Beef with the local Cobra Man

Cobra charmer
Originally uploaded by Christiane B

So I am being run out of town by an angry man with his cobra in a basket. Looks nice and peaceful but he is not a happy photo model. At least not unless you want to pay him a hundred million rupees (approx. number).

Missing the Beach

Boats II
Originally uploaded by Christiane B

So it turns out we are not really travelers, instead we are beach bums. The city's mango lassis are less fruity, the streets are about as sandy as the beaches but the dogs are less friendly and more mangy and well, we are scrapping Delhi for now and are heading out to a zen garden/Yoga retreat high up in the mountains.

Must branch out afterall and can't sit in Goa for the next three months. Goa did make me a published photographer though: shameless self-promotion here we go.

Delhi

Reporting from Delhi. It was 37c when we landed at 6pm but since Delhi pretty much rises out of the desert, there humidity is low and thus I am feeling quite good.

Delhi seems even more chaotic than Bombay: the baggage thing broke and some dudes were lining up wildly throwing bags all over the airport. We got ours. Then traffic no longer really gets to me: I am used to sharing the road with rickshaws fueled by bikes carrying their entire family, rickshaws motorized who carry an entire wood working shop, suitcases, and the entire family, bikes a la pride and joy who navigate traffic and carry at least a wife holding a baby. And then there are the cows. I think in India being a cow is the way to go. Traffic swerves around you, people feed you, nobody bothers you and you can trample through anyone's garden/yard/stall without repercussions.

The fist introduction to the city was a cab driver who tried to convince get out somewhere random with all our bags with the intention of pawning us off to his buddy in a rickshaw to cash in on a double fare which we of course refused. We then proceeded to crawl through dirty lively bustling alleys that may have been exploding of traffic even in donkey days.

The last few days in Goa where the opposite of Delhi: we stayed on lonely off-season beaches. Every night we had to navigate our paths back to our huts with wild packs of dogs running along side. Last night we sat in a beach hut bar having dinner and Indian rum with the waves crashing in huge and in the moonlight all you could see was the white foam and they were playing old Prince songs that mixed with the roaring of the monsoon winds. Over the past days we have also picked up a circus crew. Three girls from Europe and the US who are working in a Indian circus. They are very awesome and we are sad to have them return to their elephant and fire throwing acts.

Pictures still in camera.

Banana Hammock

Banana Hammock, originally uploaded by Christiane B.

The antithesis of the wet sari contest. I can see how the women prefer to maintain their dignity

Goa Life

Beach Scene, originally uploaded by Christiane B.

Women in the water in saris, motor scootering around the island, dodging insane traffic on windy roads Bourne Supremacy style, sitting in beach cafes drinking lassis, being harassed to buy trinkets, dog gangs roaming the beach. That's life in Goa.

Boat party India

Boat party, originally uploaded by Christiane B.

On to Goa

I think India will soon run the world. Every Indian we have met has bubbled over with curiosity and obviously amazing English skills. People are sharp and no bullshit on how they view the world and have big dreams and good educations. Also they are super duper amazingly nice. I think an Indian world domination would be the way to go.

We got to Goa during off season. Whole beach towns are empty save for the two hostels right by the sea and one of two bars each. Lovely. I can't imagine the little windy roads completely packed and every hostel booked and bursting with travelers in those wide hemp pants that make one's ass look like a donkey's. As much as the Indians we have met have been fantastic company and gringos have not so much. In every group larger than three there is at least one blond dread carrying a guitar wearing donkey ass pants and sporting a holier than thou disinterested, on the road of five years sort of expression. The coolest accessory is a love child with blond locks equally outfitted but drinking milk from a Nalgene bottle. The gringos we have seen both sport and attitude of too cool for school and can't possibly smile when passing other gringo or anyone for that matter on the street but somehow are unaware that they themselves are traveling in a pack of five which sort of kills the authenticity of the experience they must be craving ("yeah man, was in the back country where no other white man has ever set foot, strumming my guitar and the locals totally thought I was the long lost sadhu God of X. It was cause of my locks man").

On second thought: we will have to come back to Goa one day when the German, Italian and Israeli ravers are in full force. It seems wrong to miss that.

Blue Sky Mumbai

Dharavi II, originally uploaded by Christiane B.

Late last night we stumbled home from our favorite watering hole Leopold's (just buy a copy of Shantaram and start reading it already, ok?), surrounded by rats the size of those trendy rat dogs Paris Hilton carries in her purse, but furrier. In every alley men are stretched out sleeping on the floor, one holding on tightly to his peg leg. We met the most amazing couple who were a good dozen pints into the night: she is an ancient and I mean ancient lady in a tight pink plastic tank top with the added nice touch of diamond clad straps, carrying a diamond studded purse and bling. She is in her 60s and from England - a self-described country girl- and her Indian beau is a bit rough around the edges and his eyes constantly try to pull the cleavage of her tank top up to cover the chest area that has seen many a hot summer on a sunny English beach. Goan beach goers they are and they are delighted that we will be going that way as well. Parties have been planned and I am equally thrilled and horrified.

I think I may have found my travel chill by now and we are basking in groups of kids and non-kids who are our temporary friends. A group of cousins from Pune tracked us down last night on Chapatti beach exuding the same confidence and curiosity that most everyone we have met seems to naturally own. "Please come sit and meet my family" leads to a 2 hr chat about the advantages of arranged versus love marriages. There seems to be a trust in the parents ability to get the dirty work done: make sure the guy is from a good family of the same caste, makes good money and seems healthy and able. Then the girls themselves are asked for their yay or nay. It's more romantic that way they say. Also they don't have a choice, I cynically add. The bratty 15 year old cousin is determined to do the love marriage gig, which his girl cousins tell him is out of the question. The oldest has just left her home and moved in with her husband's family. Her husband is not out with the group but calls her every thirty minutes. "He loves her so" the other girls comment. They are the most beautiful and outgoing bunch.

The boys have pictures of scantly dressed Bollywood stars on their cell phones and are trying to convince me to go swimming in the polluted bay without blinking and eye, I punish them and make them inwardly throw up when I tell them about my swine eating tendencies. Our LP India is filled with email addresses and phone numbers because we are so out of touch not to carry our cell phones with us. Our London addresses are firmly entered into their cell phones.

The girls wave goodbye not without asking whether I can cook, if I wear mini skirts and please please please to write them and to come visit. I do want to but where the hell is Pune?

Tomorrow we are off to Goa on a 12 hour train journey that I hope will be filled with much chai and road side sweets. So far the monsoon rains are holding off and the heat is letting up a bit. It feels like the whole city is waiting for the downpour that will allow them to relax and breath.

Da Ghetto

Untitled
Originally uploaded by Christiane B

It appears that my Bollywood career will be cut short. The good news is that it's not due to my stye problem which has resolved itself. I am suffering from "blue of the arm" brought on by excessive blue glittery bangles that don't seem pre-monsoon season safe (did I mention that I have lived at least a quarter of my life in sunny climates, but this is fucking hooootttttt?), but mainly we are unsure whether it's worth getting up at 6am to be bossed around by a Bollywood diva when we are not even important or anything. Then again, we'd make the equivalent of 5 bucks and generally it does sound awesome but so does taking a boat out to see some triple headed Shiva on ancient cave walls.

Today we went to the ghetto. I want to say it was impressive but in some weird way it was not, simply because it did not seem real. There are some million plus people living in what is the largest slum of Asia (Dharavi), crowding them in tight into 1.7 sq km. When I imagine a slum I imagine squalor and open sewers and kids running around naked and women squatting in dirt and mosquitoes and flies and mostly lots of shit. And that is about right. But that is not the whole story. Dharavi is also a huge business buzzing of entrepreneurship that would get you and I a scholarship to business school in two seconds flat. For one, all our wonderful recycling is done in Dharavi. Probably not all, but a good chunk. The people of Dharavi buy the shit and I am using the term loosely now when I was not before, i.e. plastic, cardboard, metal scraps from the US and Europe and without goggles and running around barefoot, they recycle those products to be exported again. I stood in front of the machine spinning around, chopping up metal strips covering me eyes - hello! safety! while everyone else seemed chill and somewhat in charge, meanwhile the flies buzzed and dudes next door pushed with bare hands nasty chunk of used plastic cups, plates and general garbage into a madly buzzing compactor that spit out see-through plastic pebbles that looked like marbles. So pretty.

I did almost fall into the sewage canal that is so clogged up that it looks like solid ground. The whole experience was like watching a documentary: it just did not seem real. I felt safer than I do walking around London at night and nobody asked us for money, nobody tried to take our stuff (never mind that the proceeds from the camera in my backpack which I was not allowed to use could have fed the entire compound for weeks) so it seems very incomprehensible that these people cannot just hop on the train with us but instead are stuck there for life and their children's lives are not likely much more promising. By the way a whole different amazing experience is this whole riding trains thing and yes, people really do overcrowd and overrun the trains and hang on by every nook they can and also make running starts and exits, which is a good exercise in acrobatics.

Back to the slums. When some disillusioned Brit (cash rich from an accounting career) came to Mumbai on a backpacking trip he figured that lets raise some awareness that these people are single handedly recycling all our western crap and in the worst conditions and no goggles and kids literally play in poop cause there is one loo for every 1500 people. So he met a guy from Mumbai and together they set up a business that takes tourists to the slums to raise awareness of what is going on there (the government is threatening to tear the whole things down) and the proceeds to go teaching the kids English and computer classes. Still sounds exploitative, does it not? I did have a hard time coming to grips with that but I met the guys, went on the tour and I feel reasonably good about it.

The afternoon was rounded off by a picture opp at the largest outdoor laundry facility which may I add is color coordinatd in it's drying locals thus presenting the viewer with an amazing range of pastels rolling down what looks a garbage mountain decorated with laundry lines. Following that some high noon beers were had with a gringo (Indian Californian = half gringo) and our poor tour guide who was overcome by his desire to nibble on beer and equally worried about how bad his family would think of him. I am hoping the theory that alcohol reduces the chance food poisoning will hold true. Thus theoretically it's medicine.

Sunset Chowpatty

Sunset Chowpatty
Originally uploaded by Christiane B

Air India treated us well. The same families we saw check in with four bags a person, rolling nine wide, were delighted to find out that in an empty plane they could spread out and unaccustomed to the space, were sharing their delight and suspense (of the Bollywood movie showing on the monitors) by yelling and shouting delightfully across the isles. That is except the old guy in front of us. He just discovered headphones. He may or may not have been aware that his high notes (singing the lead female parts?) were, unlike the music on his headphones, very well inaudible to all around. We were the only non-Indians on the plane and as such treated with excessive booze and numerous bags of spicy crackers that made my throat scream and my eyes water. On that note: As a bonus I may already have picked up my first disease from the pillows: stye

Since our arrival we have been asked to pose for numerous pictures, been recruited for bollywood movies (as extras), walked to Chowpatty beach, where the locals watch the sunset and to my great joy found the bar featured in my favorite book ever, Shantaram, called Leopold’s. I will spare you the details of what great things happen at Leopold’s in the book, but will only say that the veggie kurma is a hell of a lot spicier than on Brick Lane.

Off to Elephant Island and then some Sari Shopping. I am suffering from sari envy. In this million degree weather I am not exactly dying to put myself into an outfit with long sleeves, but it is probably is the way to go and oh so pretty and glittery.

How We Will Be Missed

Help me craft the add for craigslist that will yield a replacement model of us for our two friends after our departure (TOMORROW!!! Departing TOMORROW):

"Female platonic life partners, Canado-US origins with strong UK presence, literary and scientific, seeking heterosexual couple, extremely good looking, late 20s, for friendship, Sunday pub lunches, inspirational relationship advice, monkey talk, wine talk, men talk and company for major Jew-Tianity holidays. E. London location preferred or must travel. Equal opportunity employer"

Quakes, storms and bombs

How about the quakes, storms and bombs on the eastern front stop right now? I am getting annoyed.

The things of ours are in the able hands of two English lads with a pickup truck. Newly acquired husband is gently keeping the parentals in check, the parentals are sure we're heading into a continent that is more or less a disaster zone and are on the verge of "forbidding" us to go, the newly acquired husband has pretty much lost every item that would allow him to acquire some cash on this upcoming journey, the male part of the parental unit is sitting on the couch, reading coffee table books and telling me to take out half the items in my travel backpack while the matriarch is telling me to up the warm sweaters and better yet not go at all. I fled to work and that is probably the best place to be at the moment.

I do hope to return home and find that our passports were packed with the socks.

JHE Blue Session

Untitled, originally uploaded by Christiane B.

Blue Session

Mermaid, originally uploaded by Christiane B.

Big Books Wanted

56/365
Originally uploaded by Christiane B

Before commencing the journey I am in dire need of a book fitting the following qualifications:

1000 pages plus

paperback

fun enough to keep me from jumping out of the window of some shitty bus after hour 19 of journey which may only have transported us 20 miles away from starting point but which did include two blown tires and maybe an average of nine screaming babies plus some chickens on my lap.

Ideas please.

Grand European Life

I have been living a grand European life the past weeks and month. Work trips, weekend trips, family trips, friends visiting and walks through sunny, springy, sparkly streets. There is something unique about Europe in the spring. The misery of the past months gives way to a mindset where everything is wonderful: pints on the sidewalk outside the pub, a morning walk to work, wearing a summer skirt, being cold in your summer skirt at night but not too cold to need a jacket, yummy mummy's sitting in cafes all day long, construction workers getting back to cat calling after a long hard winter of not having anything to look at but girls in big North Face jackets. It's a great time and it feels so much more special than a sunny day in a place where sunny days are a dime a dozen.

To some extend I feel like I have been living the very life which in theory is exactly the life I envision. In other words if it was your life or the life of some darling girl in an airport news stand novel, I'd be just a little bit envious. I am living in a big diverse city, jet setting everywhere all the time, being at home in pretty much all those places I visit because I visit them so much, carrying four currencies in my wallet (yeah, somehow the euro has not gone all the way yet), being able to hop on a flight last minute to see family in random seaside towns in Eastern Europe just because, having friends pop in from all over the world at a day's notice, living in the greatest little neighborhood, knowing all kinds of interesting people who make me do interesting things, having the money to harvest those cute flowery dresses on Portobello Road, trying the food in all the ridiculously overpriced yet enticing looking restaurants, being young enough not to need much money to have fun, biking to work and did I mention all the fun weekend trips? Yes, so life is pretty damn good. I could totally see newly acquired husband and I live like this from now until the cows come home. However, despite the fact that it IS all very great and fun, it seems just a little bit boring. Maybe because it is so easy or maybe because there is a routine to it?

I am a bit upset that less friends will pop in en route to somewhere when we are in Singapore, and that we are pretty much half way across the globe from our families and that Singapore is not known for it's Italian food, but somehow the thought of staying in Europe and continuing this grand European life seems dull. Maybe once I have conquered Singapore in a similar way, 'Asia' will seem a bit boring and easy and obviously there will be a routine. Maybe I will want that ease and routine then or else we'll have to move on. I just hope we don't ever run out of continents.

Final Count Down

It's on.

Two weeks till we land in Mumbai. Two more more Mondays in the office but only one more Tuesday. This is the perfect distance from now till D-day as to maximize the Vorfreude.

The sweet feeling of emails flying around that should say: "could you please do this awful and boring thing for us and rather fast, but be aware this will be your life from now until this pointless and mind numbing project ends" but instead they say "since you will be gone, do you mind finding a victim whom to bore to tears with these mind numbing tasks that you will be unable to do".

That's the opposite of the "yay, it's my birthday in three weeks and we are doing the most amazing things ever and it will be sunny and will you please come along" email to which I need to respond "sorry and damn the man for your birthday being when it is and not a week earlier". Given that I am researching beaches in Goa I am not too bummed but there are some major events this summer with the high point being a wedding in Italy that I am thoroughly upset to miss, but there you go again with that cake and eating it too.

1. May

In the homeland and I dare say across the old continent and some of them new continents, the 1st of May is a holiday designed to celebrate worker's rights. In the homeland the 1st of May is also father's day. Combined that somehow is a go-ahead to smash windows, beat up other dudes and rally through the city with open containers of booze as far as the eye can see.

Surely that was what those lawmakers and union leaders had in mind when they fought for workers to have Saturdays off and made the 1st of May a holiday to celebrate that.

Using amazing restraint and foresight regarding the upcoming drunkenness, in the homeland a super amazing contraption is traditionally used by the inebriated fathers and non-fathers to transport enough booze to last them all day as they explore the city: it's the so-called Bollerwagen. I am not joking. Early on the 1st of May my male German friends load up the Becks or Astra (=the ghetto version), iron the Lederhosen and off they go. And come to think of it, surely any good father will bring his young son or daughter along for a solid day of boozing because after all, someone will have to pull the Bollerwagen.

Here is to work and fatherhood.

Cheers