Back to the Blog

Well, I know I've been quite delinquent with my blog and that I'll probably have to email everyone to let them know that I've started to post again. That being said, there are two things I should let everyone know about before I continue:

First, my stanford email is going to go defunct soon, so please reach me at skaplansears@gmail.com from now on.

Second, I got a Flickr account for all my photos (it works a lot better than Blogspot). So if you would like to see, visit http://www.flickr.com/photos/skaplansears

For the moment, I'm in Kent and promising to write more, especially about my last couple days in India.

All my love,
Sebastian

Heading Home...

Well, the adventure has come to a close. I'm boarding my flight at 1am tonight and will land in Atlanta around 2:00pm on Sunday.

But not to fear! The blog will not die tonight. I fully plan to add a few postscript posts when I get home and I promise a lot more photos.

Love,
Sebastian

Back to Bom!

Well I made it back to Bombay. The train ride passed enjoyably, staring out the slightly-tinted window (I decided to splurge for an AC car), finishing two books, and getting some adequate sleep. Somehow I had convinced myself that 18 hours meant I would depart at 12:00pm yesterday and arrive sometime in the late afternoon today - but since time works on a normal schedule here, although the trains are usually late, I arrived in Bombay at about 9:30am.

Since then I've gotten a hotel and been trying to assess what my plan should be for the next two days before I hop on a plane and get back to the States. I must say, as enjoyable and inspiring as this trip has been, I'm ready to come home.

Love,
Sebastian

The Problem with Faux Amis

Quick note on a humorous exchange with the French --

Two days ago, I was hanging out with Marc et al. and made the mistake of saying "merci beau-cue" instead of "merci beaucoup." Of course, while the latter means "thank you very much," the former means "thanks... beautiful ass." So Marc was temporarily befuddled, and perhaps a little threatened, until he realized my pronounciation is just abysmal.

But I was redeemed yesterday when we were playing cards -
interlude: mostly we play Belote, a game popular in parts of france with a rather complex scoring system, but I've also taught them Casino, which they seem to enjoy.
-- and after trumping Laurent's ace during one trick of Belote, Marc said, grandly, "I'll take your ass!" Of course, the French word for "ace" is pronounced "ass," but I liked the parallel confusion.

Okay, okay, it's a bit juvenile, but I thought it was really funny at the time

Love,
Sebastian

Pushkar Lake

The lake in Pushkar is beautiful - surrounded by hundreds of small temples and further out by isolated hills.





One of the more surprising parts of the Puja ceremony was discovering that (a) there are huge catfish in Puskhar lake and (b) they like eating the flowers that people throw in as part of the ceremony.

Photoblogging Pushkar: Rooftops

Photoblogging Pushkar: Street Scenes

More Street Scenes

The Brahma Temple

Pushkar has the only Brahma Temples in the world, making it a very holy pilgrimage site for Hindus, especially Brahmans. Apparently, Brahma spontaneously married someone while bathing in Pushkar lake and his first wife was so furious she cursed Brahma to only be worshipped in Pushkar. Later, she relented somewhat, but I think only marginally.

Anyway, I guess I was expecting something unique, but Hindu temples don't seem to go in for that sort of thing - architectual signifiers that something is unique or special. Perhaps Hinduism is simply too practical, in the sense that what makes the Brahma temple unique is that people go there to pray to Brahma.

And if you had any doubts why I'm staying here...

Pastis and Pate in Pushkar

The last few days have involved an odd succession of introductions and conversations with fellow travelers. On the train from Delhi to Jaipur, I shared a compartment with Marc, Laurent, and Damien - three Frenchmen who were partially here on business. Laurent and Damien barely speak any English and I've found that my French has deteriorated since traveling through Tunisia, but Marc is relatively fluent in English and was rather effective at managing to translate efficiently enough to keep a conversation going through most of the train ride.

We talked mostly about their business - bed covers and semi-precious stones - in Jaipur and a small French village between Paris and Nance. Apparently, their markup on things bought in India ranges from 16-20 times cost, or as Marc put it, "the benefits are very good."

The trio was heading straight from Delhi to Pushkar, a small relaxing village in the middle of Rajasthan - and the location of one of the few Brahma temples in the world - I got off earlier in Jaipur to see the sights. The problem was that I had been completely unable to sleep on the train to Jaipur and so when I arrived at my hotel at the crack of dawn, I pretty immediately fell asleep and didn't wake up until it was nearly the afternoon. I spent the day wandering the old city in Jaipur, which the maharaja had painted pink, the color of hospitality, in welcome of visiting British Royalty (Jaipur was part of an independent Maharajah state during the colonial period).

Aside from wandering through the streets and window shopping at the myriad stores lining the teeming bazaars, I had an amusing conversation with Manoj (a different Manoj than I met in Delhi) who started his conversation off by asking if he would be beaten for being dark-skinned if he traveled to America. He didn't really seem to be selling anything, so we enjoyed a cup of chai together before I headed off.

At the hotel, I was chatting with Danielle on Skype (everyone should get a Skype account immediately) about some of the cases she was working on, and after we finished talking, the guy at the next computer turned toward me and said: "Well, I guess it was inevitable than I meet someone else on a bar trip..." So I met Jason, who just finished at NYU in May and has been doing the overland journey across China through Tibet and Nepal. We strolled down to the Pahar Ganj area of Jaipur which is the main stone cutting and polishing center of India, but since the area is also Muslim and it happened to be a Friday (I stopped keeping track of the days awhile ago), most of the workstations were closed down and so there was only a few places to see. Still, it was a fascinating crafts area, with a strong sense of community that seems rooted in having ten guys spending eight hours a day crowded arounda work bench polishing stones.

On a snap decision I decided to accompany Jason on his afternoon bus to Pushkar. We arrived around 3:30pm, and after checking in and grabbing a late repast, we headed out to the Pushkar lake, where several "priests" encouraged us to do Puja, which mostly involved throwing a plate of flowers, colored powder, and rice into the lake and repeating after the "priest" a few mantras. What it didn't involve, at least for me, was shelling out the hundreds of rupees in "charity requests." I was prepared to be seriously hassled about not paying up, but the let me go with only moderate resistance (perhaps a benefit of being my size). I'm planning on going to the Brahma temple today, where there are actual priests doing actual Puja, and not "tourist puja," so at least I can see the real thing in action.

I've been thinking a lot about Hinduism and come to the conclusion that I don't understand it at all, but that it is a pervasive and all-encompassing part of most people's lives here.

Walking the streets after visiting the lake, Jason and I ran into March and Laurent, who invited us back to their hotel for dinner. Thus began one of the most mal-juxtaposed moments of my trip. Pushkar is a Brahmin town and the edicts of Brahminism are pretty strictly enforced, hence there is no alchohol, meat, or public displays of affection allowed within the city limits. So when we met Marc et al at their hotel and they secretively motioned for us to shut the door, I figured they were going to produce a joint or some other narcotic - instead, Marc pulled out three jars of chicken and duck pate and a bottle of Pastis. So Jason and I spent our first night in Pushkar eating Pate on toasted brown bread and drinking Pastis with a little bit of water and I must say, it was delightful.

Marc has invited us to join him today to see the stone trade from a wholesale perspective, after which we'll probably visit the Brahma temple and take in the rest of the sites here, although I think the main tourist attraction is the absence of cars and the relaxed atmosphere. Jason is taking off for Jaiselmer tonight, but I've decided to abandon my whirlwind tour of Rajasthan and take it easy in Pushkar for the next few days before heading down to catch my flight of Bombay.

Love,
Sebastian

Boby's Wife and Rickshaw Beer

Okay, two totally different topics, neither of which I can give adequate treatment. But to make an attempt: I've been hanging out with Manush (or probably Manuj, but my pronounciation is bad enough that the poor transliteration is irrelevant) and his friend Raj. Boby, Manush's uncle, Raj's brother, and the guy who showed me around last time I was in Delhi, is spending his days at the hospital with his wife. Since today was my last day here, I got them some gifts (some new shoes for Manush and Raj and a pair of jeans for Boby). When we dropped off the jeans for Boby, he invited me inside the hospital to see his wife. The hospital was pretty intense; they seem to do the best they can to meet sanitary standards, but it doesn't look particularly feasible. Regardless, I met Boby's wife, and his sister who were both in the ortho ward. After a brief chat, I took some photos of all of us:


[From left to right, Boby, his wife, and Manush]


[Outside the ward, I took more shots. This one is of Boby and Manush]


[Finally, Manush and me]

After the hospital, Manush, Raj, and I went to the liquor store to pick up beer and drank them in the backseat of Raj's rickshaw while eating Chicken kebabs. According to my thermometer it reached 97.6 degrees, which, when combined with the alcohol, has pretty much put me out.

So I'll try to write more in depth later, but now I just want to sit in front of a fan and relax

Love,
Sebastian

Hair

So the major physical change I've experienced while traveling is the prodigious growth of my own hair. I stopped shaving about a month ago and I've got a solid foundation for a beard I intend to lose immediately upon returning to the States:



I also haven't cut my hair in at least 6 months, so sometimes I look like this:

Chaos at the Chandi Chowk

The main drag in Old Delhi is a street called Chandi Chowk. It is a madhouse:

More Random Thoughts

Interacting with Manush and Boby has been interesting. Unlike Agra, rickshaw-wallahs either aren't,or won't admit to being, on a commission system. Instead, they get souveniers from the various tourist shops they take foreigners to. I'm ambivalently skeptical about that because it is hard for me to imagine that there is such a high incentive for the rickshaw-wallahs to take their time going to various shops for the sole purpose of getting a t-shirt. Then again, I've only hung out with Manush for a total of five days (three when first in Delhi and the last couple days) and I've already seen him rewear shirts (and I think he only has one pair of pants). So maybe the lure of a t-shirt is a significant attraction.

And I've satisfactorily resolved one mystery that has been floating in the back of my mind: the question of whether or not people hear understand the meaning of lewd slogans printed on their t-shirts. Yesterday, Raj (Manush's friend) was wearing a t-shirt that read: "My girlfriend told me to be more affectionate, so now I have two girlfriends!" That adds to the large collection of explicit shirts I've seen, like "free hot dog [downward pointing arrow], bring your own buns." Comparing how crude these shirts are to Danielle's expressed preference for some shirts with Hindi writing on them, I thought maybe the people here just don't bother learning what the shirts say... But Raj has singlehandedly convinced me that they know exactly what the shirts say, because when i asked Raj if he knew what his shirt said, he told me the meaning with a surprising degree of pride and humor.

I don't know what I'm going to do today... I have to check out of my hotel and noon, and then maybe I'll read a book for most of the day - an activity that has been strangely absent from my intinerary so far - and do some more walking around, although it's getting hotter each day I'm here (97 was the highest I noticed yesterday). Still, for those who know my usual intolerance for heat, you'll be surprised to learn that I've been undaunted and have spent most days walking around even during the hottest hours.

Some Thoughts on Indian “Culture”

Or more accurately: Some “Thoughts” on Indian Culture
Or even more accurately: Some Thoughts on Foreign Perceptions of Indian Culture

So I’ve spoken with three Americans, three Germans, and one Belgian since leaving Kathmandu almost two weeks ago. At some point in all these conversations, the topic of traveling in India has transformed into the topic of culture in India. Without fail, other tourists I’ve talked to had mostly negative things to say about their experience with Indian people: “It’s like they screw you over because they want to win, and they do it to each other too, “ or “The economic system here is not good, and it’s their fault too,” or “I don’t mean to sound racist, but I really don’t like Indian people.” And it was in contrast to otherwise liberal perspectives on other topics, like the war in Iraq, or social welfare.

Let me disclaim before I continue my commentary: All generalizations are inaccurate, and it is possible that I’ve managed to only speak to the most aggreived travelers through India, and I should say that any generalizations I do make about India are based on very limited exposure to the culture here.

What do I think about Indian culture? First, I think that any statements have to take into consideration that the vast majority of people I’ve interacted with are in some form of the tourist business and that the economics of the business must create a very different culture than what should be considered “Indian” culture. Second, India is almost as geographically large as the U.S., and has a population more than four times that of the U.S., so to speak of an Indian culture must be even more inaccurate than to speak of an American culture.

But why, where the American tourist industry – suck as hotel concierges, etc. – seems to generate an aura of artificial hospitality, does the Indian tourist industry generate such aggressiveness and pushiness? And that is a badly weighted question itself, because the hotels that Danielle and I stayed in (five and four star hotels) the service was excellent and the people polite. So what I’m really talking about is the rickshaw-wallahs, street-shop owners, children, and beggars; in other words, the poorer side of the tourist industry.

My working theory is not particularly insightful: Poverty creates desperation and desperation manifests as aggressiveness. In a country where beggars mutilate their children so they can earn more alms, and older children beat up the younger ones who get rupees from tourists, it isn’t hard to imagine that the people who succeed (relatively speaking) aren’t the ones who provide the best service to their customers (or benefactors, in the case of beggars), but those who can beat out the hundreds of other people competing for the same business. So the rickshaw-wallahs are aggressive, not because they think that will appeal to customers, but because aggression is the only way to make sure the next rickshaw-wallah doesn’t take their customer away. And there are seven hundred shops on one street selling the identical bangles, hippie-shirts, and cold water that advertisement becomes volume and the content is irrelevant.

Two Indian men has seperately told me that the “problem” with India (or maybe Delhi specifically) is over-population. Boby, the rickshaw-wallah I’ve been hanging out with, said, and I quote: “Do you know what the problem with India? Population. I have six children!” Raj, the same person I spoke to about the Maharashtra blasts, simply said that with enormous regret in his voice that population was the problem with India. On a personal note, Raj asked me for American coins because his 9 year old son wants to have the best coin collection in his fourth-grade class. And Boby’s wife is currently in the hospital with back problems, so send good wishes his way.

But I started at the root of the problem without describing what it really is. And talking with these other Western tourists has left me with an unanswered personal inquiry, namely, why don’t I have the same, visceral, negative reaction to all the people grabbing and shouting at me as I walk down the street. Objectively, I can sympathize with the sentiments of those who have expressed frustration with India. There are beggars every five steps in the tourist areas of Delhi. Cycle and auto-rickshaw drivers cut in front of you to ask if you want a ride. Everyone overcharges tourists – in Varanasi the quoted prices were at least 200% of the final price I managed to get, and even in Nepal (where the culture is quite different, except for the tourist areas) I was quoted Rs. 2500 for a singing bowl and after some half-hearted haggling had the guy at Rs. 350. And it’s not just the prices, it’s trying to do the things you want to. Getting a rickshaw is challenging if you don’t want to visit the “government” shops. At a travel agent, I spent at least ten minutes telling the guy I didn’t want a driver through Rajasthan for $700 and that sleeper trains were fine. Even then, he asked for Rs. 6500, and I fortunately waited to go to the foreign tourist office at the train station where all five trains were a mere Rs. 900. And I’ve already written some about involuntary guides at temples and tourist sights.

But the personal inquiry is that these things don’t really bother me. I’ve had only one or two experiences of genuine frustration with someone. Otherwise, I’m mostly entertained by figuring out the best strategy to avoid unwanted offers or requests. I’m convinced that the best strategy is to completely ignore whoever is trying to get your attention (it works on everyone except begging mothers, who clutch at your clothing and follow for blocks and blocks). But it’s hard, and a little monotonous, to ignore everyone around you. I’ve found that saying “nahee” or “mujhe nahee chahiye” is significantly more effective than just saying “no” (which is the hindi word for “nine”). Singing “nahee” at the top of my lungs has sufficiently baffled a few persistent touts. “Chalao,” or the ruder “jao” (“go away”) work sometimes, but I had one young man in Fatephur Sikri tell me “why should I go? This is my home, you are visitor, you go! It is not a good person.” Assuming he meant “you” and not “it,” he at least had a point that I was the visitor and he was the resident. And sometimes, I give in to somewhat cruel humor and either quote absurdly low prices, “ten rupees!” or tell rickshaw drivers that I want to go somewhere totally ridiculous. That actually led to one of my favorite impromptu interactions.

Rickshaw-wallah: “Where do you want to go?”
Me: “We want to go to the moon!”
RW: “Oh, I like the sun; I like more the warm. The moon it is too cold.”

When people tell me that they can get me “anything,” I’ve asked for a solid gold toilet – which has let to offers to both find a toilet and sell me gold bullion.

But walking around with other tourists, I’m surprised by how angry some of them have gotten, some yelling angrily at small children. The Lonely Planet Nepal says that raising your voice is never effective and I think that has contributed a bit to my attitude, but not entirely. Passivity and conflict-avoidance or tolerance and open-mindedness? That dichotomy probably doesn not capture everything, but I’ve been trying to figure out what it is, why I find most of it funny instead of grueling.

And since the comment about how Indians treat each other, I’ve been trying to pay more attention to interactions between local people on the street. Today, for instance, our rickshaw was revving loudly as it tried to escape a particularly deep pothole and a young man walking by instinctively helped push us along. And Manush and Boby, or restaurant and hotel operators are gentle with beggars while shooing them away from their storefronts.

[It's now 12:30am here and I'm going to bed, but I'll try to finish my thoughts on this tomorrow before going to Jaipur in the evening]