Living Large in Jaipur - Day 6 and 7

I might be one of the few tourists who gains weight in India, rather than losing it, thanks to another great couchsurfer.

Actually, my couchsurfer isn't even here because he's working in Delhi. Still, he allowed me to use his apartment, which just happens to be next to his mom's place.

Her mission seems to be stuffing my belly with some of the most delicious food I've ever tasted. This morning, she fixed handmade parathas. Nope, in her mind, two or three helpings is never enough, although I'm certainly not complaining.

To work off the calories, I've taken in many of Jaipur's sights: the palace/fort of Raja Man Singh,

an artistic gem

constructed in the late 1500s.







Dignitaries used to arrive by elephant, a tradition still in practice for tourists,

although there are reports the elephants are mistreated, which is why I

 walked;

the Hawa Mahal, a pink, sandstone structure built so ladies of the royal court family could watch events in the city

.... tucked away safely behind shutters;

and Jantar Mantar, an 18th century

eclectic observatory.

It's easy to understand why Jaipur is known as the pink city.

Jaipur is also famous for blocks of emporiums selling everything from precious stones to pottery to fabrics.

It's a hectic city of more than two million people, but even commerce still slows down and steps aside for the bovines.

I'll leave you with my Good Samaritan story of the day. In addition to the Raja Man Singh fort, I also checked out another fort a few miles away. After catching a lift to the top, I decided to walk back down the long, winding, scenic road overlooking the city.

A few minutes into my journey an autorickshaw stopped. The driver said he already had a passenger, an innocent looking Japanese tourist, so he said he'd take me to the bottom of the mountain for free.

Nothing is free is India. There's always a catch. "Are you sure it's free?" I asked incredulously.  "Yes, get in, " he replied.

I agreed, waiting for the pitch: a trip to a souvenir shop that just happened to be owned by his uncle, a sob story for a few rupees, an offer to take me on a tour of Jaipur for a "good price".

I waited in suspense, not expecting what he was about to reveal.

The man said he'd heard of more than one tourist being mugged at knife point while walking along the isolated road and said he was worried I might fall victim to the same fate.

When we reached the bottom of the hill, he wished me a safe journey and before driving off, left me with these words - "My father once told me money is very important, but he said life is even more important."

No scam. No sob story, just a driver who wanted to assist a stranger on his journey through India.

Tomorrow, I'm taking a bus back to Delhi, where I hope to spend a little more time with my couchsurfer friend, Jeet, prior to returning to Singapore later than night.

India is a hard place: pollution, noise, poverty, overcrowding, crime, a lack of personal space, illness, but in spite of the chaos, it possesses a unique charm that slowly wins over those who make the effort to visit.





Note: I wrote all of these entrees on paper while traveling through India, but with a lack of internet services, I was not able to post them until I returned to Singapore. I'm happy to say that I'm safe and sound, and I even managed to avoid coming down with any gastrointestinal problems in India, which is no small feat.

Journey to Jaipur - Day 5

Most journeys involve some sort of adversity: a missed flight, delays, an illness. This morning, I feared I had created my own hurdle by refusing to forgo another helping of a spicy breakfast dish with beans and rice, meaning I found myself racing through the streets of Agra in the back of a 3-wheeled, motorcycle taxi called an autorickshaw.

The minutes until my train arrived vanished rapidly, and as I jumped out of the vehicle, I saw that I had only 2 minutes to spare, but my train number wasn't listed on the station monitor. Had I gone to the wrong station, or had the train already left?

One option remained - return to the dreaded service counter, where less than 48 hours earlier, a clerk had fired a projectile at my head.

A group of three men lingered in front of the window. In America, I would have waited anxiously for my turn. No time left. I set aside my Western manners and shamelessly pushed to the front, Indian style. I spied a slight opening.

"Which platform for Train No. 12403?" I shouted out. "Platform 5," he responded. I might make it.

Or maybe not. Platform 5 was the farthest from the station's entrance, and the train was already waiting.

I dashed toward it, my mind filled with visions of me having to leap through the doors as the train sped away. I should have known better. This is India. The departure was delayed by 45 minutes.

As I write this entry, I'm on my way to Jaipur, stretched out in a sleeper car. Forget planes. Trains are the only way to travel. A new Couchsurfer and new city awaits.

A Trip to the Taj Mahal

Sunrise at the Taj Mahal

This is what everyone comes to Agra to see - the Taj Mahal.

Before witnessing this amazing monument, I had to overcome a perturbed ticket seller.

Upon arriving in Agra, I decided to buy a train ticket to my next destination. I expected the process to take five minutes. Instead, it took 45.

Immediately after another man in front of me stepped away from the booth, I approached the ticket window and waited for assistance. Anywhere else in the world the clerk would have immediately helped me, but this is India, a daily lesson in patience.

The clerk refused to even acknowledge me because she was looking through a stack of papers. Five minutes passed, still not even a glance. In America or Singapore, I would, at this point, have become furious, demanding to see a manager, but anger achieves nothing in India. It just makes Indians laugh or fire back with just as much intensity.

Finally, she asked me what I wanted. Rather than make a snide remark, I politely told her the reason I had stopped by the ticket booth was because I needed, of course, a ticket.

"Fill out this form, please," she replied.

Then, I made a tragic mistake.

"May I borrow a pen?" I asked. Without hesitation, and without warning, she literally threw it at me like a Nolan Ryan fastball. For the record, I caught the pen, which was sailing toward my head.

Again, in the rest of the civilized world, I would have been outraged. In India, she was the gatekeeper. I had to play by her rules.

As I began filling out the form, an Indian man tried to push past me to the window, even though the woman was helping me. I deftly elbowed him out of the way, proving that even foreigners can adapt to the "no personal space" culture of India.

It didn't matter who was at the window because out of the corner of my eye I noticed the clerk leaving the ticket booth to make a personal phone call. I just smiled. Patience, Mark.

Twenty minutes later, she returned, pointed out a mistake on my form, and then asked me a question or two about my seating preference.

I couldn't resist. "You're the expert," I said. "I'm sure you'll take good care of me."

Her icy facade thawed with my sarcastic comment and a slight smile appeared. The ticket was mine.

The next day, I visited the Taj Mahal, one of the seven wonders of the world. Yes, it lived up to all my expectations. Wow!

By the way, it's true that cows live a charmed life in India.

Hindus consider the animals sacred, so you won't find them on the menu at McDonald's; however, you will find them

free to wander and lounge at will, even in major cities in the middle of traffic.





I'll be moooving on next to Jaipur. I hope you'll join me.

Over-the-Top India

India is a land of extremes.

Children bathe in contaminated rivers, sharing the same putrid water with livestock slurping up the toxic brew. Trash inundates the cities and the countryside, spreading disease and stench. Beggars refuse to take no for an answer while aggressively tugging on the clothing and limbs of passersby, hoping to elicit sympathy and cash by exploiting their deformities.

There's no place to hide in a country inhabited by more than a billion souls. Visitors get bumped, elbowed, and pushed out of the way. Personal space doesn't exist. Cutting in line is an art form.

Control is a lesson in futility. A two-hour delay is the norm not the exception. India moves along in its own seemingly disorganized manner and will crush anyone unwilling to be flexible.

It's a place tourists either love or hate. So far, I'm quite captivated and disturbed by what I've encountered.

Once again, I'm traveling thanks to my week-long break for Lunar New Year. I've finally made it to India, a place I've wanted to visit for years.

First stop - New Delhi, the capital of India.

Even though I've read volumes about India, I still find the mass of humanity to be overwhelming - the noise, the smell, the constant stimuli. I might never be able to forget the image of a man without limbs lying in the middle of a popular tourist area wailing, as if in agony, for a few spare coins.

I don't want to dwell on the negative, but India can't be understood without the total picture.

Still, there's much to love about India - the culture, the history, the warm people. For two days, I had the great fortune to be hosted by Couchsurfer, Jeet, a retired New Delhi native.

 Jeet showed me many of the sights but also a side of Delhi seldom seen by tourists. The highlight was a trip to a temple on the outskirts of the city, where I stumbled upon a weeding. One of the participants invited me to attend. Meet three of the youngest guests.

India is full of stories of tourists targeted by con artists. I experienced my own on the way to Agra, home of the Taj Mahal.

As I entered the New Delhi train station, I decided to ask about one of the particulars of my e-ticket. An official-looking man examined my ticket and told me the train had been delayed at least six hours, but he was willing to help me book a new train.

Hmm......"No thanks," I said, as I headed for the platform listed on my ticket. While traveling, I've run into enough suspicious people to know when something doesn't feel right. Of course, it was a lie, but the guy sounded so convincing.

Later that day, I had another bizarre encounter with a clerk who fired something at me for merely asking a question, but that's another story for tomorrow.

The Taj Mahal awaits.

Lunar New Year Isn't Just for the Chinese

I received a lesson in political correctness this week while discussing the upcoming Chinese New Year celebration in Singapore.

"Don't you mean the Lunar New Year," said the Vietnamese man I was chatting with in the grocery store. "The holiday is celebrated throughout Asia, not just China."

Point well taken.

Anyway, I visited Chinatown last night to see the decorations for the February 19th event. I've been to Chinatown many times, but the festivities and the shopping crowds are a bit ratcheted up this time of year.

After a couple of hours of fighting through the shoppers, I had enough and retreated to the perimeter to gaze ...

at the lanterns lighting up the evening sky.

But before leaving, I was fortunate enough to watch a Lion Dance.  The traditional dance is intended to scare away evil spirits and bring good luck.

Often, the dance is performed on flat ground, but this lion dance involved acrobats jumping back and forth on poles several feet above the ground. If you look closely at the bottom of the picture, you'll see the lion's feet on the tiny red platforms.

Here's a short clip of the dance that I recorded on my phone. It's quite amazing how the acrobats are able to balance, especially while donning such an elaborate costume.

Happy Lunar New Year!

Super Bowl Monday in Singapore

For the first time in decades, I missed the Super Bowl, and my life didn't fall apart.

It wasn't by choice. Singapore is 13 hours ahead of the United States, meaning kickoff occurred at 7:30 Monday morning when I'm working, and football doesn't generate much excitement in Asia anyway. Like most of the world, a football in Singapore is that round object that players kick, rather than a brown, oblong ball that players throw and catch.

I must admit I found myself checking the final score on the internet, but that was it. Even though I missed the big game, I didn't feel like I suffered a great, personal loss. After all, it was just a game.

Or was it.

Americans are obsessed with their own particular brand of sport that we call football. Professional football is a billion-dollar industry. Millions of viewers tune in each Sunday to watch their favorite teams, and just as many spend their Saturday afternoons watching college football.

The Super Bowl itself is normally the highest-rated television event of the year, a time to cheer on the teams, a time to party with one's friends, a time to  partake of the clever commercials that jam every second of idle time away from the game.

There's much to be gained through sport - perseverance, teamwork, comradery, at least for the participants, although I'm not sure how much it benefits passive viewers who aren't actually playing the games.

Yes, I know that rooting for a team can unite fans and unite a city, at least for the three hours that the game is being played, but how much true joy does a victory bring and how much angst does a loss deliver.

In the short term, it might affect our emotions, but why? Fans don't score touchdowns. Fans don't personally know the players, and the players aren't involved in the lives of the fans. Would Tom Brady welcome a fan in for dinner if the fan knocked on his door? A win by my team doesn't make me a better person or a winner. A loss doesn't transform me into a bad person or a loser.

I haven't always felt this way. Back in 1992 while I was living in New York City, my favorite college football team lost, causing me to slip into a depression for several days. Again, my team lost. I didn't receive a diagnosis of cancer. My dog didn't die. I didn't lose my job.

That was the last time I took sports so seriously.

When I returned to the South, I almost completely stopped watching my favorite college team because I discovered caving. For years, instead of enjoying being outdoors in the crisp, autumn air, marveling at the brightly colored leaves falling from the sky, I spent my Saturdays in front of a television.

Eventually, the price became too high. I wanted to explore caves. I wanted to experience the outdoors, not watch it on an electronic box. Soon, I discovered the college sport that once ruled my emotions meant little to me. I'd broken the habit.

Really, I think that's what the American obsession with football boils down to - a habit. If we're brutally honest with ourselves, we might come to the conclusion that the countless hours we spend watching sports, and all television, is a way to fill voids in our lives, a convenient distraction to avoid looking at more profound, personal questions or personal shortcomings.

And so I won't be able to discuss this year's Super Bowl with my friends. I won't be able to talk about the commercials. Oh, well. One day, I'll return to America, but this time I might miss the Super Bowl on purpose. Habits are made to be broken, even Super Bowl Sunday.