Titra Yatra: Part 2 (and Final Part) - WALKING, QUITTING, AND HITCHHIKING

Yeah...I can't do it.

Let me explain. I'll start from the beginning of the day.

I left my hotel at 6:00am and starting walking then, in the dark, to avoid the sun. Pretty standard stuff, I passed some industrial stuff, a beach, some people living in huts and tents and stuff, but there was very little places to step off the road today and get a cold drink and a meal. Actually, there weren't any. When I did find one, when the sun had come up, at 9:30am, it was the dingiest place I've ever eaten in, and I've eaten in some dingy places. They only served flat, circular bread that was all pockmarked, looking exactly like pancakes, but tasting nothing like it.

I was thinking: "OK, I will wait here for about 7 hours, until the sun goes down again."

And then I realized: "I am never going to Kerala."

It became clear that I was quitting. I hadn't formally formulated that thought in my head, but it was bubbling up from my subconscience to the surface of my mind. I looked around at the people around me. Noone here, out in the middle of NH-17, nowhere near a sizeable city, speaks any English. My Hindi is more useful here than English, even though people speak very little of that, too, since Karnataka has its own lanaguage. I was looking at the people in rags, tattered clothing, and feeling a little sad about the world around me. And what was the world around me, anyway? Where was I, how did I get here?

So it occured to me that there were three reasons I couldn't go on:
1. The heat - obviously, which meant I couldn't walk during the day and had to wait out the sun for 6 or 7 hours every day, which meant that...
2. I couldn't psychologically handle sitting out in the middle of NH-17 for most of my waking hours for the next 40 or 50 days, or however long this was going to take. To add to that, the places to eat seemed to be becoming sparser, and you never have a choice of what you are going to eat, so it's just a little sustenance to get you by.
3. I realized, with some degree of horror, last night, why I am so intolerant of this sun. Or at least partly why. I am taking the antibiotic doxycycline, a well-known side effect of which is "sun sensitivity."

Plus I'm nursing some pretty bad skin burns, and yes, I used tons of sunscreen. In light of all this, I just couldn't keep going. I knew I was able to quit when I realized that I wouldn't have any regrets about quitting. I simply had no interest in going on. Unlike the trail, when it's impossible to get off because you know you'll regret it later, here the decision was easy. In some ways, this was much harder than the trail. Well, obviously, or I wouldn't have quit so early.

So - how to get out of this? Well, I stood out on the road and flagged down a truck. You see these trucks all the time, carrying cargo here and there, extremely colorful, painted all over with graphics and slogans. These guys also spoke no English. They didn't understand "Where are you going?" So I said "Kahha jata hey?", and luckily they spoke some Hindi. "Hubli," they said. This is about 150 km away, but I didn't really care, anywhere was fine, so I jumped in. The ride was pretty quiet, we couldn't communicate with each other, but unbelievably (or maybe not, considering this is India), the truck broke down after about an hour or so. So they went to work under the truck, in the middle of the highway, trying to repair it. One hour passed. Two hours passed. Finally, I got out, said I was leaving, and flagged down a truck going the opposite direction. This guy's name was Muhammed and he was going to Karwar. I also had to find all that out via Hindi. Well, Karwar was just fine, considering I had started there in the morning, but somehow that felt like a long time ago. It was a good ride, we stopped at a place and ate some fish curry, everyone there was really interested in me. Actually that is a trademark of this entire walking trip - you don't really see westerners out here. You see them on motorbike from time to time, tearing down the highway on their way to Gokarn, Mangalore, or Kochi down south, or Goa up north. But I don't imagine you see many people on foot. Muhammed dropped me off right outside Karwar and it was just a 5 minute walk back in. I went directly to see my friend Ryees who owns this internet place, who had to admit he wasn't really surprised to see me back.

Well, maybe it was foolhardy, but I am proud of what I did accomplish, even if I didn't get very far. I had a fun time trying to do it, and I had fun today getting out of it.

What will I do now? I might stay in the south for a bit, check out Kerala and Tamil Nadu, but more and more I'm thinking I'd love to make it back to Mussoorie before I leave for wherever I'm going next. My visa expires at the end of March so I don't have a whole lot of time left here.

Thanks for everyone's encouragement...sorry if I dissapointed anyone. Especially you, Denzil, haha. An English friend, Denzil, who never says anything without injecting a lot of intensity, told me "You better make it to Kerala...I'll be fookin' dissapointed if you don't." Ah well, I gave it my best.

Looking a bit dejected. This is where I quit, and that's the truck that gave me a ride out. Yep, that's my outfit...kurta I picked up in Karwar to try and cover more skin, that kind of skirt thing, and the bandana...minus the bandana I usually had over my face.

I'd like to send a shoutout to Krishnamurti real quick as thanks for being my only traveling companion on this abbreviated quest:

Student: What do you mean by ordinary?

Krishnamurti: To be like the rest of men; with their worries, with their corruption, violence, brutality, indifference, callousness. To want a job, to want to hold on to a job, whether you are efficient or not, to die in the job. That is what is called ordinary - to have nothing new, nothing fresh, no joy in life, never to be curious, intense, passionate, never to find out, but merely to conform. That is what I mean by ordinary. It is called being bourgeois. It is a mechanical way of living, a routine, a boredom.

Student: How can we get rid of being ordinary?

Krishnamurti: How can you get rid of being ordinary? Do not be ordinary. You cannot get rid of it. Just do not be it.

Student: How, Sir?

Krishnamurti: There is no "how". You see that is one of the most destructive questions: "Tell me how"? Man has always been saying, throughout the world, "Tell me how". If you see a snake, a poisonous cobra, you do not say, "Please tell me how to run away from it". You run away from it. So in the same way, if you see that you are ordinary, run, leave it, not tomorrow, but instantly.

God, I need a drink after today. I'm gonna go get it. Cheers to all my friends and family - here's to never giving in to ordinary.

Tirat Yatra: A 1000km Walk Along India's West Coast - Part 1

There came a time in Goa when things simply became monotonous. It was the same thing every day - waking up late, eating breakfast, going for a swim, coming back, drinking early, playing music, going to bed, and waking up the next day, only to repeat the same schedule. Eventually it became clear to Mitja and I that our time in Goa was drawing to a close, as well as our time traveling together. Not that we weren't getting along fine like always, but it was just time to exchange contact info, wish each other a prosperous journey, and return to the spirit of traveling that we had brought with us to India: adventuring alone.

I don't know how this idea came into my head, to walk from Goa to the southern tip of the Indian subcontinent in Kerala. I remember saying something to my Indian friends about wanting to do a long walk in India, but that was before I left. I thought about it while I was here but I was too overwhelmed by India to consider it. Even when the feeling of being overwhelmed left and I became comfortable, I still considered a long walk in India to be a product of the imagination that existed before I ever came here.

When things became boring in Goa, I started to look longingly at the very end of the beach that I had never explored. I didn't want to wake up, eat, swim, drink, and play at the same hotel every day. I wanted to explore, adventure, dive foolhardily into the unknown. And so, in my last few days in Goa, I started telling people that I would walk south until I got to the bottom of India. I didn't even know then that I was serious about it. The words sounded strange and foreign coming out of my mouth, like someone else was saying them, and a voice in my head echoed "What did you say? You can't be serious..."

Thus, it was with a strange sense of surreality that all my friends I had met in Goa, some of the best from the entire trip, were hugging me, shaking my hand, wishing me good luck, and retreating to the safety of their hotels, their little spots on this piece of paradise. And equally strange was the feeling of thanking Joseph, the owner of my hotel, checking out, and taking a left turn. Keeping the ocean on my right and just walking.

This is the second day of my walk. I'll tell you about the first day. Neither has been particularly encouraging, but I am still committed.

The first day was funny. Eventually I got to the end of Patnem beach, not too far from where I had already explored. You get to a place where you simply cannot walk anymore. There are rocks and things, but no more beach. I knew I had to get to the highway, so I started asking around about that. I quickly got to a road, but not the highway. "Do you know where the highway is?" I kept asking people, and they would point me in the right direction. Eventually I did get to the highway, and starting walking along it. A word about this, before I go on. This isn't "highway" in the sense you know it, in the sense of those elevated concrete marvels of engineering we have in the United States - clean, orderly, buzzing with traffic. Here, "highway" means a fairly narrow black strip, just wide enough to permit, say, two buses. It's covered with dust, and on either side of it is usually a narrow, dusty corridor that allows one person on foot. This is generally what I walk on.

So I'm walking on the highway, the artery that will transport me all the way to my destination (there is no network of trails or anything, this wouldn't be like my walk in America). The first thing I notice is that it is quite hot. I compensate for this by wrapping the top of my head in a bandana. I notice my face is starting to burn. I compensate for this by wrapping my face in a bandana, as if I were a bandit or a cowboy. To add insult to injury, I'm wearing what is basically the dress of the saddhus, the babas, the wandering holy men. It's a kind of maroon skirt, impregnated with threads of orange, embroidered in gold. This isn't just fashion - it's remarkably functional. Loose, comfortable, protecting my skin from the sun, unable to trap heat but allowing cool air to flow through.

So I'm walking along, and I suddenly look up and think "Oh no...oh no...it can't be..."

...but it was. I had walked, circuitously, for maybe 2 hours, sweating and panting, only to get to the small market of Chaudi, a 20 minute walk from my hotel. But what was there to do? This was the official highway, and I was walking south...nothing for it but to accept this defeat and keep on keeping on. I got a vegetarian plate at a dhaba (glad to have these low-cost food options available again, they don't exist on the tourist beaches) for 30 rupees, gathered up my strength, and walked on.

I walked and walked...I'm not sure what to say about this part. This was the first moment I was really out of explored territory and into the unknown, but what can I say? I feel like there's something to say about this, but the experience isn't terribly memorable. It was very surreal, very strange. I walked along the road, cars and buses sped by. The road was at times lined with just trees, no people or civilization to be seen. Other times I would walk past a row of pretty impressive houses, by Indian standards, but there would usually just be a woman sitting out front, the wife of the household I guess, looking severe, and not terribly inviting of conversation. Or hospitality, for that matter - a thought which had begun to grow on my mind. I had no idea what was ahead. I knew that I had to stay on the highway, but I didn't know my position on it. Where was I going to sleep? I hadn't given much thought to this. Would I have to approach one of these houses and ask if I can stay there? I passed small, lonely outposts where they sold simple food and drinks. Occasionally I took refuge there from the heat. Is it possible to stay in a place like this? Could I ask the owner if I had absolutely no other option? I passed people living in thatched huts, in plastic tents. What about this? Would I consider this if it was getting dark? You cannot sleep on the road, I don't think. I was carrying a stick for the aggressive dogs you sometimes come upon. They are scared of you if you have a stick. Before I got the stick, they were quite difficult to intimidate. Apparently they gather at night and are quite ferocious. I wouldn't want to be out here at night.

Eventually I came to a place that seemed to have a bit more civilization. It was just a stretch of no more than maybe 200 meters, but there was a large, colorful Hindu temple, as well as a place to get simple food. I went into the place to get some food. The man didn't speak English, and it was clear that you wouldn't really get meals here, just simple street-style food. I got some spiced, breaded potatoes and thanked him. I saw that his sign said "Hotel." "Do you have rooms?" I asked him. He looked at me blankly. "Umm..." I said. I was searching my mind for something that might make sense in Hindi. "Kam-ra..." I began uneasily. "Tomb kamra pas hey?" I said fully, painfully self-conscious of how bad my Hindi was. "Nehi, nehi" he said, and pointed me out the door, to a woman talking on a telephone. I guess I was supposed to talk to her. Oh, before I forget - I now know that "Hotel" means nothing of the sort here, for some odd reason. If you can get food or drink someplace, it's a "Hotel." Don't ask me why.

So I speak to the woman, who points me towards the temple. To make a long story short, I end up getting a room at the temple. I'm not sure if these rooms are for priests or pilgrims or what, but it actually wasn't bad accommodation, considering it was free. A bed, and a bathroom that even had a western style toilet. I've decided to go veg for this trip, not to be puritanical or anything, just to try it, for fun. Besides, that's mostly what is available in these small places anyway. The priest came to the door, concerned, and asked me if I had any money, because if I didn't have any, he could give me some. It broke my heart to hear that...me with so much money, and the offer to give me more from someone who lives in a place with so little.

I was feeling so out of place, so uncomfortable. I had a sense of dread that I couldn't extinguish, no matter how I tried. I laid down on my bed and felt terribly lost and lonely, and slipped into a fitful sleep, as the tiny bugs living in the thin bed mat crawled out of it and over me...

Day Two

Today I woke up and felt a little nauseous. I ate a bit at the place across the street, where I had eaten before, but I didn't really want much. I set off walking, eager to make more headway into this journey.

I have been abstaining, up until this point in this journal, from telling you about the sun. Let me tell you about the sun. The sun, on this walk from Goa to Kerala, heading due south on the highway and straight into that searing light, is absolutely unrelenting. I have never experienced anything like it in my life. I thought, coming out, that less clothes were better in this heat. Not true. You have to cover your skin. Sunscreen does nothing. Ever see those pictures of people walking in the desert in National Geographic? There's a reason why they're all covered from head to toe in white clothing. Trying to escape the sun while walking all day down highway NH-17 is like trying to live in the desert without sand getting everywhere, or like trying to swim in the ocean without everything getting wet. The heat is almost tangible, almost like a liquid, I can imagine it getting everywhere, snaking around every fold of clothing, pouring into the sleeves of my shirt, wave after wave of it washing over my body. Yesterday I got sunburned...on my face (hence the need to wear two bandanas and leave only my eyes exposed), on my hands and arms, and on my neck. Yesterday my feet were spared, but today even they are being burned. Even when I go into the shade, they still burn. The skin tingles, it feels as though the sun is on it at all times, even when indoors. Again, sunscreen does nothing. Yes, on either side of the street is generally a kind of jungly forest, but with the sun almost always directly ahead, due south, it provides absolutely no shade. You walk straight into that oppressive heat, almost as if you can feel yourself getting closer to it, closer to that celestial body, and you think about it more, as if in a delirium. The sun - the source of life on the planet, hanging there in space, that giant rolling chemical reaction that does nothing but burn and burn and burn...ejecting an arc of fiery flares from time to time, protected by that angelic corona...like seraphim...how is it able to hurt me this much, so many millions of miles away? Such thoughts you will ponder as you walk, head swimming, down this highway, taking the odd misstep left or right, and another corrective step in the opposite direction, stumbling in this heat as if drunk.

I picked up a new state, crossing the border from Goa into Karnataka. The only thing I know about Karnataka is that it has many universities, including the one my friend Vivek attended in Mangalore, in south Karnataka. It felt a little like crossing into a new state on the Appalachian Trail. I was going somewhere! But still, that blistering, sweltering heat...

At 1:30pm, I couldn't take it anymore. I had tried to protect my hands and arms with my towel, which I retrieved from my bag, but it didn't fully work. I couldn't take the heat anymore. My feet were beginning to burn. I hurt all over. I had to stop in a dhaba, get shade, eat, drink, relax. I did this for 4 hours, until the sun was low enough to keep walking...into Karwar, the city I had been seeing signs for since I left Palolem. I had been ticking down the kilometers on the signs until I reached this mysterious city. It's nothing terribly exciting, really. Just an average Indian town I guess. It has a bus station, a few hotels. I'm sure I could employ the temple accommodation route again, but I'm not yet ready for that again after last night. I got a 150 rupee room which seems quite clean and nice. Surprisingly, this is the best Internet place I've ever been to in India, both in terms of the computer and the connection. Maybe it's not so surprising, seeing that Karnataka (the state I'm in now) contains Bangalore, the capital of India's burgeoning IT industry.

Tomorrow I am going to try and deal with this heat problem before I set off. I may stay here another day to let me skin heal. I may try to carry an umbrella so I can carry constant shade with me. I will try to get a long-sleeved shirt. I may consider only walking in the early morning and dusk. I do want to try and keep going. I know this trip might sound terribly dangerous to some of you, but honestly, it's not. India is simply safe. At least, I've never seen any evidence to the contrary. That might sound funny coming on the heels of the Mumbai attack, but things like that are simply too rare (and almost always occur in Mumbai and Delhi anyway) to be concerned about. And I'm not worried about running out of food or water or anything - there's always something along the road not too far away. It's like walking down a country road. Except I'm doing it for a long distance. The speeding buses are a little worrying, but I haven't had any close calls yet.

"Tirat yatra" means pilgrimage in Hindi. Stay tuned - I'll fill you in with more later.

Crossing the Karnatakan border - the sign behind me reads "Welcome to Karnataka"

Goan Crazy!

Joseph, the owner of our hotel here, approached us during breakfast and asked us if we could play a show on Sunday for 3 hours...we're still not totally sure that we can, but I committed to it instantly. I didn't even expect money to be involved, but he went on to say "I can pay you the same as the others...say, 3500 rupees?"

Alright - not a huge amount of money overseas, but pretty damn substantial here. And of course we would have done it for free...playing music at night, watching the ocean, gathering crowds...it's good fun. I'm going to try and not let the time pass by without practicing so I'm ready for Sunday. Should be good, and then maybe I could even have a repeat performance. For that amount I could live here for free if I played every week.

We're pretty settled into our little bungalo, kind of a thatched hut with a bed inside, covered by a mosquito net. A girl here gave us a CD player and speakers, plus we have a drum and guitar inside, and we are actually on the beach, so we get up, eat breakfast, swim, play music...very unproductive but pretty conducive of contentment.

Also - still loving the Hindi movie "Ghajini" and trying to learn some soundtrack songs...

http://in.youtube.com/watch?v=B2KN9HefMZc
http://in.youtube.com/watch?v=hoKDChlT9XQ
http://in.youtube.com/watch?v=7rpcEYB2g_I

Permission to Shine

Mitja and I are having a great time in Goa...here on Palolem beach, doing all of the following things:

1. Swimming in the ocean - there aren't that many big waves here (usually), but you can get in and body surf, the water is extremely warm...

2. Playing music - we didn't expect it, but there's a huge open mic scene here, and we've been performing almost every night. We try to play Hindi songs, it's great...the locals always request our version of "Zara Sa" - check it out here: http://in.youtube.com/watch?v=ruJsJWsSqK0

3. Watching Hindi movies - we take a short bus trip to the bigger city of Margao and watch things like "Ghajini" and "Chandni Chowk to China." Chandni Chowk to China is utter crap, but Ghajini is honestly one of my favorite movies of all time. I recommend you check it out...usually Hindi movies are pirated onto YouTube pretty quickly, you can probably find it there. We're trying to learn a couple songs from the movie to perform at night...

4. Staying up till 6am or later - Goa is renowned for music like "Goa trance" - a kind of dark, full-on psychedelic electronic music. Last night we went to a party called "Silent Noise." After 10am, when loud music needs to be turned off, these people distributed hundreds of headphones to people dancing right on the beach...there were 3 different DJs, and hence three different channels you could tune yourself to. We just stayed up all night dancing to the music piped into our ears individually. It was strange to just take the headphones off, look up, and see all these crazy people raving to seemingly nothing at all.

5. A little rock climbing - there are some big boulders sticking up out of the sand and water. I'm not really

The title of this entry is "permission to shine"...a line from a song that our awesome Irish friend Suzy wrote, taken from a Nelson Mandela speech:

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine as children do. It's not just in some of us; it is in everyone. And as we let our own lights shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."

Pictures: Mumbai and Goa

A few pictures from the last week:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/andrewsimpson83/3195394575/in/set-72157608189803284/

--

GOA IS AWESOME!

We're having a blast on just our second day here in laid-back south Goa. Plenty of swimming, relaxing, and partying. Wait for me to upload my pictures, or see for yourself right now:

http://flickr.com/search/?q=goa&w=all

Mumbai: First Impressions

This is my first day here, but I think I like Mumbai and hate the Colaba area. Not to sound too bitter, but these are my least favorite tourists in India.

Mitja and I just took a walk and saw the damage to the Taj Mahal Palace hotel, a few bulletholes still visible, as well as what looked to be grenade damage.

Tomorrow we meet the cousin of a friend from Mussoorie who will take us around, maybe even give us a place to stay.

-Andrew

Riding Elephants in Chitwan, Partying in Pokhara, Back in India

I never know where to start when I wait this long to update this thing. The street festival turned out to be not nearly as lively as we had hoped. It went on for 5 days, but on the first 4, they closed everything down at 11:00pm. New Year's was funny because they closed it down at 12:30, but there was no countdown or anything, noone had the central time, so everyone was celebrating their own New Year's, and different sporadic countdowns could be heard for a good 10 minute timespan. Actually, we were a little bored in Pokhara after a couple days. It's a beautiful place, with a big lake, laid-back personality, and a good view of the Himalayas (on clear days, which we didn't have), but there's really nothing to do, and the street festival gave the place an unalluring carnival-like atmosphere.

One day I rented a motorbike and rode to the top of a small mountain called Sarangkot. Actually, it was funny. It was a nice ride up there, but then the road just cut out, and I was basically dirtbiking, often past tourists lugging huge backpacks up the hill (for some reason...it's not far even to walk). The view from the top is supposed to be spectacular, with a view of Pokhara, the lake, and the mountains, but it was really hazy when I went and I didn't see a single mountain. I don't even have any pictures of it.

After New Year's we were anxious to get out of Pokhara and do something fun - so we headed to the Nepali National Park of Chitwan. This promised a good time as you could ride elephants, see rhinos and tigers, and hang out in the laid-back rural setting. Our lodging was great, a place that recalls the word "bungalow," situated in the jungly environment outside the park. We hung out in hammocks, drank lots of tea and beer, and in contrast to Pokhara were quite content to just be there and do nothing.

The first thing we did in the park was a jungle walk. One of us, Martin, had done this before on an earlier trip and almost got killed (along with his girlfriend) by a rhino that charged them. They survived by climbing a tree, which the rhino subsequently rammed repeatedly. Coming back early, they had to cross a river infested by crocodiles. They swore never to do it again. But Martin is crazy, and after some time passed he was ready to give it another go with us. I'm sorry to say our trip wasn't as eventful. We started off in the morning, filed into a boat that looked like they simply carved the trunk of a tree into a canoe, and set off down the sedate river, the fog from the morning obscuring everything around us, giving it an eerily cinematic feel. The scenery was nice, the walk lasted about 4 or 5 hours, but the most exciting thing that happened was when the tall grass towering above us started to quiver, our guide became stiff and alert and held up his hand, signaling us to stop, and out ran...some wild boars. Not terribly exiciting, except for the moment before they emerged when we thought we were going to be attacked by a tiger (of which the park has over 100) or a rhino.

Next we rode an elephant into the park. This was actually really fun, and this time we saw quite a few rhinoceri. The rhinos cannot see above 6 feet from the ground, so all they see is the elephant, and neither animals is afraid of the other. Our driver seemed to be really crazy, and kept making our elephant (named Ranimaya) run off the trail so we could cut off some other party of tourists in an elephant ahead of us. It was a fun time...check out my pictures to get a better idea.

One of the last things we did in Chitwan was go to the Elephant Breeding Center. This was fun, we got to touch and feed lots of grown and baby elephants (one of the elephants just had twins, a first for Nepal), but it was a bit sad...some of the elephants seemed to be chained cruelly so they couldn't take a single step, and often fires were burning right near them. Michaeles really aggraved this one baby elephant somehow, which subsequently headbutted an innocent Indian tourist into the fence.

The next day Mitja and I parted ways with our Everest Base Camp friends Martin and Michaeles, who we'd been with for a few weeks. We all promised to stay in touch, and there's a possibility I'll be working for Martin as a construction worker in England for a while to make some money. Martin and Michaeles were headed back home to the UK, while Mitja and I were again going into India, this time heading for the beach state of Goa.

Going from India to Nepal seemed like a slow transition...the realization of how much quieter, less populated, less hectic, less hassling the whole place is. Going from Nepal back to India was a rude awakening...suddenly all the noise, congestion and filth was back in full force and we were plunged into it. Being off our guard from being in the more honest and trustworthy Nepal, we embarassingly gave a phony bus fare collector some money, which he subsequetly ran off with.

We got stuck in the incredibly dirty and ugly railway junction of Gorakhpur, for a day, when all the trains were canceled. We got out the next day, but so many people were trying to get on due to canceled trains, Mitja and I had to share a berth, which isn't really even big enough for me when I'm alone. We were able to sleep a bit, packed in head to toe and forced to sleep on our sides so we could both fit, but it was a very uncomfortable 21 hour train ride before we arrived, thankfully, in Delhi. I've never been on a train so crowded...people sleeping on the floors, on top of one another...I'm very thankful that I'm not claustriphobic...just sitting up and getting off the berth was a huge process, and both Mitja and I hit our heads many times on the fan and light fixtures on the ceiling.

So now we're back in Delhi. I'm gone go ahead and say it - I 've really enjoyed Delhi all the times I've been here. But here's the problem - most tourists go to Pahar Ganj, are apalled, and get out as quickly as possible. Pahar Ganj is Delhi to most people. Pahar Ganj is a small, dirty, cramped, busy district of the city that was basically created by the influence of Lonely Planet India...just one of a few gripes I have with that ubiquitious tome. Here you see more westerners than probably any other area of Delhi. Indians are actually quite confused as to why backpackers throng to this place. I've had so many experiences here...I was making a list in my head and realized I've been to quite a few places:

1. Bengali Market - nice, laid-back place frequented almost exclusively by Indians...Mitja was amazed when I brought him here. Nothing extraordinary about it, which is why I like it. It's just...normal. Normal middle-class (or upper class, I don't know) Indians going about their day, eating food and shopping. Noone hassles you here.
   
2. GK-I and GK-II - upscale shopping places...also an impressive residential neighborhood if you walk between the two places
   
3. South Extension - "southex"...upscale shopping place
   
4. Lajpat Nagar - upscale shopping place, bigger and more bustling, but not quite as nice, as the above two
   
5. Andrew's Ganj - not named after me, sadly...but where my friend Rachna's parents live and where I stayed for a week or so...there's also a mall here, which is surreal because it's so strangely similar to western malls...but you know you're in India.
   
6. Pahar Ganj - of course
7. Connaught Place - of course
   
8. Old Delhi - Lal Qilal, Jami Masjid...not really impressed by this, though I can't say to have explored it thoroughly
9. Dilli Haat - a bit touristy, but few tourists seem to make it there - a sort of cultural exhibition where every state has a section of the market, and you can buy food, clothes, and other things that are characteristic of any particular region (say, the southern state of Tamil Nadu or the desert state of Rajasthan).
10. Mejnu Ka Tilla - a Tibetan colony in northern Delhi...I'm sure there's quite a bit to see here, but your first impression is that there's not. I visited a really immaculate monastary/temple.
    
11. A farm house on the edge of Delhi, where I went to one wedding with Rachna's family
    
12. Noida - not actually Delhi, but just outside it, where I stayed at the very impressive house of a friend-of-a-friend from Mussoorie and went to a wedding at the golf course.
13. Lodhi Gardens - went with Rachna's family...a really quiet place to walk.
14. Delhi Metro - you can't leave Delhi without trying out the subway, one of the most modern and impressive things to see here...I also, strangly enough, visited the central office building for the Delhi metro project, where Rachna's father works, which is also a pretty impressive place.
15. The Parliamentary District - I think most travelers actually do make it over here...quiet, impressive architechture, lots of grass, a view of the India Gate monument, and free of noise and commercialism.
16. Indian Oil market - I think some of the best deals on touristy things can be had here...an open market frequented by both tourists and Indians

...and I'm sure I've only scratched the surface of what is in this city...basically it seems just as diverse as India itself.

Well, that's it. Mitja and I splurged today and bought ourselves some fancy 1500 rupee ($30) train tickets to Mumbai, treating ourselves after our nightmarish ride to Delhi. Usually as shoestring travelers we pay 100-300 roops for a ticket, but we're gonna try to class it up this time.

Peace Out...Namaste.

-Andrew