Namaste

It will be awhile before I can sort out all I've experienced traveling to India and Nepal. There have been such extremes in everything from traffic (Delhi and Kathmandu) to altitude (sea-level Kochi and Mount Everest.) I've learned much, too, about the complexities of these countries and all of the issues they face - managing the burgeoning population in India and working to stabilize the new republic and government in Nepal. With increased understanding of the caste system, I no longer condemn it but see now how challenging it is for the societies to be integrated. It was a sacrifice for us - Ron, particularly, as the one left at home - that I was gone these many weeks. I am very grateful to him for his generous heart and for giving me this opportunity. When we discuss our adventures, Joan and I talk about the people more than the places. So many have shown us such graciousness and have been so kind. Some, notably our dear leader Sujay, we shall never forget.

February 7 - Can We Go Home Now?

It's easier to get into a third world country than it is to get out. We have a smooth departure from the hotel but at the airport we see that our flight is delayed sufficiently to make our Delhi-London connection impossible. We're considering our options. We are finally escorted to the Thai Airlines counter where they all go to work for us, especially our personable and gallant young ticket agent. Mid -afternoon, we leave Kathmandu for Bangkok where we make an instant connection for L.A. Bad news? It's a 36-hour marathon from wake up in Nepal to bed time in L.A. Good news? Our very long Bangkok to L.A. flight will be in business class. Thank God in heaven. A person can manage if there's a lovely lie-down once you're airborne. Everything is luxurious and this works nicely for us although we take none of it for granted.

February Day the Last

We start early with a lecture by a Nepali university professor who received his PhD from UC Riverside. He talks about the history and culture of Nepal, spending some time on present day politics. A group of young students (one a highs school boy, the rest girls either in college or earning graduate degrees) came in and we had a chance to talk in very small groups. Our young woman is already teaching in order to fund her advanced degree. She talks extensively about trying to be a modern woman in the Nepali paternalistic culture and says her mom didn't want her to be on Facebook, even though the mom didn't really know what it was. She will be her own person, that one. Late morning, we leave for Patan, about 10 miles from Kathmandu. It is impressively clean and seems prosperous. Begging is less pervasive here although the people we do see begging are often suffering from terrible physical defects. Poor nutrition, poor pre-natal care and poor overall health care, I suspect. We see more temples and an old royal palace before we go on to the Patan Tibetan Refugee Camp established in 1960. It's now a permanent residence for several thousand people , many of whom were born in Nepal but who keep their Tibetan culture intact. They speak Tibetan, Nepali and, often, English. We visit their rug making factory which is small and on three levels. The ground floor is for spinning the wool from yaks and other animals , the second floor is where the rugs are made, - we see three women seated on the floor making one large rug - and the top floor is the sales room. Come on, people! The proceeds help to support a school for Tibetan children. Several of us buy these beautiful rugs, happy because they pack them really small so you can carry them in your luggage. In the afternoon we drive to a Newari village but en route we pass through the noveau riche section of a Kathmandu suburb where rich politicians have built second homes to escape the poor air quality in the valley. We're told that most of their children are studying in either the U.S., Britain or Australia. Joan and I decide that Canada must be too cold. There is a raucous political speaker who's a royalist so he's saying that the pols don't do anything and the king should come back to rule. It's not particularly well-attended. We go to the shop of a premiere woodcarver from Tibet and see his fabulous work. Once back, we have time at the hotel only to organize our luggage and to get ready for dinner at the home of Mr, Mishra and his wife, owner of the Nepali travel company who's arranged this part of our tour. It is probably less than 5 miles from the hotel, but takes us a full hour to navigate the clogged streets. Grumpy, anyone? Joan and I attend out of a sense of duty because we are done in and my stomach does not want nor will it tolerate any spicy food. So we square away our attitudes and get on with it. I am not dressed warmly enough - I went for cute - but we did not have to remove our shoes before entering the house so my feet stay warm at least. Before dinner, a woman entrepreneur gives a talk on the status of women in Nepal. Bottom line - they are controlled by fathers, husbands and sons, but things are slowly improving. We don't get back to the hotel until 10 P.M. but our dear Sujay has arranged everything for our transfer to the airport so no worries.

February 5 - A Dream Comes True

I'm up at 5:15 A.M., virus be damned, because Mount Everest awaits. At the airport, our group is joined by three adorable Danish girls who've taken a year off to travel before they pursue advanced degrees in business. They are in Nepal to volunteer at a children's home and are delightful. We fly off on Yeti Airlines each with our own window seat for the one-hour Everest experience. Joan gets the close-up view of a string of peaks staring with Langlang Linug at 23,734 feet. There are many beautiful mountains, but when I get my 30 seconds in the cockpit, the pilot points and says, "There's Everest", and I say, "It's my dream come true." Incredible. The plane turns back at Everest and now I sit and stare at its glory with my head pressed to the window until it is completely out of sight. Our group drives to Bhaktapur, one of the three main cities in Kathmandu Valley. This city used to have the distinction of being the dirtiest in the country but the Germans installed a plumbing system and brick pavings and it is now quite delightful and quite clean. We visit a square with the beautiful Fifty-Five Window Palace and a 15th century temple. I rest while Joan and the others buy some lovely pashminas. Darn this virus. We lunch at Dwarika's Hotel which features restored handmade brick and woodwork construction and we enjoy this garden oasis. Joan and I make friends with one of the managers who's son is in grad school in MN, although I am not able to determine which school. He insists on giving us a private tour after lunch which was quite fun and then it's on to Boudhanath - the largest Buddhist stupa in the world. It's shape is based on the mandala and is so beautiful - we take the clockwise walk around the stupa, spinning many of the prayer wheels and then spend time in on of the monastery-run shops to see the artistry that goes in to make the mandala paintings. This area is known as Little Tibet because refugees continue to pour across the border from Tibet, walking several days across the Himalaya to escape the current political regime. Our local guide is Buddhist and does not disguise his dismay about what is happening to the Tibetan culture. Although Nepal has diplomatic ties with China, they do what they can for the numerous refugees. I notice an interesting mix of Hinduism and Buddhism and a great tolerance between the two religions. Our last stop is to one of the most sacred Hindu shrines in the world, Pashupatinath. Only Hindus may enter the temple so we see the complex from the other side of the sacred river Bugmati, a tributary of the Ganges. The river is nearly dry this time of year and strewn with trash, but it is the site of the city's funeral ghats (steps down to the river) and we see six cremations going on when we approach. The bodies are placed on the funeral pyre and various rites are performed by the priest and the deceased's sons. All of the loving care is designed to release the person's essence from earth. It is very moving. I rest for the remainder of the evening while the group goes to dinner at a restaurant featuring ethnic folk dancing.

February 4 - Is There a Doctor in the House?

I stay in bed while the rest go off on their adventures and am happy for the quietude. I recover throughout the day and hear that our two doctors have decided it's a stomach virus. I don't doubt it. I rally for a lecture by a man from The Mountain Institute on the effects of climate change in the Himalaya (no "s"). Not exactly uplifting, but informative and illustrated with great photos of the mountains and its peoples. I slip out and back to our room for a lie down. Food is not yet a possibility.

February 3 - Inconvenience Regretted

Our wake-up call is 4 A.M. and on the road at 5. Up you travelers, and away! There are significant numbers of trucks on this new road from Jaiphur to Delhi so our bus driver demonstrates his considerable skills, weaving and dodging in our big vehicle. There is endless road construction for which the government is apologetic but about which they remind you that it is for a better tomorrow. The signs say, "Inconvenience regretted." When the sun comes up, we stop for chai tea and a few last trinket purchases. We approach the Delhi suburbs just in time for the morning commute. There are 6 million motor vehicles registered in the city and we're seeing a goodly number of them this morning. Now at the airport, things start to go badly. I feel faint and break out in a cold sweat and, since I know what's coming, I wisely find a bench and lie down, grateful for the opportunity. A wheelchair is summoned and I am shuttled through the airport to the plane where the flight is blessedly brief. In Kathmandu, there is another wheelchair and I am hastily ferreted through all the lines. Ah - our bus has a bench seat in the back so I rest en route to the hotel, go straight to our room, and lie, most mercifully, down.

February 2 - Elephant Riding and Horse Trading

Our trip to the Amber Fort in Jaipur starts with an elephant ride up to entrance. It's a powerful sway on that big beast, making it impossible to focus the camera as we are jostled from side to side on its back. The mahoot likes to keep his animal close to the fort wall and this necessitates Joan and I keeping our legs outstretched to avoid having our shoes scraped off. We arrive in the fort in fine style and make the most of our stay, admiring the beautiful tile work and architecture of this palace. It is here that my camera starts to misbehave. I surround it with white light although I realize it is soulless. There is a small reprieve when I discover a way to limp along with it. I so hope I shall not be cameraless in Kathmandu. If I failed to mention it, Rajisthan is in Western India. The city of Jaipur is known for its vibrant colors - the Pink City - so called because its prominent buildings are washed in this color. The Amber Fort, with its beautiful chamber of mirrors and truly fabulous three-storied gateway, is Joan's favorite. She appreciates the symmetry of the design and art work, but I have the Taj in my heart as the most beautiful - spoken like an Indian, I think. We go then to a gem shop because Jaipur is known as a huge gem and diamond cutting center and the work of the artisans here is something to behold. They continue to maintain the Taj using the skills they've learned from their ancestors who created the Taj in the first place. We see a demonstration about gems and miniature painting and then... shop! We move on to the City Palace Museum for lunch and a tour. This is where the current royal family of Jaipur still lives. We see impressive textiles, weaponry, enormous chandeliers and a collection of royal costumes. We shed layers of clothing as the day heats up. On to Jantar Mantar- Jaipur's huge observatory. It's all outdoors and reminds me of a similar place in Beijing, the concept not the look. I know it's impressive, but I'm starting to wear down and feel a little grumpy when we depart for the textile and carpet shop for a fabulous rug weaving and block print demonstration, chai tea and..... more shopping. Oh that Joan can be quite a bad influence, can she not? We have discovered that when we buy together we get better discounts so there is that. We congratulate ourselves on our cleverness. We return to the hotel, exhausted but triumphant.

February 1 - In Search of the Divine Spark

We get up early to have a short hike in the hills near our resort with a dashing former Army officer as our guide. We ladies are all quite taken with him. We enjoy the quietude and being able to stretch our legs. On the Jaipur, the third city of India's Golden Triangle (Delhi and Agra being the others) but first we stop at the local market in Sikindra where some go in search of camel bells and other endless jinkies. We are armed with training on avoiding the gypsy children whose parents will inevitably thrust them upon us. We are told not to give them any money because it only goes to the adults and the children receive no benefit. For most of the 20-minute walk through the market, I am surrounded by 2 or 3 of the most persistent and annoying children I've ever encountered. The oldest is probably 10. They constantly pinch my elbows and forearms, imploring me for money and chocolate. I resist the urge to flick them away, resolutely keeping my gaze fixed on a spot ahead of me while trying to manufacture even the smallest kind thought for them. I fail. We drive through the countryside to Jaipur in our oasis (the tour bus) but I am a little tired so I think tomorrow I will enjoy it more. After lunch we head for a very ornate movie theater, much like Grauman's Chinese in size and in the ornateness of the decor. We see half of a Bollywood movie and leave at the intermission. At that, it's 90 minutes. We cause quite a stir with the Indian audience because it's obvious that all these foreigners cannot possibly speak Hindi and what would we be doing there, anyway? There is no way we are not noticeable, even in the large theater because we take up an entire long row. The audience consists of large families who are constantly chatting and using their cell phones, movie or no. With the audience cheering for all their favorite stars and loudly responding during the love scenes, it's wild and I must say that between the Hinglish and the visuals, we follow the action fairly well. We aren't to know the ending but Sujay assures us that it will be happy. It's late afternoon and we head for the Jaipur marketplace where each of us is set loose with 50 rupees (about $1.20.) The game is to come back in 45 minutes with as many items as possible. It's all about quantity. I am loathe to go because bargaining is so far from my comfort zone but I finally decide to go if Joan will do most of the dirty work. (Coward.) As we go along, I find I'm getting into it and reluctantly start to enjoy myself but we run out of time and only have 5 items each. I am sure I held Joan back but she was too kind to say anything. When we finish, we realize that we've got to cross the street. Oh dear. Picture a hugely neglected big city street at rush hour without stop lights or any attention to traffic laws and add bicycles, carts, rickshaws, motorcycles and beasts to the cars. We only made it by attaching ourselves to an Indian family and running like hell when they started to cross. We meet our group and jump into bicycle rickshaws to get back to the oasis and it's another hair-raising 10 minutes. Our rickshaw driver told us he was an Indian helicopter. Right! The questionable moment came when the large bus bearing down on us was close enough to damn near brushed the side of my leg. No one thought it worth a glance let alone a mention but I screamed a little anyway figuring it was too loud for anyone to hear me anyway. We end the evening in the large home of a family from the warrior caste here 22 people currently live. The women were beautiful in their silk saris and the food is delicious. Tomorrow will be our last day in India.

January 31st - Yoga At Last

We have a rather leisurely morning, departing in our jeeps to the bus and seeing the large market early in the day. A cacophony of sights and sounds and the requisite guy with his back to us, peeing on the wall. Lucky, those men. Bathrooms in the villages are the nearby fields. We drive about 30 minutes to the fascinating Abhaneri Stepwells which were unearthed much like the Terra Cotta Army in China, I think - and are grand in their own right. Little is known about them except that the king and queen lived above the wells and that there was an enormous temple next door which was razed by Muslims. We are in the state of Rajasthan where the people are now almost entirely Hindu. We visit a government elementary school with 30 students and 2 classrooms. We bring some books and school supplies for the teachers and spend time with the children. Joan conducts a reading group for 3 children and I take photos, showing the kids their pictures which they can never get enough of! We rest in the afternoon in order to gear up for our first ever cricket game on the grounds of the resort. We are quite taken with the game and in awe of one of our fellow travelers who pitches the ball with alacrity. Another of the women is a great batter so we are able to hold our own against those knowing more about the game. Now picture your girls at bat at the same time. I am proud to report that both Joan and I hit the ball sufficiently for each of us to score a RUN. Well done, I say. We played until we could no longer see the ball. Worked off lunch, anyway. Tonight we enjoy local music and folk dancing on the grounds. There is a fire eater and a girl able to dance with seven pots balanced on her head. With the pots, she lowers herself to the ground and grabs a rupee note with her mouth. Awesome. Later I balance one pot on my head - it's the largest and heavy - and, when challeneged, stand on one leg, stretching the other straight out from my hip. Namaste, Cindy gi.

January 30th Out in the Middle of Nowhere

With a few of the men whining mightily, we're up at 6 A.M. and out soon after. Man up, I say. We need to miss the heavy traffic around Agra, as we head to Jaipur where it's jewels, jewels and more jewels. Joan and I are rubbing our hands together. First stop out of town is Fatehpur Sikr built by the Mughal Emperor Akbar as a home for himself and his wives, each of whom had her own palace. One was a Christian, one a Muslim and one a Hindu. Equal opportunity husband. We continue through the state of Uttar Pradesh to Rajasthan, coming to a place called Kalakho, a.k.a. the Middle of Nowhere. We pass through a busy market area and leave our tour bus for a 15-minute jeep ride on dirt roads so that we can reach our country resort. We all have spacious cabins, simply furnished but comfortable. I love the crisp nights once I get a second blanket on my bed. (I knew those thick long socks would come in handy on this trip.) We don't spend much time in our digs but there is a nice porch on which we sit one afternoon for an hour, enjoying the country air and the hills showing the wheat and mustard crops. It's spring. This afternoon's activity is a camel ride and I ponder whether I am really going to do it - those camels are tall and intimidating. There are not enough camels for all of us to ride at once because their owners bring them from surrounding villages and in some instances, it's too far to come. I am in a camel-drawn cart for the 20-minute ride. Our destination is a 10-family village that we see is fairly prosperous when we notice the modern tractor and other farm equipment and the number of children in school uniforms. Literacy rates for the country vary, but they are lower for females and lowest for non-urban females. Sujay is so happy to see the girls going to school. When we arrive, the village men are performing a ceremony featuring what we in yoga would call a Kirtan chant band. They are singing and playing prior to performing a marriage between their local Hindu deity and a rather sad-looking basil plant. One man danced at the end of the ceremony, eventually getting all of us to join in. It was great. My time for the camel ride came on the way back to the resort. Getting up and getting down are tricky, but the handlers know what they are doing. As we prepared to move off, my camel craned his neck WAY around and nibbled on my shoe a little. Yum yum. Okay, I admit I held my breath. Those teeth are huge. Later, we all sat around a bonfire asking questions about village life. Sujay, as usual, facilitates excellent conversation. Gosh that guy is high energy. Our thatched-roof cabins are not silent at night and we wait for the unseen little (I hope) critters to settle in. Joan falls asleep immediately but I stay awake to fret a little, looking around for areas of vulnerability where we might suffer invasion. Let's see: keep vigil or sleep? ZZZZZZZ

January 29 Running the Gauntlet

We start early for the Taj and are rewarded with one of the most breathtaking sites I've ever seen. We did see the view from the other side of the river last night which was spectacular and interesting with the river and crematoriums and the sunset, but the morning visit to the Taj and its grounds could not be equaled. Shah Jahan built this monument to his wife of 19 years who died in childbirth. It's built of brick and faced with thick, almost non-porous white marble. All of the exterior decor is the marble inlaid with 20 kinds of semi-precious gems. The sight reduced me to tears. We were able to spend a good amount of time on our own, just being. Wonderful. We move to the Red Fort, home of Shah Jahan and other Mogul emperors. Jahan was eventually imprisoned by his son who did comply with his father's wish to be in a place that would allow him to view his monument to his beloved. We then stop at one of Mother Teresa's homes, this one in Agra. There are babies, mostly from unwed mothers - a great shame in Indian society - toddlers, and school children. Many more are disabled teenagers and adults with a separate section for the elderly. The house relies totally on donations. We bring our several-day collection of hotel soaps and shampoos and also give monetary gifts. As Sujay says, it may seem like a it's a drop in the ocean, but we must make a start. Lunch is in a sumptuous home about 10 minutes from the Agra Fort. The host is Indian-born but lived in the U.S. from age 2 until post-college. He returned to his family home in Agra after an arranged marriage which is still quite typical. He and his wife are both very warm and welcoming and the food is delicious. As is the case with most of the private estates, they are a little past their prime and we fear the owners may be experiencing some hard times with this economy. After lunch, we go for a demonstration of how marble is inlaid with semi-precious stones: mother-of-pearl, lapis lazuli, turquoise, carnelian, malachite and jasper. These are the stones and techniques used in the Taj Mahal and the results are as you'd expect - irresistible. I'll say no more. At the hotel, Sujay gives us a lecture on Indian politics. Like everything else in this country, it's complicated. But I've saved the best for last. As we move from place to place in Agra, we are BESET by the most aggressive street vendors I've ever encountered. We've learned to circle when they approach and never to speak or make eye contact. A few of us have made mistakes, myself included. Joan says it's like feeding pigeons. You start with one......

January 29 On the Road Again

Get 'em up, move 'em out - our small band is en route to Agra. In the bus, Sujay hangs up a map of India, pointing out the highlights of each region. As we drive through the states, I see the disparity of the regions - ethnicities, languages, dress and income levels. We saw eager merchants in Kerala, street people and some begging in Delhi, but nothing to prepare us for the visuals that go with the words "abject poverty" and "street urchin" here in Agra. The dichotomy of the Taj Mahal and other beautiful monuments here and the people who seem to have almost nothing is stark. Our group is staying in a sumptuous hotel but we know what's out there, just beyond the walls. Although we enjoy our meal and have conversation, we are all spend and are in our rooms early.

January 27 Holy Places and Hospitality

Note to readers: One of my previous posts, No Lions...., was incomplete and error filled. It's now been corrected to be much more readable. I was trying to beat the clock and am not good when speed typing! We drive through Delhi, past the Red Fort and through the government area, but we are unable to approach either the Presidential Palace or the Parliament building as they are blockaded for security reasons. We stop at India Gate, a memorial to WWI's Indian soldiers, 90 thousand of whom died in Flanders Field. Sadly, we do not appear to have learned much since then. There is a ceremony here so we hear a trumpet salute and see the head of the Indian Air Force greeting a visiting dignitary. We go on to the Gandhi Smitri, site of Mahatma Gandhi's last days and assassination. We spend a few hours here at the museum and are struck by the sacred feeling surrounding the place. Next is a beautiful Sikh temple to learn about this religion and to experience the life going on there. Each Sikh temple must contain food for the traveler, a way for the traveler to wash, and a place for the traveler to rest. Any person may avail himself of these benefits and no payment is required. We enter the grounds of the temple and go to a room where we all don a kerchief worn in the style I'd adopted when riding on Ron's motorcycle. No temple socks are permitted so thank God Joan and I could proudly display our pedis. We approach a patio area on which many people are seated and being led in prayers. At the signal, they rise as one and file into a huge hall where they site on long runners and await a meal of naan and dal (lentils and bread). Our group helps serve - there are a few hundred people and I go up and down the rows with a huge bucket of dal, careful to use only my right hand on the scoop. The diners exit, the floor is quickly cleaned, and the next group comes in. It continues like this until all are fed. When we are done serving, we go in to the kitchen and see the biggest pot and ladle I've even laid eyes on. There's a man standing on a platform filling the large pots, another man operating a maching into which he feeds naan dough and several women both making naan by hand and frying it. I think it's like lefse for us Norwegians. We eat some right off the grill. Delicious! We enter the temple and it is very beautiful. Silence is maintained and we sit for a few moments to meditate. This is a place that shows such kindness to so many. We finish the afternoon at a Hindu temple used by his family when Sujay was young. It is very small and is open on the sides with a roof on top. We step shoeless into the temple and see the honored god sitting in an enclosed room. The priest comes and blesses the bottle of whiskey that we've brought, pouring a goodly amount right onto the god. We're all allowed into the room to receive an orange dot on our foreheads and then several enjoy the blessed whiskey en route back to the hotel. For dinner, we are in two groups, one going to the home of our cooking teacher and the other (including Joan and I) to the family home of a wonderful young couple who'd had an arranged marriage. His parents live on the ground floor and they on the second. We liked hearing their stories and seeing their wedding and reception photos. They had 600 guests which is not uncommon. The photos would have been several hundred dollars in the U.S. Good food, too!

January 26 Mr. Toad's Wild Ride

Our tour staff is excellent! Sujay Lall, our group leader uses only his first name because he is Brahman and prefers not to have his caste and religion define him as he takes us around the country. He is a vibrant man with an easy and assured manner. His passion for India is very infectious and makes us all want to learn as much as we can during our time together. Our local guide in Delhi is a quietly beautiful woman named Ritu who is obviously delighted to share her city with us. Officially, there are 13.8 million people in Delhi, but the population is really closer to 16 million. Our group of 16 should be an interesting mix of people since we are from all over the U.S. with most of us retirement age and beyond. We have a few doctors, a nurse, business people, a university professor and your favorite civil servants. Yes, that would be Joan and I. We started the day late since the tour group arrived yesterday from New York. First stop is Old Delhi to a lotus-shaped Bahai Temple, the exterior of which resembled the Sydney Opera House. We stood in line with several hundred people, removing our shoes as we entered the temple . We had a lecture about the principals of the Bahai faith which include equality between men and women and the senselessness of violence. Good ones. After lunch, it's on to the largest Muslim mosque in India, Jami Masjid. Its black and white marble domes are awesome. The temple is an open structure surrounded by a huge courtyard. Here, we purchase temple socks for when we cannot wear shoes inside the holy places. We hasten to remove our shoes (not easy for all of us) and pay a camera tax of 200 rupees (about $4) and, for the women don what looks like a floor-length hospital gown. We hurry because it's almost time for the call to prayer and we must exit the mosque before that occurs. Photos cannot do justice here. Once finished, we gather outside the mosque where each of us selects a likely bicycle rickshaw and driver for a ride through the narrow alleyways of the adjacent bazaar. One side Muslim shopkeepers and butcher shops with live animals only (no refrigeration) and the other side Hindu shopkeepers. Many are closed because this is India's Republic Day. Our rickshaw driver is smaller than Joan and he works mightily. God I regret those extra pieces of roti and naan (breads, what else?) We are in sensory overload: people, colors, food, goods, animals motorcycles, tuk tuks and rickshaws passing by so closely that we are breathing each other's air. Above, the wildest tangle of wires ever seen - electricity purloined from God knows where to light up the shops. We fly along the last bit of road, stopping miraculously in front of our bus. We are breathless. Our last stop is at the Gandhi memorial. It is the peace and serenity I have been looking for in Delhi. The grounds are lovely - roses blooming and birds singing in the wide tree-lined walkway. There are no lines or crowds and people simply walk in. We end up atop a wide path, looking down onto the memorial which has been decorated with flowers for Republic Day. It is generally unadorned with only an eternal flame so it is especially beautiful today. Joan and I found it extraordinarily poignant and fought back tears as our guide talked about Gandhi Gi's last days.

January 25 The End of Our Alone Time

TCI, our Indian touring company, has taken such good care of us. Our dear Kishur Kumar picked us up in plenty of time to negotiate the crowded roads to the Kochi airport, picking up another guide along the way. We are spoiled but appreciative. We are presented with gifts of rather large - oh dear - commemorative wooden boats. These are eventually left for the delight of the hotel staff back in Delhi, I'm afraid. We fly from Kochi to Mumbai and Mumbai to Delhi, realizing that there will be no TCI at the other end to tend to us, but we head to the pre-paid taxi stand so no problem. It's good to contemplate 11 days with of ground travel. A semi-wild cab ride and not in the nice TCI vehicle, but we have a friendly driver which helps distract from his high speeds. At the hotel, we wash out a few clothes, wondering where we might place our clothesline. The plan fails to work out as envisioned and suddenly the lamp in the corner is felled and the glass shade scattered across the carpet. Oops. We make a contrite call and the hotel people whisk away the evidence within moments. We're off to a good start, we say. About 7:30 P.M. we're getting grumpy with no food to speak of since breakfast. We decide to eat, tour or no tour. As we finish dinner, we encounter our group dragging in after their 90 minute commute from the airport, jet lag and all. We muster up a polite greeting and off we go to bed.

January 24 The Windows of Taj Mahal in Cochin

Joan has been having issues with her sinuses so wisely decided on a massage later today. We get going at 10 after a nice breakfast so were not rushed and enjoyed our leisure. Our dear driver, Kishur Kumar, arrived promplty, accompanied by a local guide, Nidu, who had a good day planned for us. He reported that Cochin, with a population of 1.5 million, is 40% Hindi, 30% Christian, and 30% Muslim. It's first known foreign visitors were the CHinese who contented themselves with trade. Then came a variety of Europeans, the military conquerers - Portuguese, Dutch, French and English who ruled until 1947 when the Raj finally ended. We saw Jew Town (only a few families left) dating from 200 C.E. and the still operating 16th century synagogue. Then St. Francis Church with Vasco Da Gama's original grave site, and, finally, the Dutch Palace and the Chinese Fishing Nets the latter being as they sound, a manner of fishing introduced by the Chinese and used today by local fishermen. We shop at 2 wonderful places, one a co-op run by local women where we bought spices and essential oils and next a fabulous store with teak and sandlewood furniture and wonderfully exquisite carpets. I was so happy to acquire a beautiful hand-woven rug for our entry. I t features a design called "the windows of the Taj Mahal". What better way to remember this journey. I can't wait to see it in our house. Be sure to stop by so that you can admire it to! We lunch at a local restaurant, letting the driver and guide have an early day so we walk back to the hotel, a 17-room colonial manor, for Joan's massage and my R and R. Up early tomorrow for our trip back to Dehli.

January 23 What Goes Up....

After the boat ride, we returned to our lodgings at Spice Village and its very beautiful grounds. We enjoy breakfast with exotice dishes, fruit and a tasty cinnamon yogurt. Now into the car for the 4 1/2 hour trip back down the mountain to Cochin. No small amount of dozing and we end at the Malabar Hotel where we're lead to our room dominated by one large bed. Ah... and the other bed would be? Were we not supposed to notice? There is some explanation as to why the 2-bed room was not available and we stand there looking at each other. Finally Joan says, "Can a bed be brought in?" so they roll in a cot which Joan will sleep on, bless her. After a bit we head out for a walk in the immediate area which includes a trip through the local bazaar ending at the water. I feel a little strange bein on our own, but no one pays too much attention to us. There are lots of people, lots of skinny animals, and lots of merchants eager to ply their wares. Back at the hotel we dine alfresco and are asleep by 9 P.M., party animals that we are.

1/23 No Lions, No Tigers, No Bears Oh My!

It's catching up to us a bit since we turned on our lights to read around 3 A.M. but small price to pay - we can doze on the ride back to Kochi this afternoon. We've got a 2-hour boat ride on lake Peniyar, the logisitics of which required 4 guides. Picture this: we are collected at 5:50 A.M. by a local guide and are driven in his small car through town to the gates of the Tiger Preserve. The queue is forming, our driver has secured a place in line with our touring vehicle and has also, we believe, gotten our tickets for the boat. The crowd deepens and becomes more animated. It's Sunday and a lot of Indians have traveled here for the boat ride. Everyone is watching for an official who will open the gate... a time or two it looks really promising and everyone revs up in anticipation. The clouds of exhaust are just the sign that it's almost time to go. Our guides hasten us to a tuk tuk positioned at the very front of the line. It's got an impossibly loud and rough idle and I cannot imagine that it won't stall. We sit in back swallowing unfiltered and noxious exhaust fumes. Still, we are thrilled when one side of the gate lifts and as many vehicles as possible surge through the funnel. We laugh like hyennas! We are damn near front runners but our driver slows down too much for the speed bumps and several others are willing to take to the air so they pass us up. Our driver puts 'er in passing gear and we FLY over the next bump, smashing down onto the road bed on the other side. Hard on the back, that. BTW, the bumps are to control traffic for the sake of all of the animals on the preserve. And here we are at the gate where the vheicles must stop. After screeching to a halt, our driver yells, "Run!" and we do. We can't keep up the pace the whole distance, but we decide to do what it takes to 1) not let anyone pass us and 2) over take the lady in the orange sweater who we can tell lacks an exercise program. We prevail on both counts. We're at the lake and go in to the building where we stand in line. We've udnerstood that admission requires both forms for entry and the boat tickets, but we have no idea about the logistics. As the place starts to fill with people, the official says that only one in the party is to wait in line. I leave because Joan has the money. (Typical, right Ron?) I take a few listless pictures, trying to trust in the process but indulging in some handwringing and wondering if I'll ever see Joan again. The guides are in the wind and the place is bulging with humanity. I befriend two elders from Arizna and they are appropriately concerned. Suddenly, I hear shouting from the building and when I express dismay, the man says, "On they're only talking to each other." NOT. Joan tells me later that she got in line as instructed but as more people arrived, the line degenerated and became more of a circle of people pressed against the counter. Shady dealings were discovered when the guides were found to have held the spots in line for the slower tourists who then began to arrive in droves and to take their places at the front of the line. Shouting, berating and recriminations abounded. My intrepid friend was neither cowed nor displaced although one of the crowd tried to elbow past. Those blue eyes turned steely and when she said softly, "Don't even think about it, buster," he stepped back. At the zero hour, Joan and the guide emerged from the building waving the tickets and we proceeded to the boat. Joan said, "There better be some animals after that experience!"

We sit on our boat for 45 minutes while all 4 of the boats fill up. We are behind a young man and woman who're part of a larger family from Madras, we learn. The young woman attempts a few words in English as we get to know each other. I take their picture and she insists that we share their food, some homemade. It takes very little kindness to bring out the generosity of almost all the people we've met.

The boat proceeds slowly around the lake for 2 hours with the return trip heading into the wind. We are freezing and cover our heads with our scarves. We see a few lovely birds, some wild boar off in the distance, but no tigers or elephants. That was a long shot anyway.

Our guide met us at the boat dock and on our way back to the car, found us monkeys of 2 varieties and fabulous Indian giant squirrels who can leap 20 feet. He's a sharp-eyed person, our driver, and very kind.

1/22 I'll Fly Away

Up around 5 but we didn't regret it because we'd gotten to bed early. Since we'll stay at this hotel for several days after joining the tour, we were able to leave our cold weather clothes behind, lightening the load to Cochin where we are headed this morning and where it was 90 degrees yesterday. Since it's Saturday, the traffic fairly light although we had no time to spare once we arrived at the airport. Not to worry since we discovered that all air space was restricted for 2 hours to allow the military practice time for the upcoming India Republic Day. Joan and I are convinced that there is a level of organization in the country although it is not immediatly apparent to visitors. We were late into Cochin (aka Kochi) so immediately began our 4 1/2 hour journey to Thekkady and the Tiger Preserve. We like our driver very much although his English is limited. We all make do and smile a lot. He is accommodating, stopping whenever I iwish to take a photo. An interesting way to see a portion of the state of Kerala and lifestyle of the people here. Some challenges since we are traveling up into the mountains on 2 lane roads. There is one hell of a lot of passing, especially since the tuk tuks travel pretty slowly uphill, but our driver is skilled and quick to see things of interest. He pointed out rubber trees, coffee bushes and various spice trees. It's the start of festival season here and he kindly stopped for us to see a huge parade of the faithful moving across the highway to the courtyard of a large Catholic church. There were brightly colored saris and jeweled umbrellas moving to the rhythm of a beautiful chant. Spiritual Bollywood. The people in Kerala have a different look from those in Delhi - shorter in stature dark-complected and dressed traditionally. The women are stunning in their saris. Our journey rated a 10 after we saw not one, but two elephants walking with their keepers from one temple to another. We weary travelers reached our lush accommodations at Spice Village about 7:30 P.M. where we were met with fragrant leis and offered a buffet dinner. We want to see these beautiful grounds in the morning light but we leave at 6A.M. for our boatride on Lake Periyar so the viewing will wait until our return.

1/21 A Taste of India

Our cooking class took place at the home of a middle class woman who kept us waiting for 1/2 hour while she completed a tour of the Spice Market with the third student comprising our class - a young woman from NYC. A bit of a mix up since we wanted to go ourselves, but we were mollified by a cup of excellent Chai tea and the thought that we were probably too tired for it anyway. Jyoti, our teacher, was personable and knowledgeable with excellent English. We were there several hours as she explaind the wonderful spices used in Northern Indian cuisine and made numerous dishes for our enjoyment. We got a booklet of recipes and a full course dinner to boot. Jyoti's assistant was a young Nepalese man named, from what we could tell, Bobby and pronounced Bowbie, as would the Brits. Jyoti spent a lot of time issuing instructions to Bobbie along with the occasional chastisement. Much of this was done to the closed kitchen door behind which Bobby was supposedly toiling. She explained that he was being trained and needed more attention than might be preferred. Bobby seemed to bear it all with an unconcerned shrug. Both he and another younger helper lived in Jyoti's home to handle her class set-up, serving, and clean-up along with the endless chopping required for the various dishes. I want a Bobby! For the actual cooking part of the class, we stepped out into a small stone patio which housed a two-burner gas stove on wheels. Handy when you're frying things not to have that grease in the house. Travelers must be adaptable, yes?, so we went right along when Jyoti dropped a piece of cheese onto the patio, rinsed it off, and popped it into the cooking pot. Waste not want not. Joan and I both favored the cauliflower vegetable with green chillies (their spelling), corriander, tumeric and cumin and we also liked the chicken rogan gosh prepared with mustard oil, anise, ginger, chilli and whole spices like cloves, cinnamon, cardamom and bayleaf. Are you hungry yet? It was a wonderful dinner. Balvander was waiting to drive us back to the hotel and although I noticed no let up in traffic, I fell asleep numerous times, waking only because of the annoying car ride head jerk. Delhi is 4.5 hours ahead of London, so sleeping thought the night may be challenging. We'll give it a go, heartened by the leg up we'll have on our fellow Road Scholar travelers when we start our tour next week.

Dishabille in Delhi

Beds on planes aside, my night's sleep was a scant two hours after which I lolled about on my chaise like a chubby Roman matron awaiting food and drink from my maidservant. Pretty good! Why meals are so important on planes is a phenomenon that must be related to the incredible ennui that sets in during long hours of flying. Upon landing, my disposition was considerably less than sunny and my tolerance for crowds and queues not abundant. But emerge we did into the Delhi sunlight with the hope of seeing CLAUSEN/OUDERKIRK displayed on a sign being held by one of the numerous young men lined up to transport their travelers. Our hopes were dashed as we went unclaimed. Finally, I said, "TCI?" (our tour company) to no one in particular and a kind soul united us with someone, albeit not our guide, from the company. We were soon properly connected and on our way in the incredible Delhi traffic. London was but a warm up, my friends. Sharing the roadways (not particularly wide nor well-maintained) were the following: cars, buses, taxis, tuk tuks, motorcycles, bicycles, stray animals, a man on horseback and pedestrians. Drivers seemed to find it most expedient to straddle lanes in order to increase their chances to advance. The timid would be doomed. From my vantage point, I was often closer to those in the neighboring vehicles than to Joan who sat next to me. Oh, and I noticed that the horse and driver arrived at our destination the same time we did. I despaired of getting to our hotel at all when I saw that it would require a left turn but, after a brief wait, mission accomplished. So happy to get to our room. I shouldered poor Joan out of the way to dive into the shower and emerged nicely revived. Loved seeing that hair dryer in the bathroom since mine had died an awful and fiery death in London. Something about the converter, methinks. This in spite of Ron demonstrating the workings to me before I left home. Heavy sigh. No dryer in that room, so I was styleless until we left London. After a brief rest, our driver picked us up for our afternoon outing. More traffic and we arrived just as the nearby school was letting out. I conjured up an unfortunate visual of uniformed children being mown down like matchsticks but not to worry - the kids managed, teeming conveyences nothwithstanding.

1/20 -1/21 LA TI DA!!

When we arrived at Terminal Five, we reaped the benefit of my wonderful friend and traveling companion, Joan, scoring business class tickeets to Delhi. We checked in and were directed to our lounge for free food, alcohol, soft drinks, computer use, etc. Did I mention that the bathrooms were excellent? We liked it! Now on to the plane where we bypassed the hoards to barely be seated before scoring a beverage and a menu for 2 meals. When Joan mentioned she wasn't hungry I told her to get over it. There were 2 nice Indian food entries for us to try, not to mention an interesting starter of lentil dumplings with yogurt and tamarind chutney. Our seats have us face-to-face but after take-off one can put up a screen if one doesn't like the proximity of one's neighbor. There is a fluffy blankie, some socks, a warm washcloth, and....wait for it.....a reclining chair with a separate foot rest that allows a fully prone position when you're ready for a bit of a lie-down. Happy, happy legs. Ron and I will have to parlay those frequent flyer miles into a business class upgrade when we go to Egypt!

January 21 Putting L. A.to Shame

Not as prisine today so the brellies were toted along, just in case. We planned the day rather carefully as it included breakfast, packing up, stowing the luggage and then setting off for as much adventure as could be managed within a 7 -hour window. We committed to walk from our hotel to Westminster Pier which took about 45 minutes at a brisk pace and, dressed more warmly than yesterday, we borded the boat for our Thames cruise in fine stead. We started with the "Eye of London", a huge ferris wheel, and progressed down the river toward the Tower of London where we debarked about 20 minutes later. As we approached London Bridge, I threw caution to the wind and ran upstairs to the open air deck with my camera. I think it was worth it but you can be the judge the photos when I get them up on my Kodak gallery in a few weeks. After a look around the ground at the Tower, we succumbed to the lure of Starbucks for a latte. Uff da (Norweigan for bah) - it was neither the quality or strength of my local store, but this is tea drinking country, after all. Finished with coffee, we considered our options for a second or two before scurrying back out into the cold and hopping into a cab. When I told our accommodating driver that we wanted to go to the Albert and Victoria Museum, he gently corrected me and said, "You mean the Victoria and Albert?" After I replied in the affirmative, he said, "The V and A, then." Ladies first, after all. The place is overwhelming, especially when you've only got a few hours. We spent quite a bit of time in the Asian art area, enjoying the mid-east and Indian sections in particular and lunching in a lovely cafe. Back at the hotel, we prepared to brave Heathrow and had a car service to transport us with an Indian driver from Mumbai. We had an hour's drive during which we got to know him because the traffic was terrible. Yes, it puts L.A. to shame,

January 19 Londontown

Slept soundly for 9 hours in a prone position. My legs were so thrilled! Joan got up, as is her way, bustling around the room in preparation for the day. I settled a shawl around my shoulders and began working a Sudoku. I thought it was very British of me to appear so in my cozy bed. Only guilt at holding her back got me to the ground and, eventually, out the door to a full English breakfast downstairs. While charming, all that fatty meat was a little much (apologies to my vegetarian friends.) The best part? Coffee! We walked a few blocks to Victoria Station where we boarded the hop-on hop-off bus for our day's tour of the city. Hampered by an inordinate amount of traffic on streets often undergoing repair, we made our laboreous way around London. BTW, the clerk at our hotel reported London's population at 2.5 million which swells each weekday to 7.5 million with the influx of worker bees. No one seemed to be absent from work today. Today's route included drive-bys of Hyde park, Kensington Gardens, Nottinghill and the Marble Arch, and then on to Sherlock Holmes' Baker Street, Piccadilly Circus (from the Latin for "circle"and indicating the famous round-abouts), and Trafalger Square. When we finally hopped off, I insisted on a walk back to the heavily gated and guarded 10 Downing Street for a photo and then we crossed to Westminster Abbey for a thorough tour. It was spectacular. When Ron and I come back, I'd love to attend a service here. Best things: Poet's Corner and the crypt of Queen Elizabeth I and Mary Queen of Scots, one buried atop the other. You're not surprised to learn that there is no likeness of Mary and that she lies on the bottom. There was a poignant tribute to the Unknown Warrior from WW I and I also took the opportunity to light a candle for those people known and unknown who are in need of prayer. The Abbey was originally a Benedictine monastary. No photos inside, please, but you'll all be able to see it for yourselves when you tune in to the pending nuptials of Prince William and his fiance. I admit that I cannot remember her name. London is happily anticipating the event and, no doubt, the revenues it will produce. Tonight we saw "Billy Elliot", the musical, at a near-by theater which was walking distance from our hotel. In the interest of full disclosure I report that our routes to and from were somewhat circuitous. Okay - we got lost. Solution ? Ask anyone, including bus drivers, for directions. They all seem happy to assist. Good lot these Brits. The show was very entertaining and we were glad we'd decided to forego dressing up in favor of dressing warmly. It was too bloody cold to worry about fashion and we did notice that most of the other theater goers seem to share our sensibilities. We set the alarm (Joan's phone barks - sigh) to be able to get done what needs doing so that we can complete our touring and get to the airport tomorrow evening. Good night to you then.

January 17, 2011 ACROSS THE POND

An uneventful trip to LAX with Ron at the wheel. A somewhat poignant goodbye as we've not been apart this long more than a few other times in our forty-five year marriage. I hurry to get out of the roadway so don't have time for tears but manage a heartfelt kiss and hug. I will miss him terribly. As a result of my handwringing over being late to the airport, we arrive with hours to spare and so give Ron the benefit of avoiding the worst of the rush hour en route home. Yes, it's bumper to bumper even on Martin Luther King Day. I am always thinking of my husband, yes? Joan and I settle back in the boarding area with a Starbucks latte and all of our diversions, happy as larks. And damn, the plane ends up to be half-empty. There's a bit of a stretch out possible during the wee hours of the night, even though my legs end up on the floor. Joan manages to curl up in two seats, but with my extra six inches of height, I can't quite manage it. Still, a few hours does help. The staff were very kind and, in spite of a bit of turbulence and me never figuring out how to work that damn game wand, the flight was pleasant and uneventful. By the time we land at Heathrow, the rain has stopped and the sun come out. Joan has cleverly brought along British currency so we grabbed a cab and we're off. Nice, boutique hotel in the middle of a lovely area. Tomorrow we'll be walking. Today we contented ourselves with a look around the hotel neighborhood and a cab ride to Harrod's for shopping (we looked and did not buy) and a great dinner. It's quite a place. I was a taken aback by the shrine to Diana and Dodi mid-store, but his father did purchase Harrod's, so there you go. I got some good pictures but will not do anything with my photos until I can come home and properly edit them for your viewing pleasure. Meanwhile, goodnight dear family and friends. I am to bed.