"Listen buddy, I paid for his gas twice, his parking three times, got taken around to his high-pressure commissioned stores, got punched in the back, didn't get taken where I wanted to go, and you told me specifically I had 400Rf or as long as I wanted, so really, screw off".
Him: "But sir, 400R for 12 hours, you must be mad. You must pay 1400R".
We argued for 5 minutes, I started yelling and making a scene and he really didn't want that. Eventually we left on those terms, and got on the train safely. Another exciting day-trip, and hopefully you enjoyed reading this as much as I did experiencing it.
One last thing. If you ever visit Agra, just remember... the Taj Mahal is beautiful, but the tour guides hit like sissies.
On to the trip! This past Sunday, July 26th, I travelled to Agra, the home ofthe Taj Mahal and the worst place for a tourist in all of India. Well, the worst for a naive tourist, but quite the laugh/experience for me, as I have come to get enjoyment from messing with smooth talking businessmen and touts. I think it's my outlet to the frustration from many people in this country wanting to rip me off and lead me to believe they want to be myb est friend, as if telling me I have beautiful white skin won't lead me to the conclusion that by beautiful white skin they mean beautiful, plump, white wallet. Which is far from the truth, I am a struggling student afterall. Us Canadians here have a tendency to look at India cynically, but at least our sense of humour keeps us sane.
Stephen and I arrived in Agra at 830 Sunday morning after taking a 615AM train from Delhi. We walked out of the train station and I told Stephen to keep walking no matter what anyone offered, because the first few swarms of taxidrivers and tour guides were going to be the most malicious. I weaved through the rows of tuktuks and taxis, going nowhere really, when a man chased me down and waved a pamphlet with prices in my face, to which I politely told him to go away. He chased me, and continued yelling the price, lowering it as I ignored him longer. Finally, he said 400 roupees for four, five, six, hell, as many hours as I wanted. (This is about CAN$10) I turned to him, he smiled, I asked 'AC?' He nodded. We had a deal. Usually, taxis for a day in Agra run for 1600 roupees, so I felt I had gotten the best of it. I knew not to believe I ever got the best out of a haggler, but really, how could this go wrong? ...
So, we ask to make a beeline to the Taj, we wanted to get there before the swarm of tourists. We flashed our diplomatic cards, and instead of paying 750IR for entrance, we paid the locals price: 20IR (50 cents instead of $19). We walked up to the Taj and it's really everything and more that people describe it as. It looked like a mirage, was literally completely symmetrical, and even the four outside pillars were designed to lean ever so slightly outwards so that in case an earthquake ever struck the city, the pillars would fall outwards instead ofonto the main centrepiece. It was a beautifully clear blue sky and I took many pictures. We couldn't take pictures inside, but I assure you it was a work of art. We planned to return that evening for another 50 cents to catch the sunset, and so we went back to the taxi.
We told the tour guide who jumped into the taxi with the driver that we wantedt o go see Fatehpur Sikri, a UNESCO World Heritage monument 45 minutes away from Agra. He told us no, it would cost us 1800 roupees and the gas it would take to get there. Hey now, I said. You told us 400 roupees for as many hours as we wanted, you didn't say anything about where you'd go. After a wave of the hand, he reassured us he would take us to the absolute best places in Agra. We grudgingly accepted, knowing we couldn't win. I asked him to take us to a South Indian restaurant. He found one in a hotel, and I ate South Indian food while Stephen ate his packed lunch (he dipped a boiled egg into pepper from the restaurant... the waiters stared, for good reason, they would have done the same in Canada lol). We ate and left, excited for the 'best places in Agra' promised to us. Silly tourist.
It turns out the best places to go in Agra where all ridiculously overpriced tourist shops that pay 5% commission for tour guides to bring their customerst here. Walking into a store that sells exclusively marble furniture inlayed with semi-precious stones and being the only customer there reeked of pressure, and I got a chuckle out of the absurdity that they thought I could afford anything. After telling the store owner I was a struggling student, I asked him with a straight face if he accepted food stamps for payment of a marble chessboard. It was promptly made clear that they in fact, do not accept such forms of payment and that it was time for me to go.
We got out to the taxi and I asked the tour guide what the hell he thought he was doing. He explained these were Agra's hotspots. I told him he was full of it and that we didn't want to do his stupid little sales tour. He said fine, he would now take us to a place where we could listen to music and relax. It sounded pretty good, so we went. So we step into a shop that sells exclusively instruments, and we are greeted by a terse storeowner. He tells us to sit on a couch facing two grim musicians, one with a sitar, the other with some form of percussion instrument. The two of them play, eying their tip jar, and stop after a minute. The owner gives us his sales pitch, and we sit there in awkward silence for about 5 minutes as he intermittedly asks us questions, which led to an exchange that almost made me spit out my 'complimentary' tea from holding back a laugh.
Store owner: Which one do you like?
Stephen: I like this one, I collect instruments from around the world, do youhave it in black?
S.O: yes, I'll go get it for you.
Stephen: How much?
S.O: 28,000R.
Stephen: Ohh.. I have to ask my mom before I can make a purchase like that.
S.O: Is she here now?
Stephen: No, she's at home in Delhi. (trying to get out of it)
S.O: Well you can call her then.
Stephen (thinking quickly and ever so smooth...): Uhhh, I don't know her number.
S.O: You don't know your own phone number?
Stephen: ....No. (Eric sitting next to him thinking in his head AAAAAHAHAHA)
More awkward silence. Well........ I think it's time we head out. lol.
We continued this process, going to 4 or so more shops, telling the cab driver and tour guide each time how stupid this whole process was and that we werent going to buy overpriced marble elephants or string-instruments. He kept telling me to remember to give him a big tip. On the way back from one of the stores, Stephen and I walked alone to the car and saw the two men weren't there. I checked the doors, and they were unlocked. Our bags, with our train tickets, money, cameras, everything we had, were left sitting in the unlocked car. I was pissed. The men came back and I asked them what the hell they were thinking leaving the car unlocked, I had told them specifically to lock it. The tour guide yelled at the driver in Hindi, I told the tour guide it was his fault, and he told us he was leaving to go home since it was 4 o'clock. Oh, and don't forget to tip. At this point I really didn't think he deserved anything, but thought I'd give him 100R and see what happened. We get out of the car, Stephen goes to hand him the 100R bill, and he just stared at it. 5 seconds of an outreached bill turned into Stephen saying fine, and walking away with me. The tour guide yells at me, wanting to know where my tip was. I said it was half of Stephen's and that he barely deserved it for taking us to his shops and for being reckless with our bags, and we kept walking away. He jogged up behind me, and punched me square in the back. I turned around, shocked I had been struck by a dishevelled man that barely weighed triple digits , and just stared at him. He grabbed the 100R from Stephen and walked back to the car, and so did we. We were going to take our bags with us, we knew he would just steal them if we left them with the taxi driver.
We went to Agra Fort, which is similar to the Red Fort in Delhi, except there is a view of the Taj Mahal from its roof. We then got a drive over to the Taj Mahal at night, and watched the sun set beautifully behind it. I took lots of pictures with the sunset and the moon, I will be adding them on facebook if anyone is interested. We then had to catch our train, so we found our taxi, got in, and asked to go to the station. We got there, handed the man 580 (180 tip) and said thanks. He got out, looked at it like it was used toilet paper, and his boss came over to see what he was hollering about. His boss was the guy who had originally approachedme with the 400R 'deal', and asked me what the hell I was thinking, giving 580 for 12 hours of service. At this point, I had no patience left and went on a rant.
"Listen buddy, I paid for his gas twice, his parking three times, got taken around to his high-pressure commissioned stores, got punched in the back, didn't get taken where I wanted to go, and you told me specifically I had 400Rf or as long as I wanted, so really, screw off".
Him: "But sir, 400R for 12 hours, you must be mad. You must pay 1400R".
We argued for 5 minutes, I started yelling and making a scene and he really didn't want that. Eventually we left on those terms, and got on the train safely. Another exciting day-trip, and hopefully you enjoyed reading this as much as I did experiencing it.
One last thing. If you ever visit Agra, just remember... the Taj Mahal is beautiful, but the tour guides hit like sissies.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Sunday, July 19th, 2009
For all the folks back home who have gone over a week without an interesting update, I apologize. If it was up to me to choose how often I experience excitement it would be better for both parties. But, its very difficult to travel spontaneously in India as the 1.2 billion people tend to clog the decently affordable public transportation. This past Sunday, July 19th, I travelled with two co-workers up north by train to Amritsar. The three of us, Stephen, Britt and I, woke up at 5AM to catch a 720AM train. We were all packed and excited for our day trip. When we told people we were going to Amritsar and the Wagah Pakistan/Indian border in one day, they told us itwas impossible and crazy! But we did it, and it was adventurous and a ton of fun, and almost everything went according to plan. More on that later.
So we arrived 6 hours later in Amritsar at 1:15PM and quickly met up with our driver for the day. Britt's dad is the RCMP South Asia Liaison Officer so he has some serious law enforcement hookups, and was able to get us two police escorts for the day: One plain clothed and another in uniform. We asked to be taken to lunch and we ordered a bunch of food. I won't list the real names, but basically fried bread, daal (which is basically Indian soulfood, a lentil base with a sauce) rice, spicy potatoes, and cheese with sauce. We scarfed it all down and it came to 7 dollars for the three of us, and we left fully satiated for the next 6 hours.
We arrived shortly after to the Golden Temple, Amritsar's main attraction. It is the Sikh religion's holiest place and was packed with pilgrims. It is a beautiful (real) gold building surrounded by a small lake in which pilgrims come to bath in its holy water. We couldn't wear shoes and I had to cover my head with a scarf (we only had a purple one left..), so I looked kind of silly whilst burning my feet on the sun-torched marble floors. Our tour guide (plain-clothed officer) took us around and showed us the kitchens where theymake 10,000 fajita-shaped rounds of bread per hour to feed the pilgrims. We then went in the exit (VIP treatment!) to bypass the huge line to get into the temple and got inside. We couldn't take pictures, but it was absolutely amazing. Everything was golden and immaculately hand-carved. Locals worked 24/7 constantly sweeping and cleaning the Temple and its perameters to maintain its spotless integrity. It's an absolutely spectacular building and my vocabulary can't do it justice. I will be uploading pictures shortly and hopefully it wills how just how beautiful it was to see in person.
We got to the top of the Temple and we were allowed to take pictures there. Some locals saw our cameras and wanted pictures of us, and ones with us as well. I got a few on my camera of myself and a troup of excited pilgrims on the top of the Temple, I was flattered lol, and as were they, for whatever strange reason. After we left, we went to an outdoor museum where they commemorate the 1919 Amritsar massacre. It was at this site that British troops took machine guns to a crowd of protesting Indians and hundreds were mowed down and killed. They've maintained the buildings that still have bulletholes in them. They have also maintained the enormous well where 120 Indians jumped to their death, taking their chances by jumping into the well instead of facing the machine gun fire.
At this point, I was feeling really dizzy. I had gotten a terrible sunburn on the Friday and it still hadn't healed at all, and the sweat covering my entire body was irritating my skin on top of the jeans (what was I thinking??) and the T-shirt I was wearing. We got back to the car and I drank 2 litres of water almost non-stop and since I've gotten back I've yet to urinate. Dehydration for sure, heat stroke very closeby. I dodged a bullet there and I need to be much more careful. But, my travel-buddies thought it was hilarious that I was mumbling incoherently while in my dizzy stupor.
From here, we made a beeline to the Wagah Border by car, with the only thing I truly worshipped that day in front of me, the Air Conditioner. The Wagah Border is a 35KM drive East from Amritsar towards Pakistan. It is here that every single night, hundreds of Indians, Pakistanis and tourists flood the stands to join in the festivities. We sat in our VIP (see: white people and rich Indians) seats and waited for the party to start. From loudspeakers came shouted slogans along with the yell of 'HINDUSTAN!' (literally meaning Land ofthe Hindus, aka India) repeated several times and met by raucous cheers from the crowd. On the other side of the fenced border, the Pakistani loudspeakers tried to encite the same fervour within their masses. Then out of nowhere, the peacocking began. Indian soldiers, all well above 6 feet tall and wearing lavish military dress, began their stomping and high kicks towards the border. All I could think was how shit was about to hit the fan, and couldn't help but cheer at the absolute intensity of the guards. They would kick their extremelyl ong legs up to hit their helmets with their boot; the higher they kicked, the louder the crowd cheered. The Pakistani soldiers mirrored the Indians, and met at the border for what appeared to be a flex-off and a staredown, along withs everal foot stomps. With their elaborate moustaches bristling, there was some sort of invisible signal given and two soldiers from each side marched/stomped/kicked from their respective sides towards the gate to accompany the first sent guard. It was so dramatic and intense as the guards walked past me, I couldn't help but stand up and shout stupid Western cliche slogans like 'Ohhhh shit', 'He's gonna get it now!', 'daaaaaaamn', and asking Britt and Stephen 'Do you think Pakistan is gonna take that??' I was clearly caught up in the moment, but unfortunately my camera battery had died. Britt and Stephen took tons of pictures and videos and I will upload them once I have them.
After the border ceremony we went straight back to the Golden Temple, because atnight they turn on bright lights to reflect the golden structure at night, from which I've heard/seen is the best time to view it. We weren't disappointed, andI will save the physical description for the pictures will speak for themselves. We had a 935PM train to catch, and we arrived with plenty of time and settled in. It was an overnight sleeper train, with four bunk beds. After chatting about how our day went perfectly to plan and we were never bored or waiting around, we all fell asleep, exhausted. We arrived in Delhi at 7AM, and I was dropped off at home, showered, and went to work for the day, from 830-530. I will definately need an early bedtime tonight, as I had only fallen asleep at2AM the night I had to wake up at 5AM, and a long day of activities Sunday. Was it all worth it? After describing it in this e-mail, and remembering the day, I can certainly say it was. Enjoy the pictures, they will be uploaded in the next few days.
So we arrived 6 hours later in Amritsar at 1:15PM and quickly met up with our driver for the day. Britt's dad is the RCMP South Asia Liaison Officer so he has some serious law enforcement hookups, and was able to get us two police escorts for the day: One plain clothed and another in uniform. We asked to be taken to lunch and we ordered a bunch of food. I won't list the real names, but basically fried bread, daal (which is basically Indian soulfood, a lentil base with a sauce) rice, spicy potatoes, and cheese with sauce. We scarfed it all down and it came to 7 dollars for the three of us, and we left fully satiated for the next 6 hours.
We arrived shortly after to the Golden Temple, Amritsar's main attraction. It is the Sikh religion's holiest place and was packed with pilgrims. It is a beautiful (real) gold building surrounded by a small lake in which pilgrims come to bath in its holy water. We couldn't wear shoes and I had to cover my head with a scarf (we only had a purple one left..), so I looked kind of silly whilst burning my feet on the sun-torched marble floors. Our tour guide (plain-clothed officer) took us around and showed us the kitchens where theymake 10,000 fajita-shaped rounds of bread per hour to feed the pilgrims. We then went in the exit (VIP treatment!) to bypass the huge line to get into the temple and got inside. We couldn't take pictures, but it was absolutely amazing. Everything was golden and immaculately hand-carved. Locals worked 24/7 constantly sweeping and cleaning the Temple and its perameters to maintain its spotless integrity. It's an absolutely spectacular building and my vocabulary can't do it justice. I will be uploading pictures shortly and hopefully it wills how just how beautiful it was to see in person.
We got to the top of the Temple and we were allowed to take pictures there. Some locals saw our cameras and wanted pictures of us, and ones with us as well. I got a few on my camera of myself and a troup of excited pilgrims on the top of the Temple, I was flattered lol, and as were they, for whatever strange reason. After we left, we went to an outdoor museum where they commemorate the 1919 Amritsar massacre. It was at this site that British troops took machine guns to a crowd of protesting Indians and hundreds were mowed down and killed. They've maintained the buildings that still have bulletholes in them. They have also maintained the enormous well where 120 Indians jumped to their death, taking their chances by jumping into the well instead of facing the machine gun fire.
At this point, I was feeling really dizzy. I had gotten a terrible sunburn on the Friday and it still hadn't healed at all, and the sweat covering my entire body was irritating my skin on top of the jeans (what was I thinking??) and the T-shirt I was wearing. We got back to the car and I drank 2 litres of water almost non-stop and since I've gotten back I've yet to urinate. Dehydration for sure, heat stroke very closeby. I dodged a bullet there and I need to be much more careful. But, my travel-buddies thought it was hilarious that I was mumbling incoherently while in my dizzy stupor.
From here, we made a beeline to the Wagah Border by car, with the only thing I truly worshipped that day in front of me, the Air Conditioner. The Wagah Border is a 35KM drive East from Amritsar towards Pakistan. It is here that every single night, hundreds of Indians, Pakistanis and tourists flood the stands to join in the festivities. We sat in our VIP (see: white people and rich Indians) seats and waited for the party to start. From loudspeakers came shouted slogans along with the yell of 'HINDUSTAN!' (literally meaning Land ofthe Hindus, aka India) repeated several times and met by raucous cheers from the crowd. On the other side of the fenced border, the Pakistani loudspeakers tried to encite the same fervour within their masses. Then out of nowhere, the peacocking began. Indian soldiers, all well above 6 feet tall and wearing lavish military dress, began their stomping and high kicks towards the border. All I could think was how shit was about to hit the fan, and couldn't help but cheer at the absolute intensity of the guards. They would kick their extremelyl ong legs up to hit their helmets with their boot; the higher they kicked, the louder the crowd cheered. The Pakistani soldiers mirrored the Indians, and met at the border for what appeared to be a flex-off and a staredown, along withs everal foot stomps. With their elaborate moustaches bristling, there was some sort of invisible signal given and two soldiers from each side marched/stomped/kicked from their respective sides towards the gate to accompany the first sent guard. It was so dramatic and intense as the guards walked past me, I couldn't help but stand up and shout stupid Western cliche slogans like 'Ohhhh shit', 'He's gonna get it now!', 'daaaaaaamn', and asking Britt and Stephen 'Do you think Pakistan is gonna take that??' I was clearly caught up in the moment, but unfortunately my camera battery had died. Britt and Stephen took tons of pictures and videos and I will upload them once I have them.
After the border ceremony we went straight back to the Golden Temple, because atnight they turn on bright lights to reflect the golden structure at night, from which I've heard/seen is the best time to view it. We weren't disappointed, andI will save the physical description for the pictures will speak for themselves. We had a 935PM train to catch, and we arrived with plenty of time and settled in. It was an overnight sleeper train, with four bunk beds. After chatting about how our day went perfectly to plan and we were never bored or waiting around, we all fell asleep, exhausted. We arrived in Delhi at 7AM, and I was dropped off at home, showered, and went to work for the day, from 830-530. I will definately need an early bedtime tonight, as I had only fallen asleep at2AM the night I had to wake up at 5AM, and a long day of activities Sunday. Was it all worth it? After describing it in this e-mail, and remembering the day, I can certainly say it was. Enjoy the pictures, they will be uploaded in the next few days.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
July 2nd, 2009
Ok now that I've led you to believe my day off after Canada Day is a good thing, I guess it's mean of me to say that it has not been at all, one bit, a good thing. I have the dreaded Delhi belly. Haha, 'funny rhyme' you say. Yeah, laugh it up. If you ever get it, I guarantee the humourous aspect of it will soon fade. As you can tell my spirits are up. At this point, it's really the only angle I can look at my predicament and not want to come home right away. Anyways, here is the story.
On the way to the Canada Day BBQ on the Embassy grounds, Andrew asked very frankly, in different terms, how my stomach has taken to Indian food and drink. I said almost every day sucked when it came to having to go to the bathroom, butI told him I knew to expect the Delhi belly. He laughed, which was the first prophetic sign of things to come. He then told me about his experience with adjusting to the bacterial culture of Indian cuisine. 7 days of simultaneous vomiting and diarrhea, terrible cramps and a fever. He told me that experienc ewas the first time he cried in the fetal position since he was a child. I chuckled, hey! I've dodged a bullet then! He said no, in 2 months, I'm bound to get it. I'm very comfortable with food and what I drink, ie using a straw so my mouth isnt on a glass or can, never any ice, I inspect the meat I eat and never eat lettuce or uncooked vegetables or unpeeled fruit. I thought I would avoid it, but.. apparently its unavoidable.
So after the party, I felt fine. Came home, went to bed at a decent time because I had work in the morning. 5AM rolls around and I'm woken up by nausea, and thisis where it begins. For those of you who have a weak stomach, then skip the next paragraph. I'm only going to talk about it in slight detail so that I can take solace in the fact that my friends and family back home may pity me, and that when I read it back home in Canada I can hopefully laugh at it then. 5AM and I crouch in front of the toilet and throw up unexpectantly, most of the stomach acid coming out of my nose. I'm very surprised and thinking what the hell is going on, but my thought process is interrupted by another heave thatcomes from deep inside my gut. I let out a roar, and it's only bile and other acids that come up. One more time, then I wait a few minutes before creeping back into bed, tears in my eyes and thinking phew, I'm glad that's over. Wrong. 1 hour later I wake up again, I repeat the process, feeling the heaving roar coming from deep inside of my gut. I look in the mirror briefly and I'm very pale. I have a fever and I realize I may have to do an acrobatic manoever tos it on the toilet and throw up in the sink at the same time. This process repeats for every hour between 5AM and 1030. Then again at 1. It's now 230 here and I feel better, but still have some waves of nausea and rushes to thebathroom. Actually, I think I'm done throwing up for the day, fingers are crossed.
I contacted the Embassy doctor and she told me to take Gravol, Tylenol and eat starches. Great, I have none and I can't contact my maid to go and fetch me these things. Phones here are absolutely terrible. I'm drinking plenty of water and I've been told not to worry, everyone goes through it and it's a good sign my body is letting itself adapt to the unseen horrors of Indian microbiology. Apparently the culprit was not the food at the BBQ, nor the lunch I had at Club Canada, but was most likely the leftovers Andrew offered me from his fridge his cook had made the night before. He said in the middle of the night the electricity can go off for a couple hours without ever knowing it, and that is how I was outsmarted. In fact, I'm really considering writing a strongly wordedletter to the tourism board of India to inform visitors that their country is not just about scenic rivers, Bollywood, curry and the Taj Mahal, but will make you vomit up demons.
Now, I know my family will probably be worried about me after reading this, ift hey weren't already. I considered not mentioning it, but thought that I am getting through this and I am probably already over it. The worst is behind me and it's completely normal. In fact, I got off really easy, most people get it for a few days. Just think of it as a really bad hangover, tomorrow I will be fine.
Sunday I'm supposed to be going to Agra to see the Taj Mahal with Stephen, the son of an employee at the Embassy. I'll make sure to take plenty of pictures, I know I haven't uploaded any yet, Andrew's laptop won't recognize my camera, grr..
I miss everyone back home, and that includes my ol' reliable fridge. I will hug that thing when I get home, mark my words.
On the way to the Canada Day BBQ on the Embassy grounds, Andrew asked very frankly, in different terms, how my stomach has taken to Indian food and drink. I said almost every day sucked when it came to having to go to the bathroom, butI told him I knew to expect the Delhi belly. He laughed, which was the first prophetic sign of things to come. He then told me about his experience with adjusting to the bacterial culture of Indian cuisine. 7 days of simultaneous vomiting and diarrhea, terrible cramps and a fever. He told me that experienc ewas the first time he cried in the fetal position since he was a child. I chuckled, hey! I've dodged a bullet then! He said no, in 2 months, I'm bound to get it. I'm very comfortable with food and what I drink, ie using a straw so my mouth isnt on a glass or can, never any ice, I inspect the meat I eat and never eat lettuce or uncooked vegetables or unpeeled fruit. I thought I would avoid it, but.. apparently its unavoidable.
So after the party, I felt fine. Came home, went to bed at a decent time because I had work in the morning. 5AM rolls around and I'm woken up by nausea, and thisis where it begins. For those of you who have a weak stomach, then skip the next paragraph. I'm only going to talk about it in slight detail so that I can take solace in the fact that my friends and family back home may pity me, and that when I read it back home in Canada I can hopefully laugh at it then. 5AM and I crouch in front of the toilet and throw up unexpectantly, most of the stomach acid coming out of my nose. I'm very surprised and thinking what the hell is going on, but my thought process is interrupted by another heave thatcomes from deep inside my gut. I let out a roar, and it's only bile and other acids that come up. One more time, then I wait a few minutes before creeping back into bed, tears in my eyes and thinking phew, I'm glad that's over. Wrong. 1 hour later I wake up again, I repeat the process, feeling the heaving roar coming from deep inside of my gut. I look in the mirror briefly and I'm very pale. I have a fever and I realize I may have to do an acrobatic manoever tos it on the toilet and throw up in the sink at the same time. This process repeats for every hour between 5AM and 1030. Then again at 1. It's now 230 here and I feel better, but still have some waves of nausea and rushes to thebathroom. Actually, I think I'm done throwing up for the day, fingers are crossed.
I contacted the Embassy doctor and she told me to take Gravol, Tylenol and eat starches. Great, I have none and I can't contact my maid to go and fetch me these things. Phones here are absolutely terrible. I'm drinking plenty of water and I've been told not to worry, everyone goes through it and it's a good sign my body is letting itself adapt to the unseen horrors of Indian microbiology. Apparently the culprit was not the food at the BBQ, nor the lunch I had at Club Canada, but was most likely the leftovers Andrew offered me from his fridge his cook had made the night before. He said in the middle of the night the electricity can go off for a couple hours without ever knowing it, and that is how I was outsmarted. In fact, I'm really considering writing a strongly wordedletter to the tourism board of India to inform visitors that their country is not just about scenic rivers, Bollywood, curry and the Taj Mahal, but will make you vomit up demons.
Now, I know my family will probably be worried about me after reading this, ift hey weren't already. I considered not mentioning it, but thought that I am getting through this and I am probably already over it. The worst is behind me and it's completely normal. In fact, I got off really easy, most people get it for a few days. Just think of it as a really bad hangover, tomorrow I will be fine.
Sunday I'm supposed to be going to Agra to see the Taj Mahal with Stephen, the son of an employee at the Embassy. I'll make sure to take plenty of pictures, I know I haven't uploaded any yet, Andrew's laptop won't recognize my camera, grr..
I miss everyone back home, and that includes my ol' reliable fridge. I will hug that thing when I get home, mark my words.
June 30th, 2009
So I realize now I've yet to write about the actual reason why I'm here in India and what I do for most of the week. I guess I think about it all day so I'm a bit sick of writing about it on my own time but it has so far been very interesting.
I interact with DFAIT-employed diplomats regularly, including business lunches, regular meetings, transitioning with headquarters in Ottawa, and editing the write-ups they've had me doing.They pile up the work faster than I can do it, and my desk is already a mess. I've taken pictures of office and the Embassy grounds, I'll attach them when I have internet at home.
So far, I've written up two drafts for a pamphlet the Canadian government will be distributing at Indian universities and business expos. It deals with Canadaa s an innovating partner with India in the field of science and technology and experimental development. I do my rough drafts in a notebook and will bring it home, so when I am back in Canada people can thumb through and get a more concrete idea of what I do. T
he second project I'm working on is an informative pamphlet concerning Canada and Bhutan (a small Himalayan nation in which Canada is only one of twenty-two nations who share relations)'s history and present. Our CIDA contract ended with Bhutan in Dec. 2009 and the media is portraying it as Canada pulling outof relations, when in fact it was simply contractual. My job is to remind the media with this writeup about all the great things Canada has done for Bhutan, including introducting a secular schooling system there and direct bilateral aid.
Then... there are about 3-4 other projects waiting to be done. The thing is, it's not like once I'm done a draft it's sent to the presses. First, my superior in Public Affairs tears it apart, once I edited that, it's sent to the head diplomat in the Political/Economic section, and is then sent to a translator for fine tuning back in Public Affairs. This is the stage I'm atn ow. After I edit it again, it is sent back to the head diplomat who edits it again, then I edit some more. Then it is sent to Ottawa for further evaluation, then back to the head diplomat, then back to me. Then, we have a meeting to go over the document with a fine-tooth comb, literally picking apart each word. Since it represents the government of Canada, they are very picky with absolutely everything. This process has to be done for each project, so I will have 4-5 projects simulataneously in different stages of editing/evaluation.
If you're not asleep by now, I'll end it with saying holy shit, where are people getting the idea that government jobs are cushy? I didn't take any breaks my first week, but this week I enjoy a chai tea break for 5 roupees for 10 minutes of time in the morning/afternoon. 5 roupees isabout... 10 cents.
I interact with DFAIT-employed diplomats regularly, including business lunches, regular meetings, transitioning with headquarters in Ottawa, and editing the write-ups they've had me doing.They pile up the work faster than I can do it, and my desk is already a mess. I've taken pictures of office and the Embassy grounds, I'll attach them when I have internet at home.
So far, I've written up two drafts for a pamphlet the Canadian government will be distributing at Indian universities and business expos. It deals with Canadaa s an innovating partner with India in the field of science and technology and experimental development. I do my rough drafts in a notebook and will bring it home, so when I am back in Canada people can thumb through and get a more concrete idea of what I do. T
he second project I'm working on is an informative pamphlet concerning Canada and Bhutan (a small Himalayan nation in which Canada is only one of twenty-two nations who share relations)'s history and present. Our CIDA contract ended with Bhutan in Dec. 2009 and the media is portraying it as Canada pulling outof relations, when in fact it was simply contractual. My job is to remind the media with this writeup about all the great things Canada has done for Bhutan, including introducting a secular schooling system there and direct bilateral aid.
Then... there are about 3-4 other projects waiting to be done. The thing is, it's not like once I'm done a draft it's sent to the presses. First, my superior in Public Affairs tears it apart, once I edited that, it's sent to the head diplomat in the Political/Economic section, and is then sent to a translator for fine tuning back in Public Affairs. This is the stage I'm atn ow. After I edit it again, it is sent back to the head diplomat who edits it again, then I edit some more. Then it is sent to Ottawa for further evaluation, then back to the head diplomat, then back to me. Then, we have a meeting to go over the document with a fine-tooth comb, literally picking apart each word. Since it represents the government of Canada, they are very picky with absolutely everything. This process has to be done for each project, so I will have 4-5 projects simulataneously in different stages of editing/evaluation.
If you're not asleep by now, I'll end it with saying holy shit, where are people getting the idea that government jobs are cushy? I didn't take any breaks my first week, but this week I enjoy a chai tea break for 5 roupees for 10 minutes of time in the morning/afternoon. 5 roupees isabout... 10 cents.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
June 29th, 2009
On Thursday I was told I would be having Andrew (the diplomat)'s home to myself, but with no internet (or laptop since he took the only adapter) and maybe 3-4 movies that I have no interest in to watch. So along came Friday, and we end work at 1 and I was dreading sitting in the apartment alone with nothing to do my first free weekend in India. In what has been described as a courageous move by the diplomats around the water cooler, I got a hold of the Embassy's doctor's phone number. I had heard she had a daughter and there's very little people here my age so I thought it would be worth asking her what there was to do around Delhi.
I called the doctor, and she told me she and her daughter, Chloe, the girl I was to volunteer with on Sunday, were getting their nails done at a five star hotel half an hour away. I was invited to go shopping with them, but they'd understand if pedicures and silverware weren't my thing. I was about to kindly decline when I remembered how I was doomed to watch How Harry Met Sally at Andrew's if I did nothing, so I agreed to take a Tuktuk and meet them at the Hotel.
I strolled into the 5-star hotel, and quickly put on my "I belong here, Im rich" face and curtly declined the complementary head massage for those who appeared to be the son of a wealthy customer. Wearing a suit after work didn't hurt that. When they were done we went jewellery shopping, which is when my mind was promptly blown. I put on the rich face again and hmmmm'd as I walked along the displays of jewellery I had no business considering buying or trying on.
After shopping we went out for authentic Indian. It was apparently upscale, and the inside was a lot nicer than the outside.. but it was still Indian upscale which isn't necessarily great for us Canadians. We ordered things I can't remember how to pronounce and they all laughed at the inevitable Delhi Belly that I was to encounter when I took a dare and ate something 'hot' (hot forIndians) and they were right. I had bad cramps and etc.
I got a ride home, and Chloe and I went to Old Delhi in the morning. We went to India's oldest mosque after walking through the market. It is then that I realized I am a freak here. Big, tall white guy walking with big, tall white girl meant way too much attention for my comfort. We were swarmed if we stopped for more than 5 seconds, and every single person who noticed us stared and spoke in Hindi or extended their hand to be shook. They probably thought it was Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie looking to adopt one of their kids. The mosque was immense. I was put in a gown to cover up my exposed shins and we passed by lepers begging at the gates. Luckily I was wearing sunglasses, eye contact is apparently an invitation for conversation (not that they were looking for an invitation).
We climbed up thetower and our 'tour guide', who was basically a guy who yelled at us what we could see with our own eyes, described the view. He demanded a tip and we tosseed him 40 roupees, and he asked for more. The Canadian in me thought I had done something wrong, but Chloe is a little more integrated and she just kept walking, which is the best strategy.We then took a rickshaw to Karim's, a restaurant known to foreigners since it's in LonelyPlanet books. We ordered butter chicken, Tandouri chicken, rice, Daal, and water. I took pictures of our food and from the rickshaw, so instead of describing it I will attach photos when I have internet at Andrew's tomorrow night.
We got back to the compound after that and I was dropped off at Andrew'shouse. On Sunday, a diplomat, Chloe and I went to Old Delhi again to spend 3 hours at the Kilkari Rainbow all-girls home. When we got to the gates, one of them saw us and screamed something in Hindi. Then out of nowhere 35 Indian girls, aged 3-9 ran straight for us. It was like running with the bulls mixed with Christmas morning excitement, I said holy shit and luckily they don'tunderstand English, I wouldn't want them to have known what was going through my mind. After the initial mobbing, we went into a room and played. The level of energy and enthusiasm stayed the same for about 2 hours, and within an hour I was completely covered with sweat and exhausted.
My first and biggest mistake was giving a piggyback ride. They speak no English and are used to living on thes treet, so they are very grabby, pushing and well.. they slap each other in the face. All of a sudden 35 little kids wanted a piggy back ride at once and theconcept of a line was impossible. By the third kid, who didn't want to let go and was choking me, I was breathing hard. I had 3-4 kids on me at a time. So, I started just grabbing their arms and throwing them up in the air, they liked that too.To give an idea of what it's like, they live in one room with sewage flowingj ust outside of it. Kids play in the old fireplace in the back of the room,wearing just a cloth. Their prized possessions are rocks they find outside. One adorable girl gave me her rock and ran away shyly. It was so draining, but with monkeys swinging around outside, kids playing in sewage,no possessions and most of them suffering from heat rash, who am I to complain? It was an amazing experience and I am going back again in two weeks, I'll bring my camera to take pictures.
I got dropped off at home after that and fell asleep as soon I laid down. I slept from 8-730 the next morning without interruption. Now I'm at work, I just had a business lunch with Julia and another person in Public Affairs. I talked to Heather about suggestions of where I should go, and she told me I absolutely have to go to Katmandu, the capital of Nepal. I would need a visa and to fly there, butapparently the scenery, the day-trip mountain treks and the tranquility are very much worth it. I really want to go and I'll keep everyone posted on the process. Yesterday it rained for the first time and it poured. I thought, finally, the monsoon season is here, it will cool things down. Apparently it was pre-monsoon rain. So, it looks like I'll be getting wet.
Well, this has been quite a long e-mail. I've done a lot since my last one, and hopefully I provided enough details. I'm resourceful when it comes to food and eat and take home food from the Embassy when I can. I'm also a good haggler, I pride myself on cheaping down 50 Canadian cents from a TukTuk driver (crazy little open taxi) and being able to walk away when they demand more (this is what we have to do, or they'll ask for 500% more than what they ask from locals). I asked the maid to cook me dinner for tonight, hopefully it takes pity on my intestines, you truly need an iron stomach to handle Indian food.
I called the doctor, and she told me she and her daughter, Chloe, the girl I was to volunteer with on Sunday, were getting their nails done at a five star hotel half an hour away. I was invited to go shopping with them, but they'd understand if pedicures and silverware weren't my thing. I was about to kindly decline when I remembered how I was doomed to watch How Harry Met Sally at Andrew's if I did nothing, so I agreed to take a Tuktuk and meet them at the Hotel.
I strolled into the 5-star hotel, and quickly put on my "I belong here, Im rich" face and curtly declined the complementary head massage for those who appeared to be the son of a wealthy customer. Wearing a suit after work didn't hurt that. When they were done we went jewellery shopping, which is when my mind was promptly blown. I put on the rich face again and hmmmm'd as I walked along the displays of jewellery I had no business considering buying or trying on.
After shopping we went out for authentic Indian. It was apparently upscale, and the inside was a lot nicer than the outside.. but it was still Indian upscale which isn't necessarily great for us Canadians. We ordered things I can't remember how to pronounce and they all laughed at the inevitable Delhi Belly that I was to encounter when I took a dare and ate something 'hot' (hot forIndians) and they were right. I had bad cramps and etc.
I got a ride home, and Chloe and I went to Old Delhi in the morning. We went to India's oldest mosque after walking through the market. It is then that I realized I am a freak here. Big, tall white guy walking with big, tall white girl meant way too much attention for my comfort. We were swarmed if we stopped for more than 5 seconds, and every single person who noticed us stared and spoke in Hindi or extended their hand to be shook. They probably thought it was Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie looking to adopt one of their kids. The mosque was immense. I was put in a gown to cover up my exposed shins and we passed by lepers begging at the gates. Luckily I was wearing sunglasses, eye contact is apparently an invitation for conversation (not that they were looking for an invitation).
We climbed up thetower and our 'tour guide', who was basically a guy who yelled at us what we could see with our own eyes, described the view. He demanded a tip and we tosseed him 40 roupees, and he asked for more. The Canadian in me thought I had done something wrong, but Chloe is a little more integrated and she just kept walking, which is the best strategy.We then took a rickshaw to Karim's, a restaurant known to foreigners since it's in LonelyPlanet books. We ordered butter chicken, Tandouri chicken, rice, Daal, and water. I took pictures of our food and from the rickshaw, so instead of describing it I will attach photos when I have internet at Andrew's tomorrow night.
We got back to the compound after that and I was dropped off at Andrew'shouse. On Sunday, a diplomat, Chloe and I went to Old Delhi again to spend 3 hours at the Kilkari Rainbow all-girls home. When we got to the gates, one of them saw us and screamed something in Hindi. Then out of nowhere 35 Indian girls, aged 3-9 ran straight for us. It was like running with the bulls mixed with Christmas morning excitement, I said holy shit and luckily they don'tunderstand English, I wouldn't want them to have known what was going through my mind. After the initial mobbing, we went into a room and played. The level of energy and enthusiasm stayed the same for about 2 hours, and within an hour I was completely covered with sweat and exhausted.
My first and biggest mistake was giving a piggyback ride. They speak no English and are used to living on thes treet, so they are very grabby, pushing and well.. they slap each other in the face. All of a sudden 35 little kids wanted a piggy back ride at once and theconcept of a line was impossible. By the third kid, who didn't want to let go and was choking me, I was breathing hard. I had 3-4 kids on me at a time. So, I started just grabbing their arms and throwing them up in the air, they liked that too.To give an idea of what it's like, they live in one room with sewage flowingj ust outside of it. Kids play in the old fireplace in the back of the room,wearing just a cloth. Their prized possessions are rocks they find outside. One adorable girl gave me her rock and ran away shyly. It was so draining, but with monkeys swinging around outside, kids playing in sewage,no possessions and most of them suffering from heat rash, who am I to complain? It was an amazing experience and I am going back again in two weeks, I'll bring my camera to take pictures.
I got dropped off at home after that and fell asleep as soon I laid down. I slept from 8-730 the next morning without interruption. Now I'm at work, I just had a business lunch with Julia and another person in Public Affairs. I talked to Heather about suggestions of where I should go, and she told me I absolutely have to go to Katmandu, the capital of Nepal. I would need a visa and to fly there, butapparently the scenery, the day-trip mountain treks and the tranquility are very much worth it. I really want to go and I'll keep everyone posted on the process. Yesterday it rained for the first time and it poured. I thought, finally, the monsoon season is here, it will cool things down. Apparently it was pre-monsoon rain. So, it looks like I'll be getting wet.
Well, this has been quite a long e-mail. I've done a lot since my last one, and hopefully I provided enough details. I'm resourceful when it comes to food and eat and take home food from the Embassy when I can. I'm also a good haggler, I pride myself on cheaping down 50 Canadian cents from a TukTuk driver (crazy little open taxi) and being able to walk away when they demand more (this is what we have to do, or they'll ask for 500% more than what they ask from locals). I asked the maid to cook me dinner for tonight, hopefully it takes pity on my intestines, you truly need an iron stomach to handle Indian food.
June 25th, 2009
I've yet to have my own internet on my own laptop where I've been staying and I haven't had a chance to write a blog yet, so e-mails will have to do for now in regards to keeping in touch. Last night I went to Happy Hour (just a bunch of us sitting by the pool drinking a beer or two) and spoke with a few employees about their experiences or Indiain general.
We all agreed that the heat can't be understood until you're here, it's just a different breed. It's consistently windy in the sense that the breeze doesn't change in strength, if that makes any sense. The best way to describe it would be that whenever you're outside, it feels like there are about four people on all sides carrying hair dryers aimed at you. My eyes have yet to adjust, this weird wind dries them out immediately and my eyes have to tear up. Yeah, that's just one adjustment to make lol. I've been 'sick' since Tuesday when I had my first real Indian meal for lunch. The expats have told me they have never felt 100% since they got here either, whether its the diet or the weather, the body is always shocked and trying to adjust. Either way, it really puts a damper on my general mood and yesterday I was grumpy.
I moved in with Andrew last night, he lives in a nice walled in apartment complex with armed guards that charges $9000 rent.. per month. The Canadian government pays for it all and he enjoys his marble floors, gas stoves, air conditioning and other things. It's considered a posh area, but right outside our door there is raw sewage flowing in the gutter, with stray dogs and cows laying in the hallways or under cars for shade. Only in India. We spoke for about two hours last night, he's a talker and it's difficult getting a word in edge-wise. I assume living alone in India takes its toll on people, and he seemed to love that I knew what he was talking about when he wouldmention Queen's Park, Whitby, and could understand Newfie jokes.
He has been almost everywhere in the world, and I mean that quite literally. I would name a country and I'd expect a "I know a friend of a friend who's been here", and he would instead say, "oh, yeah, I camped along that coast and so and so happened while I was there". I tried to stump him by asking if he's beenin some pretty obscure places, but he always nodded and had a story to tell. Apparently DFAIT provides about $4000 tax free travel dollars a year for employees to travel while they are posted, and it's very common for diplomats to make the most of it while supplementing their travels with their income. For example, they don't just come to India to see India, almost all the people posted here have seen most of the country (and can pronounce all thecities/villages) as well as Sri Lanka, Pakistan, the Maldives, Cambodia, Thailand, the Philippines, Nepal, China, Tibet, and I could go on. Look on a map of anywhere they've been posted and most will tell you they travelled toalmost every country surrounding it. Endless stories and experiences.
The downside of it is the loneliness of course. Most of the year they don't see their wife or kids (unless if they come along, in which case they areconsidered jokingly STUDs (Spouses Travelling Under Duress) and it clearly takes a toll on them. Yesterday was the holiday for Quebec I believe and a few of them burst into the official song after work. I thought they were joking. But,it seems they just really miss Canada.
I saw my first real glimpse of poverty today as I was driven to work. Two young girls (maybe 5-7) were in the gutter on the side of a busy street (cars driving by only a foot or two away) and had dirty empty jugs. They were shovelling street sludge into the jugs and licking their fingers. I couldn't look for long, even writing it is getting me choked up. I felt like a complete fool sitting there in a nice suit and briefcase and just watching from my safe car. I have signed up to volunteer at an orphanage on Sundays. Honestly, it may just be my attempt to ease my conscience, but I also would really like to help some kids. I think I will get more out of it then them, but I hope I can make them happy too.
We all agreed that the heat can't be understood until you're here, it's just a different breed. It's consistently windy in the sense that the breeze doesn't change in strength, if that makes any sense. The best way to describe it would be that whenever you're outside, it feels like there are about four people on all sides carrying hair dryers aimed at you. My eyes have yet to adjust, this weird wind dries them out immediately and my eyes have to tear up. Yeah, that's just one adjustment to make lol. I've been 'sick' since Tuesday when I had my first real Indian meal for lunch. The expats have told me they have never felt 100% since they got here either, whether its the diet or the weather, the body is always shocked and trying to adjust. Either way, it really puts a damper on my general mood and yesterday I was grumpy.
I moved in with Andrew last night, he lives in a nice walled in apartment complex with armed guards that charges $9000 rent.. per month. The Canadian government pays for it all and he enjoys his marble floors, gas stoves, air conditioning and other things. It's considered a posh area, but right outside our door there is raw sewage flowing in the gutter, with stray dogs and cows laying in the hallways or under cars for shade. Only in India. We spoke for about two hours last night, he's a talker and it's difficult getting a word in edge-wise. I assume living alone in India takes its toll on people, and he seemed to love that I knew what he was talking about when he wouldmention Queen's Park, Whitby, and could understand Newfie jokes.
He has been almost everywhere in the world, and I mean that quite literally. I would name a country and I'd expect a "I know a friend of a friend who's been here", and he would instead say, "oh, yeah, I camped along that coast and so and so happened while I was there". I tried to stump him by asking if he's beenin some pretty obscure places, but he always nodded and had a story to tell. Apparently DFAIT provides about $4000 tax free travel dollars a year for employees to travel while they are posted, and it's very common for diplomats to make the most of it while supplementing their travels with their income. For example, they don't just come to India to see India, almost all the people posted here have seen most of the country (and can pronounce all thecities/villages) as well as Sri Lanka, Pakistan, the Maldives, Cambodia, Thailand, the Philippines, Nepal, China, Tibet, and I could go on. Look on a map of anywhere they've been posted and most will tell you they travelled toalmost every country surrounding it. Endless stories and experiences.
The downside of it is the loneliness of course. Most of the year they don't see their wife or kids (unless if they come along, in which case they areconsidered jokingly STUDs (Spouses Travelling Under Duress) and it clearly takes a toll on them. Yesterday was the holiday for Quebec I believe and a few of them burst into the official song after work. I thought they were joking. But,it seems they just really miss Canada.
I saw my first real glimpse of poverty today as I was driven to work. Two young girls (maybe 5-7) were in the gutter on the side of a busy street (cars driving by only a foot or two away) and had dirty empty jugs. They were shovelling street sludge into the jugs and licking their fingers. I couldn't look for long, even writing it is getting me choked up. I felt like a complete fool sitting there in a nice suit and briefcase and just watching from my safe car. I have signed up to volunteer at an orphanage on Sundays. Honestly, it may just be my attempt to ease my conscience, but I also would really like to help some kids. I think I will get more out of it then them, but I hope I can make them happy too.
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