Our First Year: Everywhere

Sir, Please Do Not Throw Your Monkey At My Window....

"I really need to get my teeth cleaned..." Emily said in front of the all-marble Taj Mahal.

It wasn't the effect I was expecting, but understandable nonetheless. The Taj is beautiful, masterful and imposing. While it appeared much the way I imagined it, the immenseness of the marble was astonishing. I've never seen anything larger than some sculptures in the Louvre made from 100 percent hand carved marble.

The entire building is a sculpture. That's what makes it so impressive.

The things no one ever says - or at least to me - is that it's kinda' creepy inside the dome with the two crypts sitting in the center of a giant, dark rotunda. It's a tomb, after all - it's just a really nice one, so it's easy not to think of it that way.

They also don't tell you that the hand carved, giant sandstone gates and entrance areas are also extremely impressive. If they weren't the prelude to the Taj, would probably be sites to visit in their own right.

Most importantly, no one tells you that you have to take off your shoes to go up to the Taj, walk around and through it. No one mentions there's a lot of smell of feet. Not the Taj itself - just the experience of walking in crowds of people in socks and bare feet. A lot of foot smell. I'm just telling it like it is to prevent future surprise.

Of course, it's completely worth it. The Taj is one of the sites that deserves all the hype it gets. Hype does not diminished it in any way. It is almost unfathomable that it was built in any era - let alone almost 400 years ago.

However, if you're staying in Delhi and making the Taj a side trip as we did, then the Taj is actually just a couple of hours of a much longer day. It takes about four hours each way by car or two to four by train to Agra - depending on which one you take - and then transportation time between the train station and the Taj. Buses take even longer than all of these.

Because we screwed up and didn't book the express train in advance and because we're lazy, spoiled and older than our self-images, we worked out a deal on a car and driver package (which every travel agent in Delhi wants to sell you). Of course, it was nice and easy - at least from a logistics and transportation standpoint. We had it cushy.

At the same time, it was a somewhat trying day from an emotional, psychological point of view.

We had the luxury of getting out the door at 8 am, instead of the typical 6 am required for the express train or buses. Because we're not early risers, we haven't noticed before the gray haze that makes the morning sun a strange yellow ball. No aurora, no shining glory - just a disc in the sky creating a dim, diffused light. The mixture of pollution and fog conspire create an environment in which morning, feels like the dullness of a bedside reading lamp.

Our extremely nice and cool driver was from Assam, in the north of India and famous for its tea. He had more of a Tibetan look and a kind, gentle way about him. We liked him right away. He said he drives to Agra almost every day. Emily surprised him by asking for Hindi music while we drove. He liked it, we liked it - everyone was happy.

Except a lot of the people outside the car. Delhi has such massive poverty and destitution compared to everywhere else we've been in India. It's hard not to look out the car window and notice the hundreds and hundreds of people laying on the sides of the road, sitting doing nothing and of course coming to our car window begging. One person was laying in the road, and people we just driving around him or her.

There's not much pretty about the road between Delhi and Agra. Despite it being a major national highway with relatively good road conditions, it's lined with people living in shacks and hovels. It passes through some of the poorest, most wretched towns - and of course, took us to Agra, one of the worst cities I've ever seen.

The highway is filled with auto-rickshaw taxis which should seat two to three comfortably instead brimming with 11 or 12 people. I counted five hanging out the back of one, sitting in a space we find too small to place our bags. Most amazingly, in the middle of this high-speed highway are tractors pulling trailers full of goods and/or people. We saw one trailer with at least a dozen guys in the back.

The trailers and auto-rickshaws run are constantly at risk of massive collision as aggressive Indian drivers cut it close - if you can call it that - trying to get around the slow-moving vehicles. Many of the aggressive vehicles also happen to be gas and oil rigs.

At one point, we pulled over so our driver could get out and buy a tourist vehicle pass from one of the toll authorities. We were parked in a line of similar vehicles, all with tourists in the back. Naturally, vendors hang out there and come around trying to sell trinkets and novelties.

One man walked up to Emily's window and threw a monkey at her. The monkey must know the drill. He quickly grasped onto Emily's window for dear life while Emily went into a quick and temporary shock.

The man wanted us to pay to take pictures with the money.

"No, sir, we do not need your monkey. Sir, please do not throw your monkey at my window."

Compared to some of the other aggressive vendors I chased off - he moved on with his monkey relatively quickly.

Along the way, one of the most intriguing sites were occasional rows of fast food restaurants. At one point there was a Pizza Hut. Our driver told us he really likes KFC - it's his favorite. At another point - about 38 km from Agra was a line-up of a gas station, a Cafe Coffee-Day (Starbucks-style chain) and a McDonald's with drive-thru...followed by people living in branch and straw shelters on the side of the road. On the way back, we stopped so Emily could take pictures to use in her classes. There, by the McDonald's drive-thru sign were three dirty, disheveled road-children. We don't even know what to do with that....

Agra itself is a pit. Once the imperial capitol of India and beyond under the Mughals, Agra today is an industrial wasteland filled with squalor, disorder and poverty unlike anything I've ever seen. Our driver told us there are more street children in Agra than in Delhi's more than 100,000 street kids.

Standing out among the living ruins are reminders of a wealthy, glorious past. Several Mughal tombs made of sandstone are Taj-esque in style and design. On a hill overlooking the Taj sits the Agra Fort - a military barricade turned elaborate palace from the 1600s when the Mughal Empire was at its height. The area is filled with phenomenal Persian influence Indian imperial design. But all around it is the worst that the modern, industrial world has to offer - right down to the drying out, toxic Yamuna river in which people still bathe and drink.

Our driver took us a to a tourist restaurant for lunch. As we entered there was a man in costume with playing a sitar while a little girl of maybe seven years, also in costume, danced for the patrons entering and exiting. It was heartbreaking.

Between where we parked and the entrance to the Taj, we were aggressively accosted by people wanting to sell us all manner of things including guided tours, toys that "helicopter" into the sky, trinkets, horse and buggy rides and camel rides.

There was also a man walking around carrying king cobras - I think charming them.... I was not keen on him getting close enough for me to learn about it. If you're gonna charm snakes for me - and I might pay for that - please keep your snakes in a basket.

And then there was the Taj - the diamond well inside the rough. Worth it all. Its view of the river is still pretty with tree-lined river banks behind it. There is, at least one thing still beautiful and preserved.

At the same time, there sits the Taj in its royal splendor. Outside sit its subjects, completely dejected. It's hard not to notice and feel some shock and shame.

By the time we reached the hotel last night, we learned several things. We're scheduling teeth cleanings in Bangkok. The Taj is truly great. And we are confused in minds and hearts at how to approach such serious, undeniable destitution - and most importantly, child exploitation and abandonment.
As we talked about it over dinner, I thought back to a documentary I once watched on Mother Theresa and the beginnings of her work in Calcutta. Someone asked her how she could face it all and not feel overwhelmed. She said she helped one person at a time - and when she had help, they helped as many people as they could, person by person.

We can't really fix anything - but don't want to do nothing. So, we figure we can give food to some of the hungry we see, and try to do something - even if it's just here and there. Because in the end, doing something is better than nothing, and if you don't find your heart in Delhi, then you don't have one.

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Sir, I Appreciate Your Offer...

It starts with a casual observation that it's a busy intersection. Across the street is a giant red sandstone fort - aka The Red Fort - that would be a busy tourist attraction anywhere - making the crowd perfectly understandable.

A left turn away from the Fort into Chandi Chowk is like stepping into a gushing stream of people. Some of them have carts, rickshaws, auto-rickshaws and cars which only add to the chaos. The street is a sidewalk and the sidewalk is a street. People are living and dying in the middle and on the sides. The rabbit hole leads to places the Cheshire Cat wouldn't go - the raw edge of civilization.

Here, in the middle of businessmen walking along, the dismembered laying on retainer walls sleeping, and families going to McDonald's for a weekend treat - my alarm went off.

I don't like crowded, hectic places. I can tolerate them to a fair degree. But if the chaos factor rises too high or - most importantly - I'm touched too much, it's over. There, in the middle of the sea of chaotic humanity - my exact preconceived notion of India - something in my head went "Check, please!"

I am not good Delhi material.

So, we made our way back out, visited the Red Fort, and left. The Red Fort was built by the Mughals in the mid-1600's during the later part of the height of their massive empire in India. It is a cultural treasure. By the time we got to it, I was thinking, "It's big, it's red, it's a very impressive fort...amazing craftsmanship...let's go...."

The entire time, Emily just wanted to stand in the middle of it all and take pictures. She is happy to let the sea of chaotic humanity wash over her and to go for a swim. I admire her for it.

We made our way around town. We saw some Old Delhi. We saw some New Delhi. In our one weekend day we had for Delhi (today we go to Agra for a day trip), we wanted to get a feel for the place.

It wasn't the pleasant unfolding we experienced in Mumbai. It isn't Mumbai's tree-lined streets. It didn't have the kind people or amazing beauty of Kerala, it lacked the majesty of Rajasthan. Delhi is rough.

Instead of having interesting and pleasant conversations as we went along, I found myself saying things like, "Sir, no, we're not interested...Sir, please stop following me, we don't need anything, thank you."

My favorite conversation of the day just two doors down from our hotel:

"You need a taxi? Taxi?"

"No, not right now, but thank you. Perhaps soon...but not now."

"I have a taxi. You need shopping? I can take you to shopping. Shopping?"

"No, we don't need a taxi right now - but we will soon - we'll come to you when we do."

We walk away 100 feet. A minute later the same driver walks up to us...

"Sir, you need a taxi? I have a taxi?"

In a rather stern tone and very loudly....

"Sir, I appreciate your offer.... Thank you.... We know where to find you if we need you...."

Because he was so annoyingly aggressive, we went around the other way to catch a taxi a few minutes later when we needed one and a very nice, gentle old man got our business.

Unfortunately, the annoying taxi driver is typical to Delhi. I felt like I was fending off aggressive merchants and dishonest salespeople all day.

That's annoying. What's truly jarring about Delhi is the sheer volume of the sick and poor. As our auto-rickshaw taxi was stopped at a light, a boy came up to Emily's side of the taxi asking for money. His leg was amputated below the knee and he was covered in soot. Emily asked me to pull some money out of my pocket.

"He's missing a leg! I have to...I have to...." She was ready to cry.

What was worse about it to me is that the boy was very well rehearsed and didn't look particularly hungry. It made me wonder horrible things like is he one of those kids that begging rings purposefully maim to up his "begging value"? Did we just support child exploitation?

Giving money to an adult is easy. They're usually the end-recipient and worse comes to worse, they use it to buy alcohol. They usually only harm themselves.

Children shouldn't be allowed to be on the streets. Police officers see it, they know about it - they do nothing. There is no child protective services. Police don't have a mandate to bring abandoned kids into custody. Children on the streets are very often victims of crime and exploitation.

But when that kid with no leg is standing right there, it's hard to look the other way. It's also horrible to wonder what we might have furthered. Moments like that stand out the most.

While Old Delhi is raw and real, New Delhi is a trip to the surreal.

I have had many moments in India wondering how Britain - at the time a country of 20 million  - could militarily overpower and colonialize a land mass of 283 million people. And they did it while holding colonies all over the globe. It sort of boggles my mind.

The British were successful and New Delhi was designed as a testament to their greatness. They built a new capital of their vast Indian Empire with might and grandeur displayed in large boulevard, beautiful buildings and monuments - the way the French kings displayed their glory in Paris. Only France is France. This is India.

Despite extreme poverty on Delhi's streets, and food shortages in various parts of the "empire", the British spent an extreme amount of money on opulent palaces, residences and government buildings.

The India Gate is a memorial to the Indian soldiers who died fighting for the British in World War I. It's beautiful. It's a proper tribute to people who gave their lives for people in other parts of the world for reasons that had nothing to do with India or its people. Pure Empire. To me, it's astounding.

More astounding is when looking up at the names inscribed on the India Gate, I noticed that the Duke of York's favorite horse was also listed among the fallen. He got tucked in there - on the second to last line below most of the Indian soldiers. I have no idea what to make of that.

Unlike Mumbai which has a synthesis of British influence and Indian life - Delhi seems like worlds strangely joined together under a harsh sky. One of foreign imperial grandeur that Indians have moved into and are trying to make their own and another which is the teeming, organic, raw and rough result of tumultuous history and poverty.

At least in the middle of town, there doesn't seem to be much in between.

I'm sure there are suburbs that strike a balance. Maybe even pockets of nice neighborhoods with human proportions that in our brief tour around the city we haven't seen. Being Los Angelinos we know what it's like to live in a city that can't be seen in a day, or even a week. If we visited Mohit and Shubhi's neighborhood, I suspect we would see a very different aspect of Delhi.

However, from what we have seen - which is most of what Delhi was for a very long time - I would say Delhi is like a Tootsie Pop: hard at first and after awhile, still tough to chew. For those who like their India rough and gritty with all the flavors of life - Delhi is the place.

People like me who like the "India Lite" of Kerala - we're not good Delhi people.

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Diamond And Popcorn

I didn't expect his email, but there it was. Two nights ago Mohit emailed to see if we were in Delhi. We met he and his wife, Shubhi in Kerala when they took a vacation for their fourth anniversary. We were all at the Keraleeyam resort at the same time. Eventually, we had a few conversations and really enjoyed their company and perspectives.

Emily had mentioned the day before we came to Delhi that we should contact Mohit and Shubhi. To make friends in another country is the best. It's an entirely different connection and perspective. And these people are really interesting and cool.

So, when Mohit emailed we were both excited. We quickly arranged to meet Friday night for drinks and dinner.

Mohit and Shubhi live in Guragon - the northernmost part of Delhi. They decided to brave Friday evening traffic and drove all the way to the center of Delhi to pick us up and go to dinner in Connaught Place.

Our first and most surprising lesson from them is that Connaught Place is much bigger than we knew. We had been there the other night and apparently only traverse the "inner circle" of the multi-ringed structure. It was impressive to see by car.

We also quickly learned some of the highlights of Delhi's architecture and layout. Both Mohit and Shubhi are architects who have their own firm that Mohit founded after graduate school. And if working together weren't enough, Mohit's father is also an architect.

India's improved economy has meant a change in architecture and design, they told us. Today, clients are spending far more money on the interior of their homes than on the structure. Mohit says just six years ago, the structure was at least half of the total project cost because people kept the materials simple. Now, fine quality materials - stones, woods, etc - are being used and people are making their dream homes and better looking commercial properties.

For two young architects - Mohit, 32 and Shubhi, 27 - this is exciting because it means being able to use the skills they learned and to put their creativity to work.

These people also have a creative spark among themselves. Theirs is a "love marriage". They met in school and chose each other. Apparently, it took a little work to get their families on board, but both being of good families, it wasn't too bad. Apparently, now Mohit - who is the son of a Brahmin-Punjabi mixed caste marriage himself - is well loved by her Brahmin family despite their initial feeling about a mixed caste marriage.

"My mom calls him her diamond!" Shubhi said. "Everyone notices Mohit! Everyone loves him! It's my family! What about me?!"

The answer is obvious. He's a really nice guy and has great hair. Of course people are going to notice at a glance.

But Shubhi is not someone to be ignored. In fact, I offered to accompany her to the U.S. Embassy on Monday so we can figure out her mistaken identity. She talks, thinks and acts more like an American than any Indian I've ever met. Her personality pops - so much so that I told her she's like popcorn. She had us laughing all night.

Over a bottle of Indian white wine and a beautiful dinner with several delicacies we hadn't tried before, we talked and laughed with our new friends the way we do with our friends back home. We learned that Shubhi struggles with one of the key issues American women face - wanting a successful, meaningful, accomplished career and also having a family. She's not ready to have kids yet - but seems to think at some point she might.

The pressures from their families are tremendous. They've been married four years without kids and the parents are somewhat horrified.

"If one more person brings it up, I'm going to grab their throat and strangle them!" Shubhi said.

Her issue just isn't one that her family can really relate. Despite having sent her from her hometown in Rajasthan to live independently and study at a fine architecture college, the full ramifications of having a daughter become an educated professional don't make complete sense. How could they? It's all new for them.

It's not at all new for us. They live as our generation from our circles in America does. People who have education, careers, and choices seem to get married later, have kids later and make different choices than our parents and grandparents because the opportunities of life are - different.

Perhaps if India's economy continues to move forward and education becomes more accessible, there will be an ever-increasing number of Shubhis and Mohits. Mohit pointed out that of their friends only two couples out of ten have kids yet. They are India's young, up and coming.

Even though our after-dinner drive around New Delhi was brief - because we talked for hours and hours at the restaurant - seeing Delhi through the eyes of not just residents, but architects was fantastic. They knew the buildings and their significance in a way that only people passionate about the art of buildings and cities know.

At the end of our first and only evening out with Indian friends, we were delighted. Not only are these people we want to stay in touch with, but we learned that there are places where the cultural gaps narrow to such a small point, you can touch.

Mohit and Shubhi haven't traveled much outside of India. They didn't attend schools abroad. But they live a life that mirrors ours. These educated residents of India's largest city are cosmopolitan, outward looking, informed and very refined. They face similar life issues, and have ambitions, excitement and see a world of possibilities. You would also want to invite them to your party - especially Shubhi.

Our stop in Delhi is the shortest of all our Indian stops and it will be impossible for us to get the sense and understand we have for our other Indian destinations. However, last night helped make up for that deficiency by giving Delhi and life here real faces. More importantly, we have friends.

 

 

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India True and False

People wrapped in musty, lice-infested blankets found corners, crevices and curbs in which to sleep. A woman on a major thoroughfare was warming herself over a flame filled metal trash can. It was clear that in the cold, dry night air of Delhi, it felt good to her. Most of the other street residents of Delhi we saw were not so warm or happy looking.

In Old Delhi, on the tiny street of the famous restaurant where we went to dinner, men sat against the walls of buildings, huddled in their blankets - not begging, just being. The bustling neighborhood went about its business. The squalor around them is part of the intricate weave of life in Delhi.

On those streets, in that part of town - if a child came up to me begging, I'd immediately take him or her to get food. There's no doubt people there are hungry. We saw an old, worn-out man go by in a old metal wheelchair-like device where he self-propelled himself by rowing with his arms. Another passed by whose hands were completely deformed and limp. These aren't things I've seen in quite this way anywhere else. Not even in other parts of India.

But a quick ride up the street back toward New Delhi and the world of large buildings, naval academies, large business towers, shopping centers, and public works reemerges. The men rowing their wheelchairs down the street are just a block or two behind the facades.

Delhi is a strange mix. It's the India I had imagined and never found until the very end of our trip.

Of course, big cities everywhere are concurrently the essence of a country, and a complete distortion. New York, Los Angeles, Chicago and Washington DC help define America and form much of the image we send to the world. At the same time, they are a few small segments of American life, not at all representative of how most people live.

The same is true of Paris and France, Bangkok and Thailand, Istanbul and Turkey, London and England....and the list goes on.

So Delhi with its difficult-to-decipher accents, large population of turban-wearing Sikhs, extreme wealth literally intertwined with destitution and squalor are everything I imagined I'd find. And I have. Only now, having seen so much of India, I'm able to not react with horror and shock - but to know that this is not the heart of India, just one jarring aspect much as there are parts of my own city that make my heart ache.

Of course, we play our part in the strange menagerie of Delhi, just by being here. Our nice American/European-style hotel is in itself an interesting phenomenon. We have discovered that we are one of the few foreign couples staying here. Most of the hotel is filled with Indians here on business, visiting family or traveling. We stay among India's middle to upper-middle class. It's fascinating.

This is our second time in a hotel with primarily Indian guests. In Mumbai, our hotel also catered to Indian business travelers and overseas Indians returning home to visit family members. We were fascinated by the constant buzzers going off at the front desk - people calling the bell-boys to get this and deliver that.

Here too, service seems to be everything. Each floor of the hotel has an attendant standing, waiting to serve - around the clock. At first, I thought there was just a staff member standing around, taking a break. Emily thought he might have been a security guard.

We figured it out conclusively when we called the front desk to see if we had a phone message and the man at the desk promptly hung up on me. We heard a nearby phone immediately ring and within seconds, the guy who had been standing around our floor was ringing our doorbell asking what we needed. Unfortunately, his English wasn't so good and when I asked, "Do you know if we have a telephone message waiting for us?" he responded, "Twenty minutes...just twenty minutes...." and ran off.

That's the other interesting thing. For a hotel of such nice quality in a big city like Delhi, there's a surprising lack of English among the staff. When I finally made my way down to the front desk in my ongoing quest for a phone message - we were expecting a call from Air India with new flight confirmation numbers - the gentleman there didn't even respond to my question, but grabbed a phone and made a call.

He then handed me the phone. The man on the line said, "Just one minute...hold on just one minute sir..." and then hung up.

A minute later, the hotel manager walked in the door of the hotel and asked me if everything was okay, was there a problem with our room? I explained that everything was great and that I just wanted to know if we had a phone message or not. He said something in Hindi to the five desk staff standing around and they all went "ahhhhh" at which time they told the manager who then told me that in fact, there was no message.

Apparently, the hotel is so predominantly Indian that staff are not required to have much English skill.

At all hours of the day, the phone in the little cubby-office down the hall rings for the attendant who is asked to get this and that. The hotel provides 24 hour room service and it's clear that people use it.

The morning breakfast buffet has eggs and toast, but mostly southern Indian breakfast specialties. It's a spicy way to start the day. Emily loves it, but it would give Wilford Brimley an ulcer. Even the hard-boiled eggs are sprinkled with masala seasoning.

Yesterday, we took to using the hotel restaurant on the roof-level to enjoy some chai and sunshine while we worked. Throughout the afternoon, groups of Indian businesspeople having meetings and families having lunch came and went. Orders were given in commanding style and waiters were exceedingly quick and deferent. One business meeting was particularly loud and made it hard to think with their booming conversation in English. My favorite line was, "I opposed the marriage completely. They were completely inappropriately suited. But the family did not listen...."

In our modern, comfortable room that meets American standards in every way possible, there's no feeling that we're even in India. We work easily. We sleep extremely comfortably. Our shower has hot water and pressure that would make a low-flow shower-head using, energy saving Californian cry tears of joy at the sheer indulgence.

But a step out the door, our attendant is waiting. Down the elevators, out the door and around the corner - so is all the best and worst of India.

*We regret the lack of photos today. Please excuse the inconvenience.

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Our Delhi Durbar

Grab the dirty laundry - shove it in the big backpack. Collect all the power cords. The toiletries. Don't forget the toiletries. The empty duffle and small backpack. Can we still afford to keep these, or is it time to check one or both? I'll try to shove at least one into my big backpack.

Run down the street while Emily's showering, order two Israeli sabvichs to go and print out the e-ticket itinerary from the Internet shop. Run back to the hotel to post the blog. Run back to pick up the sabvichs - four flights of stairs up and down. Problem with the blog - try to fix that. Emily has the guys loading the car to the airport. Jump into the car sitting in the middle of the road, blocking everything. Go.

It was a relatively smooth departure from the hotel in Udaipur. Travel days are often a little harried. But once we were in the car with our stuff and our Israeli wraps for lunch, it was all smooth sailing from there.

Except for when our driver almost killed a couple on a motorcycle. We were passing through one of the main intersections of new Udaipur when the driver slammed on the brakes and there was a loud screech.

The front of our car hit a couple turning right (the equivalent of making a left-turn at home) on the back of their very tiny 110cc motorcycle. The bike toppled and the young woman in a beautiful red sari sitting side-saddle went tumbling onto the road. She was either flexible, trained to handle a bike accident or both, because she rolled like she was doing a somersault and got up, seemingly okay.

Two cops were in the intersection directing traffic. They stopped everything, looked and talked. Our driver rolled down the front passenger window and seemingly asked if they were alright. Some discussion ensued among the parties and then I heard the driver say, "something something, something, something AIRPORT something something" which in my vast understanding of Hindi I figured was something along the lines of, "I'm taking these white people to the airport."

After that the police officers disbursed everyone and it was over.

Emily and I both knew that any less braking or another driver making the slightest error and people on the bike could have been maimed or killed. We were grateful and amazed it wasn't worse. Likewise, there could easily have been a pile-up slamming into us. We were spared that too.

I sustained a very minor head scratch caused largely by the fact that I have to crouch down to fit into some of these little Indian cars. I bounced up and my head hit the handle above the door. No big deal - my head is made of concrete.

I'm not sure, but I think we were more shocked and horrified than the driver or the police. I'm sure the girl was far more horrified than we were.

From there it really was smooth sailing. The Udaipur airport is new and nice. We were told to go through security - a line in the middle of the small terminal - early because there was a a VIP coming through on his way to a fancy Udaipur wedding. It's wedding season right now and every night there were fireworks coming from some extravagant wedding reception or other - many of them at the palace of Jagmandir Island.

On my way through security, I had a particularly well-spoken and nice security guard body-scanning me, so I asked who the VIP was. "Just some very rich person. This happens," he said as if it were an unnecessary annoyance.

Through large windows of the terminals, we saw the Jet Airways flight land and park. A team of about 20 people came running up to it and put a red carpet at the bottom of the stairs. A very old man accompanied by a number of aides came down from the plane where the ground crew line up in respect. The manager of the ground services and the airport presented themselves and greeted him. The other passengers on the plane waited while all this took place.

Once the team escorted the man off the tarmac, the other passengers were allowed to disembark. In an airport that has a CIP lounge (Commercially Important Person), I guess this makes sense. We were told proudly that Udaipur is the only airport with a CIP lounge - as opposed to the usual VIP lounge. I suppose other kinds of important people get kicked to the curb....

Jet Airways - which we've used twice now - was awesome as usual. Best yet, they served a light snack which included Indian street-food items. Finally, I could try pav bhaji - the Indian version of a sloppy joe - from the sanitized safety of an airplane.

Arriving in Delhi, my sense of irony was amused that the first thing I smelled as we stepped off the plane was the smell of poop. Probably cow. However the new Delhi airport (not in New Delhi) is very nice.

For the first time in our travels, we had a driver holding a sign with our names waiting for us outside the airport terminal. Our hotel includes airport pickup and morning breakfast in the package. The driver insisted on wheeling our luggage cart out to the parking garage for us and took us by private car to our hotel.

While we didn't hit anyone on this drive, there were plenty of people who had already been hit by life. The drive through Old Delhi toward our hotel in New Delhi was somewhat as I expected - lined with chaotic streets with very poor people.

At one point, a young girl - maybe seven or eight years old - looking soot covered and disheveled slammed herself up against Emily's window, begging. Emily nearly died.

This is a difficult issue. Because there are children exploited as part of "begging rings" where adults profit off their running around begging, we are both reticent to ever give money to children begging. We don't want to further child exploitation, which also prevents these kids from getting to non-profit and government resources for street kids and orphans.

At the same time, you see a dirty child literally slamming herself against a car window - and it's hard not to feel horrible.

In Mumbai we experienced aggressive beggars who came up to our taxi windows. Always adults and always looking not-so-starving. We made it our practice to give food to people who looked like they needed it. We've decided to do the same here in Delhi.

It's hard to know how to do the right thing and not to further the problem. After all, there are so many people who live in slums and abject poverty who use public restrooms and showering facilities, clean up, put on decent looking clothes and go to work. They don't beg, but they are the ultimate working poor. That's why we believe - when in doubt, tip. The people carrying bags and pushing your luggage cart to the garage are probably the ones most likely to appreciate the tip.

From car's eye view, Delhi has more people wandering randomly across and through streets that Mumbai did. It has rougher edges. It also has areas with incredible high-end hotels and phenomenal shopping.

The world changes when you enter New Delhi. After all, the British built it. In 1911, when King George V and Queen Mary made the only trip a British monarch ever made to colonial India, they held a Delhi Durbar - a session at which a maharaja, prince or ruler holds court out in the open.

All the princes of India and British officials were summoned to Delhi where the king announced the capital of the Indian Empire would move from Calcutta to Delhi. He and Queen Mary subsequently held a ceremony to lay the foundation stone of the building of New Delhi.

When building an imperial capital, you don't want unpaved, disjointed streets nor second rate, hovels. New Delhi - from the little we saw of it our first night - has the wide thoroughfares and roundabouts you might expect from the British, and which were also prevalent in Mumbai.

We went to Connaught Place for dinner - and were more than impressed with how the entire, giant roundabout was lined with British colonnaded buildings, filled with high-end stores and restaurants. If not for the people, the street vendors and the occasional child begging, it wouldn't have felt like India at all.

As far as our personal needs go - we are in one of the nicest hotels of our trip. The rooms are recently renovated, sleek and modern. There's not a trace of India in it all - it could easily be anywhere in the world. And while it lacks local charm, it is very comfortable, clean and pleasant with the most comfortable bad in our trip, edging out Istanbul for the best bed award. We thought it couldn't be done.

It's a hotel we'd be happy with at home. Most importantly, it has great Internet and the WiFi works throughout. Even on the nicely gardened roof-top restaurant at which I'm writing.

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Farewell, Rajasthan

After dinner at a beautiful restaurant on the lake, we walked home on the quiet (Indian quiet) street in the moonlight. After ten days, we knew the road. We knew where to beware of cars barreling through to kill us. We knew where to watch for poop on the bridge. And we knew where to say goodnight to the cows huddled up for the night. Two were kissing, so I had to look the other way and give them their privacy.

Our ten days in Udaipur has come and gone. Even though work and sickness made us less mobile and adventuresome than usual, we feel like we've gotten to know Udaipur. We've seen it from every angle. We know its streets, smells and its glowing pink sunsets over the lake.

While we've enjoyed our many dinners with beautiful views and moonlit walks, we both feel ready for our time with Udaipur to come to a close.

In a few hours, we head to the airport to fly to Delhi -- a one hour flight instead of a 12 hour train or a 14 hour bus. By dinner tonight, we'll be meeting new cows in a new city.

The other night Emily asked a question she asks often. It's an idea she sort of plays with over and over because the answer never fully fits for her. "I wonder if people here wonder why all these foreigners show up to their town - all the time?" Sometimes she asks it as, "I wonder if the girls walking home from school, who are just trying to make their way home get annoyed with all the white people in the street who wander and get in their way? Do they wonder why these people are here?"

The idea of growing up or living a life filled with foreigners in their travel-wear, cameras at the ready in people's everyday space intrigues Emily.

She can't imagine walking out of her door to a constant stream of Japanese and Korean tourists walking by, taking pictures of her home, discussing the design of her front door, leaning on her car and shopping in her neighborhood saying things like "Oh, this is really cute. Look, Kenji - maybe we should get one of these for your mom...." and "Kenji, look at that doormat! 'Welcome'. They're culture really is so inviting and hospitable..."

Of course, in our neighborhood Kenji would probably be buying his mom a can of Campbell's Soup from Ralph's, or a scarf from Target.

The idea of living in a town where you're surrounded by tourists seems odd - at first. Then I realized, we live in Los Angeles. There are tons of tourists. People in New York, Washington DC, Orlando, Miami - they all have it too.

If the tourists clogged up our roads the way people here add to the congestion of the narrow lanes, we wouldn't really know. We're all in cars and traffic is the great anonymizer. It could be a neighbor, or a tourist from Brazil - they're all assholes when they're keeping you from making your lane change.

The big difference is that at home, there's no power distance. Foreigners don't flood in commanding any more right or respect than we do. So with the exceptions of the occasional sheik, princess or world leader, our foreign visitors blend into the scenery of our worlds.

Udaipur is the first place we've been in India where tourism is so strong that white people really fill the streets and most of the restaurants are specifically for tourists. There's an entire world - a segment of society made of foreign tourists.

Locals live as second-class citizens because the wealth foreigners bring make it worthwhile to them. Emily can't imagine that life and so, she wonders why the girls walking home from school don't hate everyone.

My guess is that people here - particularly the girls walking home from school - just consider it the norm. Even though the individuals are transient, the aggregate mass of faceless foreigners is part of Udaipur's population. The girls know we, or the next American couple, will be here - shopping at the same store, saying the same things every day they walk by.

Do they know why we're here? I expect they know that their beautiful lake, palaces on islands and culture draw visitors. People in Venice don't wonder why tourists come flocking nor do the Balinese. There are places where even when they're all you know - you know you have a good thing.

At the same time, Emily is right. There is something sort of shocking and disturbing about generations who grow up thinking its normal for foreigners to walk through their neighborhoods, snapping pictures.

We saw this in Nepal too. People leading their lives aren't shocked when foreigners - like my wife - pull out a camera and take pictures of them going about their business. To them, it's how life works.

Well, we're two foreigners who won't be invading the lives of these people anymore. We'll do it somewhere else.

We have six days in Delhi, including an intended day side trip to Agra to see the Taj Mahal. February 1, our time in Region 2 will be over and to both our shock and joy, we'll make our way to Bangkok to begin the longest, but last segment of our trip - Region 3: Southeast Asia and Hong Kong.

 

 

 

 

 

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Unique

The French girl with the phenomenal English vocabulary spoke as rapidly as a New Yorker and used slang as comfortably as I would. She told me that for her, learning English was like putting together puzzle pieces in her head. One phrase led to another, one idea to the next and by her early 20s, she was not only speaking English, but loved it.

She's traveled to Ireland and America. She doesn't like to speak French when she travels. It just connects for her.

A few days prior, we met. Norwegian guy named Axel also in his early 20s who spoke English like Burl Ives. Lively, fluent, intelligent with a hint of Irish Spring freshness that he got from when his mom took him traveling to Ireland as a child. He has American and British friends. English and the Anglo culture that goes with it somehow resonates with him.

I understand this. Thai was easy for me just because the building blocks fit together. My mind could grasp it. French I love despite that it didn't come as easily - a lot of it was my high school French teacher pounding it into our heads. It wasn't until college that I decided I really enjoyed it and made it my own. Perhaps this happened because much earlier, I came to like French history and culture.

Language, in my opinion, is a reflection of culture. We express our thoughts through language and its rules and structure have everything to do with our outlooks. Some of learning a language has to do with talent for language learning. But there's a key element of connecting with the culture and the ideas that are valued and expressed.

People come to India for all sorts of reasons. As Emily and I have settled into working at the rooftop restaurant of the guesthouse across the street, we find ourselves observing and talking with the people who pass through. Sometimes we're reminded of who we were eight years ago. Other times, we see people with very different agendas and motivations. Along our travels we have met so many people with different purposes and views.

In Region 1, people traveled to each place for fairly obvious and consistent reasons. You go to Israel to connect with religion, history and links to identity. In Greece you go for either ancient civilization or to chill out. In southern France, it's all about the sea, the sun, the lifestyle, the shopping and the Frenchness of it all.

India is different. Some come to see the sights. Taj Mahal - snap photo, check. Delhi Red Fort - snap photo, check. Udaipur Lake Palace - snap photo, check. Eat real Indian food - so brave! snap photo - check.

There are the business travelers in Mumbai, Delhi, Bangalore and Calcutta participating in the promise and excitement of "The New India". While they seem like the most boring type of visitors, they are vital to India and the progression of its story.

Some people come here for completely opposite reasons. They seek themselves. They imagine there's a guru who knows the way or some aspect of Hindu that will lighten their path. Some come for yoga which of course has its own spiritual values if you want to partake.

Others come for Ayurvedic healing. From the bile in their guts to clearing their acne to the wounds in their souls, they want to see if a holistic Eastern healing philosophy might have the answer. Sometimes it does.

There are the young backpackers who choose India as their place to escape and feel the euphoria of being free in the world for the first time. Get a tattoo, try some drugs, sleep in some armpit of the universe guesthouses, drink cheap beer, skip some showers, and wear clothing that looks local and ethnic - but really isn't because they make it to sell to young backpackers.

Why not?

In the end, the backpackers discover more about who they are, gain self-confidence, expand their worldviews, and come to appreciate home and the people they love a little more. This is the typical life cycle of the young backpacker.

People like our friends Yvette and Hugh come because of their love affair with the cultures of India. The art, dance, colors, sounds, dress - they revel in it. They love the celebratory aspects of Indian life and find pleasure in the color of the chaos. Their love of India works like the French girl's puzzle pieces fitting together.

Theirs is the best reason to come to India.

Then there's us. We don't seek anything. We want to see the sights - kinda' sorta'. We prefer walking around and absorbing the way of life. We take longer in each place than a tourist. We have no business to transact.

We are doing exactly what Emily tells her grandmother when she asks, "Why are you there? What are you doing there?"

"Just looking, Grandma."

It's true. We pass through. We look around. We aren't buying. We just want to see India's wares and offerings.

Emily finds a little more connection to it all than I do. That's largely because she has the same love affair with Nepal that Hugh and Yvette do with India. Of course there are similarities - particularly in northern India where customs, cultures and even language overlap. Emily picks up on certain Hindi words and can recognize certain behaviors and traditions - particularly things related to religion.

Nonetheless, India is different. Our path, purpose and method seem different than the others we meet along our way. We are absorbing our experience and of course it affects us. It's just different.

India differs from anywhere else I've traveled because of its extremes. Order and chaos. Development and degeneration. Incredible wealth and absolute destitution. Beautiful compassion, incredible indifference and shocking cruelty. Intense pursuit of spirituality and mindless idolatry. Unabashed classism and progressive outlooks.

None of these things are unique to India. In fact, every society I've ever encountered - including my own - has all of these contrasts. It's just that India has the greatest extremes and has no self-consciousness about it. It's just how it is.

I try not to judge. I try not to come to any great conclusions. I have an unshakable bias about the caste system. I have trouble seeing it as anything but negative - but even with that, a barber made me think about how it benefitted him even though he is toward the bottom.

After today's visit to the local post office, I feel justified in concluding that the post office is barbaric. I have never seen such shoving, chaos and steel-hearted competition as in the local post office. It was like a pack of Bengal tigers with letters to mail. I can't help judging - no one benefitted there.

All I can conclude is that India is not like the other countries and we are not like the other travelers. Like India, we have our own paradigm. This more than anything makes the adventure colorful and marvelous.

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And That, Sweet Girl, Is Why We Don't Put Poopies In Our Mouth

"It doesn't matter, it's all gonna' come out anyway!" was Emily's response to me warning her not to eat pani pourri from the street cart she was eyeing.

For the first time in our travels, we are both sick. Not terribly, not violently - but enough that we both were exhausted all weekend. Emily started first during the week when she had a lot of trips to the bathroom. Now she's past bathroom duty while I'm - I think - at the end of it. There's some tiredness, mild discomfort and for Emily - some serious sneezing.

Given where we've been and how long we've traveled, it's impressive that this is the first time and that it's been so mild. We have still gone out and done what we wanted this weekend. We just haven't been so ambitious.

In my expert diagnosis, we picked up some kind of mild flu or bug. Highly clinical conclusion, I know. But it hasn't been as harsh as food poisoning and has seemed to go from one of us to the other - as communicable diseases do.

One of the main reasons we've done so well until now is that we're careful about where we eat. Things have to look clean and a restaurant has to look like they're making and serving food regularly. Being the only customer makes you much more likely to get sick with pans and food sitting back in the kitchen, possibly unclean, aging and fermenting.

I'd like to think we also have strong stomachs - tempered by past experiences of third world living. I have frequently boasted about the time in Nepal when some bad street side samosas bought and eaten in a somewhat desperate situation, got my two friends I was traveling with sick - and not me. I was living in Thailand at the time and had an iron stomach. I took care of my friends from Seattle who were doubled over the toilet the next two days.

Emily too has a good stomach. While I have done everything in my power to prevent her from eating street food in Nepal and India, I couldn't stop her from eating dried, roasted corn and bean snacks from the street stands in Nepal.

And this is where we begin our story.

It was two months ago on our way to Nagarkot to spend our last Nepal weekend at a beautiful mountain resort overlooking the Himalayas. We had a lot of work to get done before leaving Kathmandu that Friday afternoon and we were so focused that neither of us had lunch.

Emily doesn't do well without lunch. Once we were in the car, on the way - hunger caught up to her.

Now, I can just decide that I'm hungry, but I'll wait until a convenient time or the next meal. Not Emily.

So it was that Emily decided she needed roasted corn snacks from a side-of-the-road stand. She told our driver and he became her accomplice in finding illicit street snacks.

When Emily is bent on a choice I find questionable, but am powerless to stop, my final card is to jokingly play at her conscience.

"How would you feel if Bailey (our four year-old niece) and Sweet Girl (nickname for our one year-old niece) knew you did this? Would you want to set this example? Would you want them to do this?"

I received a look that said, "Up yours, Pal!" And I knew it was over.

Eventually, after we left Kathmandu and had already driven through most of neighboring Bhaktapur, we sighted a small makai (corn) stand. It was the most questionable of questionable, but in her makai lust there was no stopping my wife.

She left the car, made her purchase and came back with several bags worth of makai and chana (chick peas). Then she partook of large quantities of the forbidden fruit.

It's important to know that in Nepal, where people eat with their hands - the right hand is for eating meals and the left hand is for wiping your butt. As a result, people often do not touch or conduct transactions with their left hands.

However, eating is only defined as "eating rice" which can be broadly construed as eating meals. The left hand can be used when eating snacks, including taking from a common bowl of things like - makai and channa.

When the next morning Emily was violently erupting in the bathroom, it was all too clear she had been "left-handed". Besides clearing out all there was in her, she became lightheaded and weak. She couldn't keep down fluids most of the day.

A young American doctor from Kathmandu's premier expat clinic happened to be staying the weekend and I went to ask his advice. Since no one seemed to have any Givenjal - the local brand of electrolyte drink mix - he had me pour salt into Sprite which he said was a good substitute. Emily was able to keep it down and started to feel better.

"What happened to me?" she asked - already knowing the answer.

"It was the makai man. He used his left hand."

"It was totally the makai man....oh, the makai...." she said.

"When we get home, one day when the time is right, I'll tell Bailey and Sweet Girl all about what happened when Aunt Emmy didn't listen and ate bad food. The story will end, 'And that, Sweet Girl, is why we don't put poopie in our mouth....'"

Needless to say, Emily recovered the next day - as we both are recovering from a far lesser sickness now.

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Secrets Of The Splendor

There's nothing like walking down your normal, average street and running into a palace. Living in Ubud, Bali, I had that experience on a daily basis. The Palace is at the major intersection of town and you pass right by it dozens of times in a day. You can go in anytime you like too and take a walk around or listen to the gamelan orchestra practicing for the evening performance. Once in awhile, the children's troop of dancers practices in the palace courtyard and the locals all gather around.

Ever since the king of Gianyar had to hand in his crown - first to the Dutch then to the Republic of Indonesia - he and his family made the palace part of the daily cultural life of Ubud. With its large courtyards adjacent to the street, it works perfectly.

Unlike royalty in so many parts of the world, the kings of Bali were not separate and distant. Their palaces were not huge, cold or testaments to their personal magnificence. It made all the sense in the world that the people of Ubud would find themselves happy and continuing to hold dances and celebrations in the palace courtyard.

Here in Udaipur, the City Palace - the largest palace in Rajasthan - is at the end of a completely ordinary street. Only, like Versailles, when you hit the larger than life, magnificent gate - you know you've hit someone. It isn't until you pass the outer gate that the giant splendor of the palace hits you.

Rajasthan is a state of India formed from a conglomeration of kingdoms - or what the British titled "princely states". Unlike Jodhpur where the palace is a removed fort which resisted sieges and was removed from the town below, the Udaipur City Palace sits in the middle of town and stands unabashed in its splendor. No battle was fought at its gates and its golden spires across the top symbolize that it has known no foreign rule.

Even under the British Raj, the Maharanas of Mewar thumbed their nose at the British attempts at dominion and maintained themselves as independent forces with their own laws - albeit under tacit suzerainty. Their palaces - particularly the City Palace - have a quality of lightness and splendor I found akin to the Renaissance style chateaux of France. These were palaces as celebration, tribute and aggrandizement.

But if there was any room for doubt - all you have to do is look out on the lake at Jagmandir Palace and the Lake Palace, the "pleasure palaces" and summer residences of the royal family. They had four palaces in and around one lake.

Maharanas often celebrated their birthdays by weighing themselves at a pubic ceremony and then giving their weight in gold coins to the masses - particularly the poor.

When you hear things like this in a place like India, the natural question is "Who are these people?!" They had three businesses which kept them relatively wealthy - Silk Road trade, spice trade and most importantly, opium.

While the Sisodia clan of the Mewari Rajputs may have been fiercely independent, they also did very well under the British Raj. So did all the princely states of Rajasthan for that matter. The British wanted an endless supply of opium and the Kingdom of Mewar was happy to supply them. Besides, in the web of opium trade the British had spun, they kept the region internally peaceful and quiet. Tolerating the white guys had its benefits.

In America, the workings of British colonialism and particularly British India aren't subjects we learn much about in school. Maybe we learn that there was an opium trade and there's something about getting it in India and selling it in China. I remember there was a brief two pages in a high school history book related to the Boxer Rebellion in China which had something to do with colonial forces in China. It came out of nowhere and we really learned nothing more.

The wealth and livelihoods of the unique kingdoms of northwest India have everything to do with British opium trade and prior to that, the spice and silk trade routes that brought valuable goods from China and India overland to Turkey and then Europe.

Rajput soldiers from Udaipur, Jodhpur, Jaipur and the other surrounding kingdoms went to China and fought with the British in the Boxer Rebellion - not just because of colonialism, but because the British sales of opium where the livelihood of these states. Chinese addiction was Rajasthan's naan and butter. You can't have parties at the Lake Palace and palace rooms made of hand-carved limestone if no one will smoke out.

So it was that India's Mewar rulers became dealers of one of the most powerful and addictive drugs ever to take hold. In so doing, they accumulated enough wealth to become the first society to engineer the redirection of a river and the creation of seven manmade lakes. The largest of these is Lake Pichola here in Udaipur. The two islands on which the two water-surrounded palaces sit are very much purposeful. The Maharanas engineered the beauty of their kingdoms.

In the City Palace, every room is gorgeous, every courtyard breathtaking. Paintings show depictions of different celebrations and events that the Maharanas hosted over the past 400+ years. I'm sure no one was unhappy with their success. It looks very nice and it seems that the rulers were smart enough to care at least enough for the poor that there weren't rebellions and upheavals.

Still today, people have a reverence for the Maharana who remains identified and famous even though he has no power. Our waiter the other night pointed to the section of the palace where the Majarana and his family reside.

While we usually think of colonialism negatively and as something that subjugated and took advantage of so many people, Udaipur stands to remind us that there were always winners in the mix. Udaipur and the rest of the Rajasthani kingdoms had something to offer and money to make off an alliance with the British. What happened down the line - the subjugation of other free peoples of India, the addictions that ruined lives, the weakening of the Chinese Ming and Manchu Dynasties - these were not their concerns. Mewar stood as it stands today - in beauty.

Although the Maharanas acceded their power to the Republic of India and created a charitable trust which turned their estate into a museum and public works, the tradition of splendor at the palaces continues.

Yesterday, as we entered the giant teak gates of the palace, an even more giant wedding reception was being setup. It was an enormous production complete with stage, dancers, sound systems, lights, dining areas, buffets and more flowers than I've ever seen outside a botanical gardens. Someone as wealthy as an opium trading Maharana was giving a high-class wedding blow-out.

The party planners were conscious of their public location and allowed visitors to the palace museum to watch the setup and the numerous dance troupes practicing their choreographed dancing to Indian pop-hits.

It was the modern-day equivalent to one of the royal weddings depicted in the miniatures inside the palace. From the hand carved marble window inlaid with blue stained glass in a bright blue bejeweled room in the front corner of the main palace, Emily and I looked down and watched it all come together.

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Turning Up The Heat

"Which palace are you staying in?" the waiter asked as we left the beautiful restaurant on the water.

You don't get asked that very often - but here in Rajasthan, all the old havelis - mansions turned guesthouses and hotel - were once the homes of royal viziers, officials and aristocrats.

"Anjani," we replied.

"Oh, right there!" and he pointed across the water to our hotel which was in plain sight. It looked beautiful from across the water. "Anjani is nice."

So was the haveli to which his restaurant was attached. In fact, it was probably a wealthier person's haveli because it had gorgeous manicured grounds and a lakeside location. The restaurant itself was a marvel on the corner-tip of the lakeshore, looking across at the lit-up City Palace, the Lake Palace, and a giant yellow moon.

All the patrons had their cameras out, taking pictures. Only Emily had the boldness to get up and walk around like she was working for Time-Life. But others wanted to, you could tell. With the glow of candlelit tables and soft, yellow lamps - the outdoor restaurant was magical.

We enjoyed a moonlight stroll through town, past a few of the nicest, most beautifully decorated havelis and across the bridge. The cows had left the bridge and curled up together on the ghatts, seemingly also lulled by the moonlight.

These are the moments and experiences that are so enjoyable and rewarding. These are one important facet of why we're on this trip. These are the things we'll have for the rest of our lives.

This weekend is especially welcome because the week was particularly challenging. Emily was extremely busy and a little under the weather.

A few weeks ago, sitting in our thatched bungalow in Kerala, we were concerned about money. Emily seemed to have fewer classes than usual and we've been wanting to put money into our savings - so we were concerned about how this would all work.

Apparently, everyone's New Year's resolution was to take more online classes. Emily has been offered more classes than she can comfortably handle. Normally, she would have turned something down. A series of events and confusions conspired to have her teaching eight classes for four universities at the same time - as well as going through an online orientation for a new school which just asked her to join their adjunct faculty pool.

One school made a mistake and scheduled her for a class she wasn't signed up to teach. They basically begged her to please pick it up because it was two days into the term and there was no instructor. What was she going to do?

Each thing on her plate happened in a similar way. It was just one more thing - she could handle one more thing. Now she has a lot of things, is working more hours and is a little overwhelmed.

At least savings is looking promising....Emily's next few weeks are not.

Meanwhile, the inconsistent Internet speeds of India are finally taking their toll on me. It takes me a lot longer to get my work done in Region 2 than it did in Region 1 - with the exception of Mumbai which had great Internet.

As much as it pains me to say this - the iPad has a drawback. When I toggle between browser screens, it often refreshes the page as it switches to the next browser window. In Greece, Turkey, Israel and France, it was a one to two second blip that meant nothing. In India, that refresh can take a minute or two minutes if Internet is glitchy. It means that pulling up research for articles and quick-referencing it isn't really quick, referencing.

All the little delays of something as simple as changing browser screens add up. Eventually, an article that took me 45 minutes to an hour to complete takes me an hour to an hour and a half and my four to six hour workdays have become an average of nine. While this isn't much different than if I were at home, it's a definite change. More importantly, it takes away from our time out and about.

The work week has become a real, full-fledged work-week for us both.

This entire trip, I have sort of dreaded heading to Delhi, which I expect to be Kathmandu-esque - a little more developed but a lot bigger. At this point, I'm somewhat relieved. Work will probably go better there - as it did in Mumbai - and we'll have more time to get out into the chaos.

The hardest part of all is that with Emily having lots of work, any time there's a technical issue - which on a good day will cause her to want to kill her computer - she sort of melts down with frustration. The problem in India is that sometimes the Internet provider shuts down for the whole area. Sometimes, it just slows. Sometimes they're doing repairs without warning - maybe because a monkey snapped a cable. You never know.

But whatever the cause is unimportant. When it doesn't work, don't let your child, puppy, grandma or breakable family heirlooms anywhere near my wife.

We head to Delhi Wednesday and I'm actually a little excited. I'm more excited about Thailand where I understand the infrastructure is consistently better. It would be fun to get work done faster and be able to enjoy the Thai beaches.

However, the weekend is here - and we're poised to enjoy. A boat ride on the lake, visiting some palaces, shopping, dinner in other parts of town - beautiful, sunny Udaipur is out there and we're going to enjoy it.

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