I can do better than terminal 2F

OK! So I have come full circle. Damn the French, dont they use the apostrophe?

Back to the circle. Actually, I am back in Paris. Arrived at 5:30am, and connecting at 1:50. I could have lounged around Charles De Gaulle I suppose, but no. Things are so convenient here. I dropped off my hand luggage for 6 EUR at the airport; and took RER B all the way to Luxembourg, where my favorite cafe Dalloyau is! I have enough time to have breakfast in style and make it back to the airport.

I doesnt open until 9, and nature is calling. Very loud and very clear! So I figured the only coffee shop in town courteous enough to be open will simply have to do. I had to buy something, some internet credit!

Pictures from my new Samsung Galaxy S 2 will have to wait until such time that I dont have to pay roaming charges!

Deals and Bargains Part Deux

I suppose I can safely say that what bothers me more about deal hunting in India is not so much the question of how much I overpaid for something. Rather, it is that when you ask someone whether or not you've overpaid, the reflexive response is always that you've overpaid.

"Yes, you did alright, but you could've gotten it cheapers by 100, 200, 1000 rupees!".

It seems you can always go lower.

I suppose Gurcharan (our driver in Delhi) could have taken as low as 3000 or 3500 rupees for the trip to Agra (forgeting for a moment the magic formula). I mean really, he only paid 1000 rupees in gas. Throw in another 1000 for wear an tear on his car. Then he can easily pocket 1000 to 1500 rupees. That is after all what he charged for spending the entire day with us in Delhi!

It seems, perhaps unwittingly, people try to push others into subsistence.

Once I had arrived in Dubai, I was standing in line waiting to have my retina scanned (civl liberties anyone?). A chap who had been on the plane with me, sitting in "business class" (I was upgraded), was standing right next to me. He was no more than 22, and wouldn't stop talking. One of the Brahmin folk.

"How did you like India", he asked.

"The divide between rich and poor is something I can't get over. How does this driver live off $20-$30 a day!", I replied.

"You know, those people deserve it. They don't work hard. I work hard, I'm trying to get an MBA!".

They don't work hard indeed.

Is humanity being pushed to the lowest common denominator. A man-eats-man world. Sons of the privileged not content enough with having things served to them on a silver platter beating on the poor.

On the flip side of things, the sort of environment that emerges in India is one in which I don't think you really want to be "splurgng". Perhaps this is why Bombay was the way that it was. Or perhaps this is why over in Gurgaon, home to many new companies, you can see fancy BMWs sharing the same potted dirt roads as the cows and the Tuk-Tuks. Perhaps this is why the Punjabis, 10kms or so away from where we spent our nights, at the Meridien, knew that poor Lina and I were guests at the fancy hotel.It's hard of course when you are visibly foreign to escape the typecasting, unless you lose the fancy bullseye camera.

Thinking back to our work and the outsourcing we sometimes do to India. To coversations with engineers always eager to say yes. Yes they can. And yes they can do it for less. This crumbling world economy. The people who are hungry, not just for food on the table, but to get more and more, and to get ahead of everyone else. The differences here are so stark, so visible. Is this the natural state of things? The law of economic entropy. Is this our new equilibrium?

Earthquake in Sikkim

I suppose I am due a few words on this Earthquake in Sikkim.

Apart from the selfish point that only a few days ago, Ghada and I was walking in Pemayangtse monastery, which has been badly hit in the earthquake and it seems we missed the thing by a hairline, perhaps because Ghada had decided to spend an extra week in Lebanon instead of extending the trip in India. Ghada and I were naughtily peeking behind the curtain-covered depictions of deities (Good And Evil), before heading to speak to the director in this very monastery.

While every disaster is heart wrenching, it seems almost surreal to think that the images I see today on the news are places I walked in only moments ago (or so it seems).

I hope everyone is well, the children, the people we met. I can't seem to stop thinking about the incident.

So I had to bribe them, so damn what?

People had warned me about monkeys attacking me, stealing my belongings. But no, no monkey came. Any time I got a little close, they scurried off. Maybe it was my feet- permanently stinky from those horrendous barefooted walks in mosques and temples (thank goodness for marble).

And so it was that I had to fork out 30 Rupees to buy a bunch of bananas. And they sure as hell came. Sharma had warned us about the pink faced monkeys. They're the terrible ones. So in India, even the monkeys want their pockets lined.

I don't think the street cleaner appreciated White Boy's shenanigans. Not so much because I must have put my life at risk, facing off those ferocious creatures, but because the critters left a trail of banana peels on the floor moments after he'd cleaned it off.

So I tipped him too, and gave him a cheeky kids smile "Sorry!". :)


They can peel bananas.



India's getting expensive. It's supposed to be the cheap destination, but already I've spent a hell of a lot more than I spend on my typical vacations. OK, so maybe a stay at the Meridien didn't help matters much. On the other hand, I was about to pay almost triple for a night at the Rambagh!

So we've sampled a little bit of everything: some nature, some city, tourist traps, archealogical sites, religious sites. Every country has a city where the Garbz would live, if he had to. And if I had to live anywhere in India, it would be Delhi (based on this limited sample set). 

Delhi is not high up in the list of where one would think I would actually live. I prefer smaller, more walkable spaces. And Delhi is the furthest thing from being a walkable city. I remember arguing with the travel agent about the real need for a hired car since I like to walk. That changed very quickly once we arrived. Between the uninviting roads (they were the best roads we saw in the trip with actual pedestrian pavements and whatnot) and the sweltering heat and humidity, walking really is a morning activity or a late evening one.

One good thing about Delhi is that it does have a fairly good Metro system, although with limited time, we did not try it. It's also not so immediately clear to me how most Indians make use of it once you venture beyond the main touristy points. You still need a car or a means to get to your destination, but I suppose that's what the Tuk-Tuks and busses are for (in Delhi, we actually visited people who live in the burbs, so we got a little opportunity to go where tourists don't typically flock to).

Since Ghada had only the one day in Delhi, while I had two, I left most tourist points visits for the second day I was there, and we made the first day a Ghada day.

Lina's niece lives in Gurgaon, and my flight was at 19:30 on the 14th. I myself was not overly eager on a full day of driving around in traffic jams, so I thought long and hard, and picked the one place I thought was worth visiting- the Qutab Minar. With Lina eager to walk, we also managed to get out of the hotel at 6:00 in the morning and visited, on foot the India Gate, the Parliament buildings, the monkeys, a couple of Gurdwaras and churches.

[Note to self: need to figure out how to stop the fogging effect on the camera lens during the morning dues].

At the Qutab Minar, we had forgotten Lina's cell in the car, and so we had no means of contacting the driver by the time we were out. Fortunately, I had his card in my wallet, and so we went looking for a phone to borrow so that we may call him.

We found a bunch of Punjabi fellows standing.

"May we use your phone, we forgot our phone in the car, and need to call the driver", we asked.

"Yes of course. Aren't you staying at the Meridien?", they asked Lina, "I serve the Meridien and saw you there".

Either the drivers are talking, or we've become the talk of the town. Even here, 10km or more from Connaught place, where we are staying, the Punjabi community seems to be privy to which hotel we are staying at. We have been branded. More on this point in Part 2 of Good deals and Fair prices post.

The India Gate.. how do I get rid of the fogging of the camera lens!

Security is heavy in Delhi

Gurdwara in Delhi

Qutab Minar- Highlight of Delhi

Qutab Minar

Good Deals and Fair Prices (The Tourist Business, Part 1)

India is a strange place. Absolute poverty and absolute extravagance appear to co-exist seamlessly. One of the very frustrating experiences to be had is the inability to gauge if and when you are being taken for a ride, which is more often than not, always!

Enter one of the modern malls, and find yourself in what the Indians call a "Brand Shop". Brand name shops sell the sort of stuff you can find in a place like Canadian malls for prices that are typically more than what you expect to pay in Canada. These are not spaces where prices can be negotiated. The prices are what they are.

Outside this space are the Souks, this is where the prices are negotiable. Thanks however to our skin color, you can bank on having to start the haggling process from very high up.

In Delhi, we were trying to arrange for a car to take us to Agra. Actually, we had wanted to take the train so as not to risk the traffic jams that would only slow us down (trains don't share their tracks with cows, pigs, cyclists, tuk-tuks, cars, trucks and pedestrians!). But apparently (or at least that's what the hotel told us) all train tickets were already booked up for the hour we were trying to head off.

How much for a hired car to Agra and back?

"16000 INR", fired back the agent at Le Meridien.

To put this in context, this is around CAD$332.

Is the car that Le Meridien going to travel in its own lane? Unimpeded by beggars and vagrants and cows? Or was it not going to take the same damn path.

Earlier in the day, another tourist agency had quoted me INR 10000. (CAD $207)

Already, the folk at Le Meridien were lining their own pockets with an additional CAD $130.

When in India, you should expect to pay around INR 10 for every kilometer traveled. At a distance of 253 km or so from Delhi, one would expect then that the trip to Agra should cost INR 5060. Which is half the price that the travel agent quoted us.

To put things into perspective, a train ride from Delhi to Agra is around INR700 if you are traveling 1st class. You can book a return trip for INR1200. For 3 people, this comes to INR3600 (CAD$75).

So the luxury of having your own personal chauffeur costs you an additional CAD$75- a reasonable deal.

Along the way, the driver stopped to fill up gas (Diesel). At INR40 a litre, and a 20 Litre fill up, the bill came to INR800. In addition, the driver paid the Tolls to take the "Highway" (this terms is used very loosely indeed, this was the furthest thing from being a highway), which came out to about INR200. So his cost is INR1000.

We hired our driver for INR6000. So he earns INR5000 (CAD$104) for the day. He may or may not own the car, perhaps part of this money has to go to the owner. If he were able to do make this trip every day, he would be earning CAD$3000 a month, or about CAD$36000 a year, which is an exceptionally good salary, one would think.

Hire the same driver for the day within the confines of the city (in this case Delhi), and the rate to hire him drops dramatically- INR 1500. You are of course not covering hundreds of kilometers, only tens of kilometers (20-30). So that's about INR300 in rates, and an additional INR1000 (CAD$20) for having a personal driver at your disposal. If that's the kind of work this person got every day, he'd be bringing in $600 a month, or CAD$7200 a year, and this includes the cost of running his business (gas, car repair, and what have you).

For comparison notes:

• In Bombay, the full day air-conditioned taxi hires set us back INR2300 rupees
• In Pelling, our almost full day taxi hire set us back INR1400. In high season, this same trip would have been INR2000, according to the Lonely Planet guide. 
• The 5 hour journey from Pelling to Bagdogra set us back INR2500, which is a steal if one uses the INR10/km formula. At a distance of 160km, and given that the driver has to make his way back to Pelling, you would have thought that the journey would run you about INR3200. 

Where we got ripped off:

• Our shopping spree in Jaipur had us completely ripped off. We should not have been so eager to get done with all our shopping, nor did we go in prepared for how much we should pay for things. So do your research. 
• We paid a fair amount for the tea in Darjeeling. Then again, we did buy the highest grade white tea. 
• The travel agent did give us all-around good deals for flights and hotels. However, we could have probably saved INR5000 or thereabouts if we took the risk and booked hotels on arrival. Given that the planning became a little more hassle free, I suppose you can say this amount was worth it. 

Most cities have government emporiums. There is no negotiations to be made in those places. Expect to pay higher than in souks where you can bargain, and if you are not in the mood of haggling, it is a safe place to go to buy things at a fair price.

A star is born

For those of you who know Ghada, you'd know she loves everything Indian. And lest you thought those references to being a re-incarnation of Mumtaz Mahal were uttered in jest, rest assured that there is an element of wishful thinking in them.

The other thing that is that people have hard time saying her name. The "Gh" appears to be difficult for people to say, even though it's easily pronounced as the French would pronounce their "R"s, unless of course you're Edith Piaf and you roll your Rs.

When Indians hear Ghada's name, they are usually taken aback. Apparently, the name "Radha" is quite popular in India. And of course Ghada has makes Indian style choices when it comes to her wardrobe. But the skin color throws a wrench into peoples' expectations, and well, you can imagine.

Now on to the story of "Radha". It turns out she is an important figure in Hindu theology. She is the lover of Krishna (Hindus take only 1 wife), but apparently figured so strongly in his life that today one can find temples in India dedicated to their relationship.

Krishna and Radha

Radha's Relevance

The Queen welcomes you in

I don't know what it is with Indians and white skinned girls. The entire time at Agra, I wondered if the Indian tourists came to check out the Taj or well, Radha, I mean Ghada.

At first they try to be discrete, as in conveniently lodging themselves in any picture you are trying to take, standing far enough in what they believe will not intrude in your shot, but close enough to make it look as though the shot was actually intended.

So I decided to humor the chaps and make their day by allowing them to have their shot taken with Ghada, or in other words, to pimp Ghada out!

Posing with the white girl... lose the moustaches boys

I suppose given how much Indians emptied our bank accounts during the trip, I really should have returned the favor and charged 10 INR for every photo that was taken. Damnit, even here I was charitable good guy Garbz!

Now if you think that this is just a bunch of single guys trying to have fun, well then, the story is a little more complex. We couldn't get too far in the Taj Mahal without one family or another asking to pose with Ghada. What was I? Chopped liver?

A family wants to pose

... and another

Husbands would ask Ghada to pose with their wives or daughters. Or they would ask the wives to do the dirty deeds for them. Is this their round-about-way of asking for a menage a trois?

OK well maybe Ghada was not alone. Japanese tourists harassed by playboys

Himalaya's Beautiful Dangers and Sneaky Vampires

Darjeeling was a beauty, but it was raining and it did not seem that sunshine was to come anytime soon. And none of the Himalayan areas seemed to be exempt from the monsoon weather. Had it been solely up to me, I would have stuck around Darjeeling for the three days, checked out the zoo, the Tibetan refugee center, Ghoom monastery and other landmarks which we missed by driving to Sikkim. Simply enjoyed the town, the people. But it was not all up to me.

Gaby's plans involved having us on the Himalayan roads after sunset and I was not too happy about it. The combination of fog, rain, narrow crappy mountain roads, steep valleys and darkness,at least in my eyes, provide a recipe for disaster. My sense of adventure did get dissed by Gaby during heated conversations but I stood my grounds and managed to have us on the mountain roads between 7am and 5pm. I may as well have saved our lives.

mountain road

representative foggy landscape during our drive to Sikkim

We arrived to Pelling, Sikkim around noon-time and were welcomed by pouring rain. We found a cute hotel "Pharmrong" where we were to spend our two nights in Sikkim. Our care-takers were nice young boys who were just wonderful. They even packed us breakfast on our last morning when we left at 6 am before the official breakfast time: boiled eggs,  veggie sandwiches and mango juice. Very homey feeling. When asked what type of eggs they prepared, they answered: chicken eggs.

our lovely room

Pelling was a pit-stop for trekkers and not a final destination in itself. It mostly consisted of hotels with one at every 10 m or so. The little town, however, was home to the second oldest Buddhist monastery in Sikkim. That afternoon, we hiked up to the beautiful sanctuary, led by a dog "Sandy"  which we met along the way and that made sure we did not lose our path.

Pemagyantse Buddhist Monastery

Pemagyantse Buddhist Monastery

There was not much to do in Pelling and in the evening we hit an internet café to research the areas around that may be visited. We had learnt that same day the Yuksom was home to the oldest monastery in Sikkim (Dubdi) and it was only an hour away from Pelling. How we learnt about Dubdi was also a highlight of the trip. While walking around Pemagyantse monastery we stumbled across young school girls in one of the houses. Intrigued, we asked them what they were doing there. We are here to meet our school director, they replied. Do you want to meet him too, they continued. Gaby and I exchanged a look that translated into hell yeah! We went upstairs with the girls to a room that ressembled a temple apart from the biohazard bag on the side, which for a second , confused me into thinking I was in the lab again. What was that bag doing there in the second oldest Buddhist monastery?

The girls sat composed and quietly waiting. We waited too. After a few minutes that seemed more like hours, an older man dressed in what looked like Buddhist monk clothing walked in. He looked at us and came towards our seat and took some objects from the table infront of us. It was then that Gaby and I realized that we had sat in his spot. We apologized and started to move but he stopped us. Sit sit, he said, signaling with his hand. He then sat across from us at the far end of the room. He asked one of the girls to take care of several chores like carrying  blue sheets to him gently and other tasks  that seemed incomprehensible to us. Must be the teacher’s pet, I whispered to Gaby who let out a chuckle. 

How can I help you, the man asked. Confused as to what to answer, we said that we were curious to learn about whether there was a school involved with the monastery. He then informed us we had walked into his home. He was not a monk. Apparently, a monk sold this house years ago to the man’s ancestor and so he now resides there abiding by the laws of the monastery. He also runs a school to educate needy students who can’t afford to pay fees. The school was a few km away. We teach them mathematics, sciences, economics, just as you learnt in your schools, but we also teach them an important thing, nonviolence. He houses in his home poor students from all over Sikkim. We later learnt, over dinner, that the same man was the captain of the King’s army back when Sikkim was still a kingdom, before 1975.

Back at the internet café, as we were discussing going to Yuksom, we got interrupted by Marco, a Swiss traveler who was planning to trek from Yuksom to Tashiding.  He wanted a ride, so we shared a jeep the next day. Marco was staying at Kabur, a small but very cozy and nicely decorated hotel that was apparently recommended by lonely planet. It was also the most happening place in town.

We stopped by the sacred lake then the majestic waterfalls before arriving to Yuksom, where we hiked up to Dubdi Monastery. We separated from Marco before Dubdi, as he embarked on a 4 hour trek.

The hike up to Dubdi was a slippery one over rocks and grass.

Kanchendzonga waterfalls

Khecheopalri sacred lake 

Dubdi was not as spectacular as Pemagyantse and I kept asking Lina, a friend traveling with us (also Gaby’s nanny), to stop screaming. Apparently some insect was biting her and making her bleed. She was way too sensitive, suck it up! My legs were also bleeding and I am not complaining. My left leg was dripping blood but my right had some dried blood on it.  Some weed cut, I figured. 

We were on our way down when Lina screamed again. A worm had bitten her in the same spot between her toes and she was bleeding.  I felt a bite too. Pain came from the dry blood on my right leg, then the dry blood started moving. It was not dry blood! It was a leech!!  Ahhhh I started jumping. Lina was yelling. I was yelling. We were jumping up and down. Leeches were everywhere. On our slippers, between our  toes, a total nightmare. We remove them, they attack again. More of them. They can’t be crushed. Ahhhhhhhhh! I managed to remove them and ran down the dangerous slippery hill. Two minutes later, I feel a bite. I stop. They are everywhere. I open my toes. They are in between all my toes. They are biting hard into my flesh and I struggle to pull them off.  They then stick to my fingers, I wave my hand hard to get them off. Lina is now making noises that sound like laughs but her facial expression is of horror. Gaby was apologizing, sorry lina sorry lina so sorry lina, are you crying?

I was alone with my leeches. No one is coming to my rescue. I figured I should stop yelling, accept my situation. Yes they are deeply rooted in my flesh, yes they are sucking my blood, yes they are everywhere, yes I will open my toes and they will be there sucking on them.  But yelling and jumping was not going help. I detached, the Buddhist way. I removed them one by one as I observed them from the outside, the Buddhist way, as if they are not on me. As I was blaming myself for wearing slippers, Gaby started dancing too, they had jumped on his shoes, gone through his laces and sneaked into his socks.  And that is why some lucky Sikkimese person is now enjoying a pair of new running shoes.  I took off a leech from Lina’s foot as we stepped into the car. The locals were amused by our encounter and surprised that we did not use the leech deadly weapon that is nothing but salt. Why the hell didn't anyone warn us??? Next time you're in the Himalayas during Monsoon, carry some salt, or maybe you can resort to crying or sweating but remember that surely there's no use for screaming. 

on our way up to Dubdi (leeches were already creeping between our toes) 



little vampire



Bite after-effects

Primer on Tea

Talking about tea was pretty much what we did most of the time in Darjeeling, though I don't think we fully understood everything the various tea experts were telling us. Perhaps it was the language barrier.

For a primer on the tea process, you can consult this wiki article.

In the world of Darjeeling tea, there are three things that are relevant:

• Flush
• Leaf versus bud
• Black/Oolong/Green/White

FLUSH refers to the season of picking the tea leaves. To date, neither I, nor Ghada, have managed to fully understand why it is that tea would taste different depending on the season in which it was picked. This remains a mystery, and if anyone is privy to the reason, kindly leave a comment! Briefly, as the seasons progress, the tea become progressively stronger and more full-bodied. The first and second flushes are typically more coveted.

THE BUD is the central leaf that grows out of the combination of leaves. Teas with a higher bud content are considered more coveted. 

Tea bud, seen at center

OXIDATION level defines whether a tea is black (most oxidized), oolong (less oxidized), green (even less oxidized), and white (least oxidized).

The white variety is the priciest as much of the process is done manually to ensure that the equipment do not extract undue amount of "juices" from the leaves that aid the oxidation process.

Withering machine (removes excess moisture)

Flower of the tea plant. Happy Valley says their tea includes some flower content

I love Darjeeling tea. Nothing blew me away in terms of tea in this trip. I don't know, maybe it was the water. Maybe my taste buds have altered from excessive curry consumption. Maybe the sniffles didn't help. So I bought myself a white tea, a second flush and a first flush, buds only of course, and I'll give it a second shot when I am back in Canada.

One thing I did not like about Darjeeling is the sense that it was not something the "locals" were necessarily proud of. They are just the cogs in the machine, that manufactures and delivers tea to craving Westerners, who can afford the prices.

It was not like listening to a Frenchman talking about their wines. If Darjeeling is the "Champagne" of tea, then it is so because that's what the Westerners say it is. Give an Indian a cup of Darjeeling, and they'll drown it in milk and sugar, it no longer is Darjeeling.

On Sikkim, Ghada will fill you in on the stories... she has earned the honor by suffering for it. I will just say that I made a wonderful gift of my beautiful pair of New Balance trainers to the people of Sikkim. I also left for them a pair of used smelly socks!

Alright... time to catch up!

But before we do, I suppose I should start with the news storylines from the day we were in Jaipur.

We're currently in Le Meridien in Delhi, for which I was about to pay about double what I pay when I stay in Montparnasse. This country sure knows how to squeeze every last dime out of you! Anyways, the situation has been rectified, and we are still in the Meridien with a beautiful of the India gate.

Anyways, this will be for another post.

For now, the headlines.

Page 7: Why are the Hills Slipping and Sliding?

• A story on the landslides that have hit the mountains north of Delhi (Uttrakhand). It should be said, that we were planning to be there instead of Darjeeling..... So Close Call!  

Another paper: Intuc-Inttuc clash injures 12 in Siliguri

• OK, so maybe we didn't end up in Uttrakhand, but we flew right into Siliguri. And no, that's not a spelling mistake with Intuc and Inttuc. Will research what this is about later! 

No one cares for security at Nahargarh

• A story about the town of Nahargarh in Rajasthan. South of Jaipur, some 300 or so km, and well on the way to Khajuraho. Apparently bandits have been killing people on the path. 

Then of course, came the bombing in Delhi. 

This place is crazy. 

Land of the Champagne of Teas

Well here we are finally- beautiful Darjeeling. The closest airport to here (and in fact to anywhere in the nearby state of Sikkim) is Bagdogra, and even then it’s a 3.5 hour drive to our hotel. We had frantically tried to get in touch with the travel agent to try and make sure the room is booked, and well, that a driver would be there to take us to the hotel. We are packed for a wedding, and so are not very nimble.

At least for now (on the drive), there is no rain, and the drive up to Darjeeling is simply spectacular. Those fear-mongering weather forecasts seemed for a moment to have been all lies. Well, until you got into Darjeeling itself- that’s where the cloud covers decided to rest for the coming couple of days. Go a couple of hundred meters lower and you were back staring at heavenly sights.

 

We got to the hotel, unpacked, freshened up, and hit the town. With nary a view to enjoy, we walked around the town, decided to check out the more upscale hotel there (for future reference), and hit a tea “café” to sample some tea. Then the rains started, and did not stop till the moment we left Darjeeling.

The next morning, Ghada and I were scrambling for the contingency plan. We had discussed this eventuality at great length. Are we heading to Gangtok? Are we going to Sandakphu and then hike up to Phalut? We’d be another 1000m or so higher. Would there still be clouds, or would we have left them behind? The hotel staff don’t seem to know much better than “well if it’s raining here, it must be raining there”. Ghada dragged us to a Sikkim tourism website, where the staff can make more helpful suggestions.

This is where Pelling was brought up. Here we would find the most ancient Buddhist monasteries in India. It is also more nature and less urban. Pelling it would be.

I had hoped that we would get a glimpse of Kanchanjonga before we left. But there was no luck to be had in Darjeeling. Perhaps Pelling would afford us an opportunity to rectify this injustice.

The next day in Darjeeling, Ghada and I braved the rains and walked around the town once again. We had hoped to see at least a few of the sites- the zoo, the Tibetan refugee centre, some tea estates, more tea tasting so we can make more informed purchasing choices. But between the Tourist office, having to get special permits to allow us to enter into Sikkim, the bad weather, the fact that it was Thursday and half the places were closed, we managed to walk down to “Happy Valley” tea estate which advertises itself as supplier to Harrods. It is the only estate which is within a reasonable walking distance from the hotel.

Indian say that Kerala is “God’s country”. I haven’t been there, and so I cannot confirm the veracity of this statement. Being here in Darjeeling, and driving around the mountains, I am hardpressed to believe there is something that can surpass this area in beauty. The lush greenery, the steep slopes, the massive mountains, everything is in such a grand scale.

On the drive up to Darjeeling

Darjeeling Tea Estate

Darjeeling, the town. View from the hotel. Best view all stay

The streets of Darjeeling

Ghada smelling a tea flower

Darjeeling during the Monsoon

'Happy Valley' tea estate

Below the cloud cover, we get the spectacular views once again

The mountain roads

... what to do? 

In the end, it made no sense whatsoever to make the trip up to Tiger Hill, Ghoom or the toy train. The weather was non-permitting... but we did come back with lots of tea! 

Greetings all... from the Himalayas

Ghada and I are on Cloud 9... literally.... We counted them!

Anyways, up here in the heavens, it seems internet is very hard to come by (together with a clean bed, phone connection, reliable electricity, hot water....). But with the news of the Delhi bombings, earthquakes and whatnot, we figured we'd let you know we are still alive!

Will post pictures when we are back in Delhi, and hopefully before Ghada jets off to Lebanon, and I to the Emirates.

Ghada and Garbz in Royal Land

As we arrived to Jaipur at 10pm, we were lucky to drive through the pink city at night, and it blew us away. The combination of night serenity and the magical reflections off the astonishing pink walls was reminiscent of a fairy tale. Indeed Jaipur's architecture is considered among the best in the Indian subcontinent. We asked our driver to take us for a tour before getting to our hotel. We passed by the water palace, a floating lotus in the midst of the lake, alone but unafraid to shine its lights all around.

Jal Mahal 

Come daylight, we got up and took the tuk tuk for a bumpy ride up the hill to Amer Fort. I was excited to see the elephants as I had not seen any before! I was too scared to get up on one though and the closest I got to them was caressing their spiky backs. 

The fort itself was stunning and our guide Sharma was still charming at that point. My favorite part was the the mirror palace, covered with thousands of tiny mirrors, colored glasses and mosaics. The Maharaja used to love taking a candle into the mirror palace and it would light up the whole place like tiny stars. His wife once said to him, you have shown me the stars why not the moon? he replied, you are my moon.

Sheesh Mahal (mirror palace): credit to charming Sharma

Sheesh Mahal (mirror palace)

 We then continued to the Hindu temple, met some long lost friends of the Garbz and got blessed!

Garbz buddies

Hindu temple at Amer Fort

Hindu Temple at Amer Fort

Garbz was blessed!

Sharma then hypnotized us and guided us into a local shop with goodies and I walked out with my blue sapphire (birth stone) necklace and a bunch of irresistible marble beauties. Guilt-ridden, I swore to end the shopping spree of this trip right there and then. 

I guess Sharma had other thoughts, and while he took us sight seeing in the old city, he decided to give us a rest in a jewelry shop, a rest, yeah right. It was under the pretext that he was busy getting the henna that my aunt asked me to bring while in Jaipur. As we were resting, a Tunisian Arabic speaking girl, not more than 24 years old, appeared in the shop. Her story goes, according to her as follows: she was sent by her father to live in Jaipur and learn the trade, partner with the locals and open a gem business. She babbled for an hour about the quality of the jewelry in the shop, about how the owner was her dad's friend and a truly honest person. Well, as soon as we got the henna we were off. I then blurted out giving Sharma a piece of my mind. He apologized. I don't know if he meant it or not, if he cared or not.  I didn't care, it was off my chest.

We had a pleasant Rajesthani evening but horrible food that night and had a lovely surprise visit from a friendly grasshopper.

Rajesthani dinner

It tasted so bad

Jaipur

Well I have to say, I just absolutely LOVED Jaipur. I have to be honest, I wasn’t all that keen on it. Jaipur- “Pink City” of India, the capital of Rajasthan. For one thing, though it has always gotten rave reviews from all those who visited it, but somehow the pictures on the web did not show it off in all its glory.

Briefly, there are three “neighborhoods” in Jaipur. First there is the Old City, encircled by 7 Gates, and home to the famous Pink colored buildings. It is said that the city was painted yellow, but the ruler of Jaipur ordered the coloring of the buildings because apparently Pink was Queen Victoria’s favorite color.

Surrounding the landmarks (such as the Hawa Mahal, or the City Palace) are rows and columns of incessant markets, zoned into themes in some instances.

Second, there is the area around the Amer Fort (or Amber Fort). This fort, among others, sits on hilltops surrounding the main city.

Finally, there is the area of New Jaipur which is home to, well, New Jaipur- Malls, modern glass towers and what have you.

We started the day in Amer Fort. We had relied exclusively on hired taxis in Mumbai- which was the right thing to do there. Here, we started by hiring a “Tuk-Tuk” or the rickshaws, and away we went to Amer Fort.

The area drips “tourist trap”, but is simply spectacular. This is where you come to pay 900 Indian Rupees for an elephant ride, or where you see monkeys galore. And of course the annoying salespeople who don’t let you walk two steps without flashing a thousand and one goods in front of your face.

This is where Bajran approached us, flashing a Government Tour guide badge and offering us a tour of the Fort.

“We’re not interested. Besides, we have very little time over here. We’re stepping in, and stepping out”.

“I’ll save you time, and besides I’ll give you the stories behind the places!”, he fired back.

“How much?”

“200 Rupees” (that’s about $4).

Oh well. So we took him on, and within 30 minutes we had seen the Fort, heard its stories, and were on our way out and into main village where the locals live. This is where Sharma led us to the Village shops, which is one big building selling essentially all the products typical of the region and people. It is not to be mistaken for the government emporiums which enforce a fixed price policy and which sell stuff at reasonable prices.

We spent a lot of money.

At one point, Ghada was led by the wily salespeople to the jewelry department. “We don’t force you to buy, nor do we sell you anything! You buy what  you want!”.

“Haven’t we bought enough!” I fired back, amused by their persistence.

“Yes, but let the lady look for 5 minutes, and then leave!”.

“You know it’s not going to be 5 minutes! You know damn well that the surest way to keep us here for another hour is to dangle some stones in front of the lady!” He smiles.

Eager to save the situation, Sharma decides to distract me by offering me a ride on his bike. At that point, Ghada was deep into a Palm-reading session trying to rectify her earlier anger at being told she has a short “Sun Line”. So off I went on the back of a motorbike with some stranger I met trying to sucker even more commission. Up this hill we went, down the other hill, through the village with old people sitting outside playing cards. This is the non-touristy Jaipur, and indeed it was. Somehow, the vagrants disappear from this area, and you see no youngsters approaching you with sob stories of why they need a rupee.

There’s a bunch of laborers. We get them from other parts of India to do the work that Jaipurians don’t want to do, Bajran tells me.  Funny, I think to myself, there really is a hierarchy of people who refuse to do any work, and in the Food Chain pyramid, Jaipurians, apparently are that much higher up the chain.

It’s a funny thing walking around a place like Jaipur, or any other tourist trap in India. Vagrants exist everywhere of course, but here, they set their sights on the tourists. You seldom see them harass Indians to the same extent. And foreigners always seem to happily oblige; a rupee here, a rupee there. It’s strange given that globally, India is one of the emerging powers, while the West is receding. You guys are richer than we are, I want to scream J.

Anyways, Sharma and I ended up on the other side of the hill where Amer Fort is, before a  big lake, a little waterfall where local children were splashing around. We took a seat in one of the gazebos, where a bunch of goats approached us, and decided to lounge around.

It is a remarkable thing about India that “everything” seems to co-exist and space is shared by all: the car, the Tuk-Tuk, the pedestrian, the cow, the monkey, and now the goat. They are all fearless.

Fast forward to the night, Sharma insisted on “taking us out” for a nice evening with very typical Rajasthani fare (well after that handsome commission he must be receiving, why not?). So we obliged, it is an amusement park of some ancient fanciful Rajasthan.

There has been an uneasy interaction between Ghada and myself, with each trying to not trample on the other, or to outdo the other. Each trying to go the extra length not to show that they are wrestling control of the trip, or that they fit better, or that well, they can stomach India’s hygiene issues more fearlessly!

So at this Rajasthani “amusement” park, sitting outside, barefoot, on the floor was perhaps the biggest test to date. In front of us were plates made from Banana or Palm or some other leaves, clay/mud cups, banana leaf bowls. The waiters would walk buy throw some concoction or another on our plates, and we would eat it. There were roaches on the floor around me, and I was getting queasy, but said nothing. Remember, I would stomach this trip and not wince or complain! Then Ghada let out a shriek. A grasshopper the size of half my palm had landed on her plate.  And before too long, one of the roaches scurrying on the floor managed to find its way to my plate. That was my cue to stop eating. Alright, the Garbz needs a break and a flight to the mountains!

Amer Fort

Cum bar? At our hotel?

Ghada enjoys a ride in the Tuk-Tuk

More Amer Fort

View from the temple

Bathing waters

Goats chilling with the Garbz

An old Hindu temple... finally