7 Days: Could’ve Been Goa

Life just never seems to slow down…

It’s officially the last week of my 20′s.  Wow.  You know, I think I’m ready.  Well, you have to be.  But it’s OK.  Really.  It’s getting a bit easier to have a good time.  Really.

Today — I started out with another wine tasting — this time at a big theatre in Tel Aviv for an event, an awards ceremony for PR professionals, of all things (my former profession, one of them, stateside). I served 400 people the Gamla Sangiovese 2006.  A very decent cup a joy.

Then I joined friends for an impromptu late-weekend-breakfast at a city center bistro.

Then I went home for the flash of an eye…before going to a friend of a friend’s beachside birthday party…which turned out to be more like…hanging out with some way-too-mellow beach bums, doing close to nothing.  Ya.  But I warmed to the idea.  Finally.  Because it was so incredibly beautiful.  Just before sunset.  On what for Israel is an exceptionally empty beach.  It could have been Goa.  Seriously.  Wide expansive beach with small dunes.  Tents and tarps set up here and there with straw mats and mattresses and tables laden with comfort food and bottles of beer and arak.  I didn’t have a swim suit (silly me wore a dress and jewelry thinking it’s a Friday night birthday party…), but I was convinced by the crowd and borrowed a spare pair of swimming bottoms from the bday girl, and I went in my bra… And the water was warm and calm and soothing… And absolutely NO jellyfish, usually a complete bummer for Israeli beach summers which makes it close to impossible to go into the water.  It was liberating.  I have always wanted to go swimming and prancing about in my underwear.  It’s really different than with a bathing suit.  Something about it not supposed to be seen usually.  And I felt pretty.  Really pretty.

Age is pretty irrelevent.  Life goes on.  Always goes on.  And despite it not being “productive” I had a pretty full and pleasant day.  And I discovered  a pocket of Israel that looks just like Goa.  Where you can relax.  And simply be.

Something to chew on.   As we’re looking at “one week…”  A week of food for folks all over the world.

103 Days: Things we should be reading

Burning the midnight oil

It’s 12:18 am, and I’m nearing being done with the packing and cleaning and bill paying…but not quite enough to feel comfortable.  Why am I blogging, might you ask?  Well, I’ve decided not to sleep, what with a cab coming in 2.5 hours, and I’ve got much on my mind.

First off, some articles really worth taking a look at.  Important and interesting stuff that I’ve not noticed on the big radar:

• 1,500 farmers commit mass suicide in India – OK, if this happened in Europe or North America, wouldn’t it be the top headline?
• Keith Olbermann: “President Obama, You Are Wrong” – A very powerful video, well written, moving rebuke on the president’s decision not to prosecute CIA interrogators for torture.  Want a very compelling argument on learning from our mistakes lest we be doomed to repeat history?  Watch this!
• Modern life’s pressures are hastening human evolution – That’s right, we’re not done evolving.  We’re actually speeding up.  So much so, that in 10,000 years or less, the then-humans may not even be “Homo Sapien” any longer and could not interbreed with current-day humans.  Read this article.  Very cool.  Very intriguing.

OK, now I really have to get back to doing things other than blogging, listening to Susan Boyle for the umpteenth time, and get on with the packing, bill paying, Italian train time table finding, airline ticket confirming business I really should be up to.  I fly in less than 6 hours!  But the thought of being away from a computer for three weeks…well, except for internet cafes, and the like, is kind of daunting…no, it’s also liberating.  The 100-day marker is coming very soon for me.  100 days until my 30th birthday.  The more I blog, the more I live, really, and spend time with good people, the more I understand how silly and pathetic this countdown is.  Right now, it’s a great device.  I would be lying if I said I was cool as a cucumber about this birthday, but I’m much better about it.  I’m working on me, and that’s all that counts.  I’m doing OK.  More than OK, really, depending on the day and how I look at it, really.  And enough with this pep talk!  Tomorrow night, with any luck, I will be sleeping in some gorgeous little B&B on the Amalfi Coast.  Aren’t I a lucky duck.  So what if my savings will be blown to high hell, soon.  How many people go to the places they want to go?  Not enough, that’s for certain.

G’night all.  And check out Susan’s performance, if you haven’t.  AND her newfound 1999 recording of Cry Me A River.  Soulful:

208 Days: Damned Structures

Back to life. Back to reality.

I’ve had my grace period. It’s time to open mail, clean house, get a business plan, write, shower. Open the GD datebook. I think I may even have scheduled a doctor’s appt for today, like a month back, and goodness knows that I should friggin know about it.

So here is the challenge. Being productive and adult without having the external structure of a boss and a job and deadlines for other people. Now, I have to make deadlines for myself. I was reading my friend Julie’s blog today, and I was so homesick and envious of just warm and normal and organized lives.  There are some comforts I just don’t have, even the material ones.  I don’t have parents nearby.  I don’t have a TV.  Procrastinating at my house is just as pathetic as can be.  OK, I’m going to make a list.  I really really need one.  And I’m using this blog to do it, apologies to all, as I can’t even seem to be able to find paper and a pen to do this.  All I got’s a computer in front of me, and I need something to kick my ass into shape about all of this.  Go, go, go!  Ugh.

1. Open mail – assess the damage, aka bills, bank statement, letter from former company showing what I’m owed, what I need to sign, etc.
2. Eat breakfast.  There’s yogurt and brown bread and fruit in the fridge.  And if you’re needing it, some bleu cheese and nutella.  So go eat!
3. Shower.  There may even be hot water all ready for you, so just do it.
4. Finances.  Write the email to the CFO of former company in order to settle your severance.  Just do it.  Go to bank and see what the damage is.  Create a budget for the month and up to six months.  It will be OK.
5. Bituach Leumi.  Yes, social security.  Go to them.  Wait in line.  Figure it all out.  See what you owe.  Tell them you’re unemployed.  Find out your break for that.  See if you’re eligible for unemployment, as there is actually a chance for it.  As it’s probably too late to go today already, as it’s 9:30 am, you write it in ink for Tuesday.
6. Manuscript.  Get it printed.  Get to a cafe with your newish laptop.  Read it.  Start revising and writing up a storm.  You must do this. Today.
7. Food career.  Send resume out for the vegetarian kosher personal chef advert you saw.  4 days a week making lunch and dinner for two is a fab part time job.  DO IT.  Get business cards made.  ASAP.  Need it this week.  Figure it out.  What am I now.  Chef and Writer?  Writer and Personal Chef?  And it means completely updating personal website for business purposes.  Ee Gad!  Just do it.
8. Therapy.  After financial assessment, assess whether you can still afford a private therapist.  You need it, but it might be time to buck up and go to the kupat cholim for help.
9. Friends.  Call regularly.  Catch up on email.  You can do this.  It isn’t even painful.
10. Ireland.  Can I go for A’s bday in a month? Go to student travel agency and see if they can do better than $520 after tax, as that’s what expedia is saying.  If I can go for around $450, I’d do it.  And think of this idea…maybe you can even convince current brand new boyfriend (can I even call him that) to come with me and use it as a romantic weekend away…It will be expensive.  $520 is best price.  Wow.
11. Italy.  Need to start budgeting.  Great that parents have purchased a cruise, but I have to get myself to Venice in order to board the ship.  Also tackle this hurdle at the student travel agency, god love ‘em. Also so expensive I want to puke.  $620 is best price.  Ugh.
12. Write mom a thank you note for the lovely fake Ugg boots which I will not be removing from my feet this winter, and the two science fiction novels she sent me…as well as the old hand me down computer she gave me…saved me a few hundred bucks.  This will take like 30 seconds so do it now!
13. Clean the house and tidy after the cats.  If you do a little all the time, it’s easier in the long run.
14. Deal with the clothes in the bedroom.  Hun, you’ve been home nearly a week.  Well, no, 4.5 days.  But still.  Gotta really unpack and deal with problem of the huge pile of clothes you left on a chair.  This house is not big enough.
15. Spend quality time with your sister!  She’ll be back from Rome in 45 minutes.  Shower her with your love and ridiculous amounts of presents from India!
16. India photos!  Assess and upload for goodness sake.  If anyone’s read to this point, would love some recommendations on free websites and/or software for dealing with thousands of photos that add up to about 7 gig.  I’m not kidding.
17. Post office.  Send J her gift and R your Lonely Planet India.  Easy as pie.  Just need addresses.
18. Read/watch some news for god’s sake.  See if any of your friends have gotten drafted yet. None yet, but probably…I’m keeping fingers crossed my sister doesn’t get called up.
19. Buy an adapter for the new computer
20. Buy a cat post for those sharp clawed beasties to scratch.  They lost interest after an hour…fuck!  Maybe I should smear it with food or something.

OK.  That’s not so bad.  Really.  Today, I think I’ll get a few of these done.  Maybe not the most important ones.  But several is great.  I think I’ll go eat and shower and get out of the house, with the laptop in tow, to find a printer and an internet cafe, maybe downtown, so that way I can go to my travel agent at the same time.  And going downtown makes me feel like I’ve done something with my day.  Gone somewhere.  Seen things.  It’s all good.  And of course, I’ll see my sister this afternoon or evening.  I will shower her with stuff.  It will be OK.  Yes it will.  I can do this.  Yes I can.  Now go.  Go!  Go do it already.  OK.  OK.  I will.  Now.

213 Days: Homecoming, War, and a New Year

I’m back in Tel Aviv.  I can’t believe my Indian adventure was over.  It was as rought getting out as coming in, I tell you.  Stuck in Mumbai rish hour traffic for 2.5 hours (!!!!) on the way to the airport (what was a 45 minute drive ordinarily), thought I was going to be refused check-in, and when I did get there, they charged me for overweight baggage, something that has never happened to me, for 6 lousy kilos!  I fought them tooth and nail, repacked 5 times, shifted weight…but the bitchy attendant said, after all my repacking ordeal, that it made no difference, because if I took it as hand luggage, the weight was still there, all the same.  I really lost it, told her to give back my bags, that I was going to make some phone calls.  After several attempts to reach my dad Stateside, he said there wasn’t much I could do, could I repack an extra bag, to which I responded, already did that, the lady is just a bitch.  Finally, I calmed down, still fuming as I was, and gave up, apologizing briefly to the lady, and I paid the nearly $100 extra for the 6 fucking kilos.  I would have understood it had the flight been overbooked, that they were looking for a way to cut down on eight, etc, but the flight was empty, so much so that I had my own row to stretch out in.  Bitch.  Couldn’t have cut me a break.

I am proud of myself, though.  I stayed calm in the cab.  I never let my heart race.  I never cried.  And when I knew I was fighting a losing battle, I threw my hands up, and paid up.  I never yelled, I never cried, I never panicked.  I took care of myself and stayed pretty damned rational.  I kept asking myself what the point would be in losing it, I went over in my head what things I did have control over, and what things I didn’t.  It’s amazing.  Therapy actually works, and works well, after a while.

I can’t believe I’m back.  It feels surreal.  The trip felt like 6 months, not 1 month.  And my apartment feels alien.  Smaller.  Dirtier.  But it’s OK.  It’s starting to grow on me again.  I just have to use my amazing therapy skills to hold on for the next few days, especially, and the coming weeks.  I’ve got a big job ahead of me, prepping my manuscript and starting a business.  And the smaller stuff.  Staying calm.  Staying adult.  Managing my finances.  Not falling into depression.  Keeping up with friends in a constructive way.

Today’s goals: unpack (really unpack), and pick up the cats from my sisters.  Both much larger tasks than meet the eye.  I’ll need a car for the cats, and I’ll have to beg a family member or friend for an hour of their time to do this.  My sister’s moody roommate asked me to remove the cat-box tray as well, which will require more time if it’s full and needs to be cleaned.  Ugh.  I don’t quite see the point.  But I am looking forward to the kitties being back.  After the house is ready for them.  And I don’t want to open the luggage quite yet.  Give me an hour or two.  A nice long bath.  Another nap.  I’m exhausted.

And then there’s the war.  I have no idea what’s going on except it’s all over the news.  War is such nonsense.  I hope it stops soon.

And the new year.  We don’t really celebrate here, which is a relief in a way.  Jewish new year takes precidence in the autumn.  But it would still be nice to be out and about, or at least with a friend or two.  I’m looking forward to seeing the guy.  The guy.  I’m wondering about the effectiveness or stupidity of maintaining the anonymity of this website.  The majority of the people reading know who I am.  But for those who don’t, I really don’t want my name, even my first name, splashed all over the place.  And I certainly don’t want the people I write about identified.  But I’m sure some of them, if they haven’t discovered it already, might actually, and know I’ve mentioned them.  It takes away from my own anonymity, if the people I write about know that I am.  It’s not a diary anymore.  And I have to be more and more careful.  And I think it’s time to assess what my goals are here.  Should I be using this blog as an emotional release?  It feels good to do it.  But I don’t want to hurt or expose anyone.  Ugh.  I just want the man to call me.  That’s what.  And I should just pick up the phone and call him.  I’m such a loser.  I’m such a loser.  Dating, mind games, bla, bla, bla.  It’s as if I still am not convinced that anybody would ever want me.  Which is ridiculous.  But, there you go.  When you’ve never had it, it’s hard to accept.  I’m going to stop.  This is all exhaustion speaking.  And my friends may be reading…

Enjoy this mad video.  I had a revelation at a book stall in Mumbai on the street in my last few hours doing some shopping.  All of our collected human knowledge, all of the beautiful books, our scientific discovery, the great works of art, our agriculture, our cities, our cuisine, our traditions, technology, all of the collected accomplishments of the last 12,000 years or so of our modern species mean absolutely nothing, should we perish.  When we seek fame, we seek admiration from our fellow humans.  When we seek fortune, we seek profit from human markets, by selling to humans.  When we seek to entertain, we entertain humans.  When we love, we love humans and receive love from humans.  We are social in every way.  Even antisocial people are antisocial in antithesis to a society, without which this person still could not exist.  When a baby is born, the process of educating her, by parents, friends, teachers, schools, television, radio, movies, and more, is actually the process of transferring our species history to her.  Because each person starts out a blank slate.  There is nobody alive today who existing during the French Revoltion, the 100 Years War, the destruction of the first or second temples, the building of the pyramids, the assisination of Caesar.  How do we ensure that we remember these things?  Because it makes up who we are.  And if we were to cease existing, it would matter to nobody.  Our own survival is paramount only to ourselves.  Funny that it’s we who are killing ourselves.  Anyway, just saw this video that’s been burning up the web.  Enjoy:

215 Days: Bla, Bla, Bollywood…owes me 500 rupees!

I spent the day in orange makeup, a Barbie-pink ill-fitting strappy sequined top, holding a martini glass full of neon green liquid with a paper strawberry taped to it, pretending to dance and have fun at a nightclub!

So, I am exhausted. One of those days. Which is weird coming from one on the tail end of a month long vacation. I woke up at the crack of dawn to be an extra in a Bollywood film. AND IT WAS SUCH A WASTE OF TIME!!! Oh well, what can one expect, being recruited on the street for being Caucasian, female, and under 35?

But, being a smart woman in the midst of pulling her life together and making responsible decisions for herself, I convinced several other such Caucasian women to get up and leave halfway through. They didn’t pay us and didn’t help us get back to town, even though we’d done more than half the work. Oh well. I got to see a studio, see how lame it was, eat a free lunch, and still see some sunlight, some sights in town, and make something of the day.

And I come home tomorrow.

Alas.

216 Days: Bombay’s Brrrtiful

Lovely first day. Have contented myself to only do fun easy things at the spur of the moment. Which today included getting pissed in the middle of the afternoon….but really twasnt my fault, I swear!

But from the beginning. I’m staying at a low-end midrange hotel, which means, very nice and clean but slightly shabby and slightly out of the way. However, it’s only slightly out of the way, great area for cabbing to other places within seconds…and the shabbiness is kind of…brill, really. It’s got a lovely 70s feel, all rooms have a “sitting room” area with the vinyl or woven-y furniture upholstering, a TV with only 1, count it 1 English channel (and it’s TV Australia…wow…).

This morning I met my friends, the lovely young couple from my guesthouse in Pondicherry (see that entry for more scootie-around-the-city details), at the Atria Mall, one of the poshest spots in Mumbai. All the best stores, and I mean all, from the US, Europe, and Asia, in one place. We had coffee, a snack, and did some spur of the moment shopping which involves a “Buy 2, Get 2 Free” sale at Nine West (!!!). The prices are nothing compared to home or the States or Europe. All shoes were around 2,000 rupees, which is something like $40-ish. We decided to split the deal, essentially each of us buying one pair, and getting the second free. I got two very very chic Nine Wests for $40. I am thinking of going back for a bit of a spree. There’s a Mango and a Promod and a ton of Jewelry shops. I’m thinking of getting my nose pierced and there is this darling little minuscule gold nose stud with a tiny diamond, for about $70. Ah! Bombay!

People told me I would hate it, that it’s just like any big city in India. But it’s not. Yes, yes, I know I haven’t ventured into the slums or been out of downtown much. And yes, I don’t really plan to. I’m done with it. The thing is Bombay (or Mumbai, people use both liberally) has a really cosmopolitan feel to it, very modern, very clean, very fast, sleek, fun, easy, comfortable. It’s still very India, very Asia, just more…accessible. People told me to beware…and I was nervous making it my last stop, perhaps topping an already mixed bag of a cake with an even more questionable cherry. However, I’m of the opinion that it’s an appropriate finish. I started with the old school Delhi in the north, and I’m finishing with the new school Mumbai in the south…and loving ever pint full of it.

That’s right, pint full. After the mall, we headed to a temple…another one dedicated to Ganesh…where we waited in endless cues, people selling flowers and sweets and coconuts and grasses all over the damned place…and then my friend told me to pray, even if I didn’t believe, it didn’t matter, and be sure to look Ganesh right in the eyes. And what eyes! Bright blue elephant eyes that looked right through you. Uncanny on an otherwise gaudy orange-tinged statue. And what a circus! People throwing themselves! It looked like a riot! There were even security guards trying quite ineffectively to keep the peace and succeeding only in being a human layer between the heaving masses and the three holy men/worker types taking the offerings from them and replacing them with blessed flowers, or touching the offerings to the statue and returning them, or something like that. After we got out of the nuthouse, there was an additional statue to visit inside the temple complex: a cow. I was told to whisper my prayer into one of the cow’s ears, but be VERY VERY sure to hold the other ear shut tight so as to not let the prayer escape out the other end. Fun times. My friend told me to pray fervently for a husband. I am not sure that that was the mindset I was coming in with, but hey, it’s an eventual goal, so why not. I know how much she’s hoping to marry, and soon, so I hope she got her wish.

After the temple, the couple granted my request, and we navigated our way (rather, I helped the taxi driver navigate with help from my Lonely Planet map, gotta love ‘em) to Gandhi’s home. He lived in this house and worked from this house for some 20-odd years, and it’s a priceless collection of artifacts and exhibits. His bedroom/workroom is untouched, and it’s a sight to see. I especially loved reading some of his personal correspondence. Gandhi had an ongoing relationship with Leo Tolstoy, wrote to Hitler in 1939 to ask him not to start a war (amazingly humble and sensible letter), and wrote a lovely long letter to FDR in 1943 asking him to support Indian independence, and assuring him that India would continue to support, and would better be able to support the allied efforts, as a free nation. I took lots of photos, to say the least.

Then…we headed to the Chowpatty Beach area and a local “bar and grill” type place and proceeded to drink 2.5 pitchers of Kingfisher beer, and consume some snacks of cheese toast and veg Szechuan noodles. We had a really fun time (they drank about double what I did…no, I don’t want a hangover during my last 3 days, thank you very much), and I asked loads of candid questions about relationships in India these days. Seems we in the west are not alone any more in our premarital sexual escapades, and it’s been that way for a while. All the hubbub about pre-arranged marriages is also a bit blown up. They’re more like recommendations, like, meet this guy your mom is pushing on you over Thanksgiving dinner, and if you’re both kind of OK, and you’re at the right age, why not…your parents know best…and you can always refuse. Pretty interesting stuff.

I headed off, very thoroughly buzzed, to the Gateway of India, another big “arc de triomphe” type monument, very beautiful, right on the water by the harbor. And as it was sunset, it was all glowing and pink and orange and stunning. The Taj Hotel, just bombed exactly a month before, looked beautiful again. There was a memorial going on, tons of people, great time to visit the site. And all the more moving as I was half on the moon, so it were.

I decided to walk around the area as much as I could handle, not having any other plans, until about 3 minutes later discovered I had to pee like a racehorse. Found my way to Leopold’s, the expat and tourist home of drink in Bombay. It’s been around forever, and with good reason. Had a great pee, another pint (why or why…can’t go there for mineral water, for god’s sake…), a chinese snack, and on my way out…was propositioned to be an extra in a Bollywood film on Monday! Well, as I fly away that evening, I was disappointed to learn I couldn’t participate (especially as it is with the uber-famous actor Salman Kahn..whose birthday is actually today, and I know this because it was the excuse we used for getting pissed in the middle of the afternoon). This recruiter said not to worry, they are filming a commercial tomorrow, would I be interested in being an extra in that? All transport, food, beverages, and 500 rupees in payment? Sure, why not! Well, 13 hours of work, why not, indeed. But I was told to bring a book, and that I was free to bring a camera to take shots of whatever I wanted. I’m still not sure I’ll do it…but I probably will. It’s for face cream. Maybe I’ll score some free samples, to boot…

So, there you have it. Some history, some good food, some great friends, some exquisite shopping. I’m loving Bombay, all the way. If only the incessant disco music from the two banquet parties near my room in this borderline hotel would shut down soon, I could get some decent shut-eye.

Night, night, folks! See you on the small screen!

217 Days: Goa Goddess

Sunset in Goa

Goa is heavenly.   It’s just a big beach resort, done any style you want.  There’s 5 star luxury, and there are shacks right on the beach.  There are commercial areas, and there are remote areas, so much so that there may only be a small handful of people, if that, and one small shack-restaurant.  I was even taken by motorbike to the northernmost tip of Goa to “Paradise Beach” on an island that is reached by ferry, only, and that exists only 5 hours a day, as the tides cover the beach at other times.  Never have I seen so many crabs in my life.  It was a baby crab nursury.

So…I’ve spent time doing very minor sightseeing.  But mostly, sitting on a beach, reading, eating, and then getting massaged.  I’ve stayed in a slightly more luxurious version of a beach shack about ten minutes walk from the beach.  It’s made of bamboo, the walls are woven reeds or leaves or something (light pours through little dots everywhere, it’s so lovely at sunrise and sunset), but I have en suit bathroom facilities, tiled floors, a decent bed, electricity, and a fantastic mosquito net.  Thank you Avalon Inn.  On xmas eve the owner, a delightful American-Austrian woman, cooked up a Goan meal for us all (all 6 of us), and it was so pleasant spending the evening talking to a middle-aged couple froim East Anglia, a Finnish architect, and a couple of honeymooners around my age from Birmingham.  The best part of the meal was a green dish made out of Indian white radishes and their green leaves, all chopped and sauteed together.  Scrummy.  Papaya and bananas for dessert.  And I drank a new beer, “Kings,” a local brew with a very strong flavor.  Quite happy I sampled it, really, as it’s the best alcohol I’ve had in country.

Massage.  Ayurvedic massage.  It is the abolute best.  Better than Thai, better than Swedish.  It’s strong but not painful.  It’s very complete.  It assesses the entire body and soul.  It’s absolutely fabulous.  And a genius named Shanti has been taking me to heavenly heights over the last two days.  She’s so cheerful and smart with strong hands, trained in Kerala, amazing.  Ionly wish there were a way for me to get her a visa and transport her out of here…so she can make some real money…maybe even teach…as she has a small daughter than doesn’t even live with her (she’s in Delhi with a grandmother), and every cent Shanti makes goes to pay for private school fees.  She’s an excellent mother, I can tell, and such an expert masseuse.   Loves what she does.

That’s it.  Goa.

It’s sad, though.  Because of the terrorism and the financial crisis…the tourism is so low here this season.  They also shut down all of the xmas and new years parties — the reason people come here.  I love it, as it’s more quiet and serene, perfect for books and beach and chips and beer and fruit and yogurt and showers under the sky and massages.  But the locals are suffering.  Xmas is high high season…double to triple the prices.  And it’s gone for the year.  Makes you want to buy more, even though I shouldn’t.  As it is I need to find a bag to buy today for all the souvenirs that won’t fit.  I’m flying to Mumbai tonight, and I will not be the plastic bag lady.  It’s just not elegant or sensible.

Stay well, all.

223 Days: Sick, sick, sick as a dog

Pondicherry Coast

I spent the last 36 hours trapped in my room in a gorgeous guest house.  I should wish I was well enough to see the lovely city of Pondicherry, but now all I am is grateful that I have escaped, that I’m well enough to keep the antibiotic pills down, and that they’ve apparantly started to work.  It’s the first time in 2 days I’ve seen sunlight and been outside.  Thank God!

I suppose it’s travellers diarrhea perhaps combined with actual food poisoning from the only meal I’ve had in this city, two days ago. The last day was spent in agony on a king size wooden bed with a mosquito-netting canopy made of pretty white lace, and local artwork on the walls, interspersed with antique furniture.  At least I had pretty surroundings, right?

Those of you who have kept up with my last few posts know that I have battled off and on with this problem.  But this time it was infinitely worse.  Vomitting, cramps, maybe even a rash, (but I think that was more me being paranoid in the middle of it all about a mosquito in the room that was using me like a Roman banquet).  All of the lovely weight I put back on in Rishikeshin the restaurant I so adored is gone.  I feel skinny, but it’s not attractive and toned.  It’s this weak, flabby, sick, oh god I wish I were well enough to eat pizza at Pizza Hut already.  I’d rather healthy and modestly chubby than really really sick and skinny.

And I’m in Pondicherry.  Lovely place.  A living breathing contradiction.  This place could be the embodiment of kitsch…but it’s not.  It’s French AND Indian, it’s Christian AND Hindu AND Muslim, it’s very European in appearance AND it’s umistakably Indian.  It’s just great.  People are much more laid back and kind than up north.  It’s warm (too warm for me in my sick skin…but I think the others are comfortable), the Bay of Bengal just sparkles and gleams along a kind of promenade that borders the whole seafront.  The food is French-Indian fusion in many places (thank you Hotel Aristo for my food sickness — although at the time I was very happy to be there, of course, admiring the strange decor that really worked somehow — fat-bellied Chinese versions of Buddha statues alongside statuettes of European ladies with lap dogs and swans and such, gaudy French xmas decorations, and tropical plants everywhere), and I’m in a charming pseudo-American coffee house.  It kind of looks like Caribou Coffee meets Key West, and it has internet!  Yay!

OK– I have to leave Pondy tomorrow, and I have no idea how I’m doing it thus far…so I have to get moving to the websites of the local airlines and the train company…ugh…and maybe oh maybe visit the doctor.  My whole family is urging me to go…but I don’t want to be hooked up to an IV and injected, etc, if it will take days on end (this happened to an Irish woman I was helping back in Delhi — 4+ days in the hospital she spent!).

Goa is the next stop…probably have to skip Kerala even though I have the time…I’m just too sick to go about safari-ing, taking buses cross country, etc.  Need a plane, need to get to a civilized place, need to do it quickly.  As for me, I’ll be chowing down on curd — Indian yogurt — something I discovered that I love and that is good for the belly!

228 Days: Why is Illinois So Corrupt?

I’m still in Rishikesh. Did yoga this morning. Nice easy session. And if I can pull myself away from this computer, I’m going SHOPPING and strolling…and I might do yoga again this evening before gorging myself on some delightfully yummy food served at my hotel restaurant. I’m leaving tomorrow afternoon, though…pooh…and heading back to Delhi (ugh! but only for one night). Booked myself a much better place to stay (much costlier), that has complimentary airport transfer (yay! no worries on getting the the airport!!!). I go to Mumbai and transfer planes there for Chennai (formerly known as Madras), in the Southeast of the country. From there I relax again, see the capital of Tamil film production, and head to three glorious days in the former french colony of Pondicherry (now known as Puducherry…which is kind of silly, I think, so I will be calling in Pondicherry, still). If I have my way I’ll be staying in a “heritage home” kind of elegant B&B, colonial home with gardens and curtains, etc, etc, etc…near the beach, near a good ashram…with excellent French food (thank GOD!).

As for the headline of today’s post? When you travel it’s easy not to look at a newspaper for a few days (weeks…), and it seems we Illinoisians are in trouble again. Why oh why can’t our governor do anything right? With a long history of republican governors, when we finally get a democrat, he has to be a sleazy slimy creep. All that business with his father-in-law before he became governor. Why can’t they do clean business? It’s as if the moment one becomes governor, the only thing that occupies your time is staying governor. Keeping your seat, fundraising. Pooh, I say. Pooh. This isn’t cool. After such an inspiring election. Shame on you Rod Blagojevich. This all makes me sick.

Glad I’m in India…in a newspaperless cloud of ayurvedic massage and cheap lovely shopping…oops, I think I need to run to the toilet again…shit! Just when you think it’s over.

230 Days: Rishikesh = Heaven; Hell Passed En Route

Rishikesh

Delhi

India got a lot worse before it got better.

Quick summary of the bad, the bad, and the ugly:

-Falling flat on my face in watery cow dung on the banks of the Ganges in Varanasi, getting it everywhere, and I mean everywhere, an hour before my train

-Getting food poisoning twice in one week

-Was “picked up” or something (!?) by a man in Jaipur, seemed very nice over coffee, and then he was planning my entire touristic stay…wanting to take me to a theme park on his motorbike…at which point my mother and sisters (via frantic text messages while in the bathroom) were telling me to steer clear and not see him again…who knows whether I would have ended up chopped into little bits, raped, kidnapped, or just being proposed marriage to…but got food poisoning the next day anyway so couldn’t go…thank god!

-Sitting next to an elderly Hindu man on a train back to Delhi who was keenly interested on learning about the laws of kashrut (Jewish Dietary laws), and about the book I was reading (Bridget Jones’s Diary –and yes–he wrote down the title to pick it up for himself), and it ended up he was a retired nuclear physicist as well as a trained hotel/catering manager (trained in Switzerland!!!) who currently runs health care NGOs. Go frigging figure!

-And the icing on the India cake-the nightmare of the past 24-hours:

1) Arriving in Delhi at 11 pm, almost elbowing and fist-fighting my way through the rickshaw-wallas to the pre-paid taxi booth (they kept telling me it was closed–duh, there are lights on and people working–it’s open–and that of course 200 rupees was the fair pre-paid price–nuh uh, it cost me all of 40–booyah, score one for me).

2) Upon arriving in the neighborhood of my hotel, not being able to find it, and then when we stopped in front of a likely candidate, it wasn’t it. The kind concierge politely called my hotel, said someone was coming to fetch me. To make a very long story short, I was “generously” hosted by a suspicious family of major hotel slum-lords who I suspected were of Iranian origin and not Indian, shuttled about to three different hotels of theirs before they found me a room, at a “generous” discount (as-if), and it turned out to be disgusting, slimy, and fly-infested in the bathroom. Luckily, I had all of 6 hours to enjoy it before –

3) Heading back to the train station at 6 am, I am accosted in front of the departures board by a “good Samaritan” who looks at my ticket in horror and says, “madam, you haven’t got a seat on that train…look, it says *waiting seat*…you need to rush up to tourist services and see if there is a seat for you, NOW.” When I did, of course it was closed…and there was a chap opening some gated door, who said how can I help, and I showed him the ticket, and he said, “madam this is not good, you haven’t got a seat…you need to go across the street to counter 39 and see if there are seats available…” At this point I had maybe 30 minutes until my train was to depart. He “generously” leads me out of the station, through the packed parking lot, across the street, to some tour office…that he seems to run…calls a number, quickly slams the receiver and declares that there are no seats left on my train! I panic and ask when the next train is. He says it’s at 10 pm. Goodness what to do! He says he can arranged a government approved car to take me up to Rishikesh for 3500 rupees! AS IF! I said if I don’t have a seat on a train, I’m taking the bus! He said, “Madam, buses are very unsafe. There are cutters.” To which I replied, “what are cutters?” and he said they were people who waited until you slept and then cut your valuables out of your bag…to which I had to laugh! I had traveled all over the world, and a bus is the least likely place to get “cut.” Where would the thief go? And if all my valuables are on my person, how would he get close enough? All this time I’m in the office with him telling me there was no other way to get to Rishikesh, I’m frantically searching my Lonely Planet, finding out approximate bus times and prices, looking up where the bus station is, etc. This guy finally says, look, you have 15 minutes before the train. You could take a chance and talk to a conductor, maybe pay him another 100 rupees and see if there isn’t a way to get a seat on that train…at which point, I FLEW out of that office. I must mention at this point that all of my movements have been hampered by an enormous rucksack I have on my back. As great a bag as it is, it’s bloody huge, and it really affects my equilibrium, and steps and stairs are really hard for me. So…I’m running back to the station, performing death-defying feats of traffic dodging, recklessly flying through the dangerous queue of rickshaws, back into the station, onto the platform, racing (at my pace) up three flights of stairs to the bridge which acts as a passage to all the other platforms…to my platform…#16…the VERY LAST ONE…and when I get there, I see no train…and I think I’ve either missed it or it hasn’t arrived yet. And then I discover, panting and gasping for dear life, that I’m on the very end of the platform and that the train is smoking away about 100 meters away…running again…desperately looking for someone that might resemble a conductor or railway employee. Finding nobody meeting that description, I decide to go on to the carriage that should be mine, should I have a seat. And lo and behold, when I got there, I took a chance look at the passenger manifest which is always posted on the outside of each carriage, and there, next to seat 36 WS (waiting seat…?????) was MY NAME! Confirmed in black ink on white paper and pinned to train 2017 to Hardiwar!!! WS ended up meaning…DUH…window seat! And with two minutes before departure, I board the train.

BASTARDS!!!!

I was so relieved and thankful and all to be on the train, but also very ashamed of myself for falling for such a scam. Because fell for it I did. It was only by luck or grace that I got on that train. It was only because when it comes to transport I’ve started to drive a hard bargain and I knew that in India, nobody pays 3500 rupees for anything that they can get for 200. Not even stupid, tired, cheated lone female travelers. It would have been the bus for me, had I not been on that train.

But I got to Rishikesh in one piece. And in brief, I have started to enjoy myself in what I hope are simple and concrete ways. Fun shopping. Calm strolls. Eating and sleeping when I want. Not planning everything to the minute. Not feeling guilty for not seeing every temple and museum and point of interest there is to see. I am going to do some easy yoga in the morning, followed by a massage, and maybe more shopping (I did a ton already today in the hour I had before dark). I have a room with a gorgeous view of the Ganges, in a quiet adorable little clean neighborhood, with a fantastic east-meets-west safe restaurant. For the moment, I could not be happier than a clam in a clam bake.