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.