A Fine Balance or Me and Ma Camel

cool camel Cappadocia, originally uploaded by Christiane B.

Have been discussing the point where filth and pain cease being quaint and become nothing more than filth and pain. I realized I am in the in-between stage where I am perfectly aware of the fact that yes, it's ridiculous to be sitting in a stuffy box in a bus made out of bug infested cloth that has not been disinfected since 1982, the year the bus was made. Yes, it is hilarious especially when we and our now slightly decimated bags are juggled around like dominoes at every bump in the road (and lucky us got the baaaaaack compartment) while our only protection from the outside world is a shabby glass wall, but I do love it just a little bit, enough to do it again. And it does feel just a little bit quaint and awesome to be cruising through the night in a chaos of women in gorgeous saris, bags, stern looking men, music blasting, people jumping on and off, the smell of spicy rotis and samosas while watching the night roll by with the windows open and the bugs swarming. Yeah, it's pretty great.

In that spirit, we have decided to give a whole different style of dirt and pain a go. Camel safari here we come: cooking over a bonfire, starry starry nights, sleeping in more filthy, buggy blankets in the sand and lots of ass pain, yay, I can't wait. Especially the part where newly acquired husband will be smashing his balls on the camel saddle. He has no idea what he is in for.

Beasts Unrestrained

, originally uploaded by Christiane B.

Anything is possible in India and you only have to learn to play the game and know when to grin and say "bite me". You arrive in a town, any town and amazingly you will end up with the "most best and most honest and most fast and most good English speaking" rickshaw driver every time. He might be so much good that he even has a little travel journal where he has asked other travelers to underwrite his general goodness in every language, thus you feel refreshed and happy you found the one man on the block you can trust. If you don't pay attention he will drive you straight to his friends gem shop without batting an eyelash and later explain how he is not ripping you off, he is only showing you options, you decide what to buy, what to eat and what to do. He will be outraged that you hold him responsible in any way and he will say "if anything one my part not good, I appologize (and now give me my tip mothefuckers)", his voice will become lamenting like a widows and he will add something about him not being your babysitter, him just showing you good place, good price, saving you much money. Ha.

However, you can also make him into your personal bitch for everything. Certainly use him as a tour guide, make him find you an internet cafe, make him wait, then make him drive you to a palace for some touristing, then make him find you a place to buy mangos, a place for flip flops, make him wait while you have lunch and make him store your bags at his friends hotel for some easy frolicking around the city before re-boarding a train to somewhere. The reason for our trust on the latter is that we have too much shit so in a "let-kharma decide" moment we figured, if it all gets stolen minus passport and my porsche camera, at least we don't have to carry it anymore. I don't want to loose all my bangles and dirty tank tops but it would be a bit of a relief! And it turned out nobody wanted my bangles or my dirty tank tops so we are stil loaded high. In the end you pay him five dollars and that was probably double what his servics were worth, but who cares.

Our current location by the way is desert town Udaipur, Rajasthan. The town is prominantly featued in the slightly outdated James Bond film: Octopussy, which, for good measure, we re-watched last night. James Bond was so much better when sexism was less taboo. Unfortunately our abode is less glamorous and our autorickshaw drivers are less skilled than James'.

Now onto the beasts. All beasts in India are living unrestrained lives. Goats and cows obviously roam freely. Cows due to their holy status even sleep in the middle of the highway and won't budge and traffic swerves around them. Cows trampel through shops because they can whereas dogs get kicked if they only approach a puddle of dirty water in the proximity of a shop. Donkeys are hereded along the road without reins, without any way to realistically lead them to where they are destind to be going, yet they do seem to end up where they are supposed to go. Yesterday I even saw the biggest elephant I have ever seen gently waddle down the small road wearing no head piece, making all traffic come to a halt while perched atop her was a little man with tiny bamboos stick and nothing else to make her stop or go.

There must be something about the laws of chaos that allow the beasts in India to be themselves. And so newly acquired husband and I shall be on the loose.

Everything is Better in Agra

Things have turned a lot peachier since we managed to escape Varanasi. Not that that was easy. On a previous escapade around town our unfortunate auto rickshaw driver lost his front tire and we cycle rickshawed our way back home, not without paying him a bundle because he looked quite gaunt and scrawny and promising him he could take us to the train station the next day. Needless to say the latter was not a gesture from my personal bleeding heart, but we travel in a democracy and newly acquired husband does have the added gravitas of two crutches (that are too short for him).

On the fateful night of our departure out guy did show up on time but without a working rickshaw. Apparently him or better yet, his boss/pimp saw it fit to have us hang out in the mayhem of evening traffic (when everyone hauls everything they own back home on every imaginable vehicle in the midst of ear-splitting honking) shining our flashlights into his toy bike motor. Protests and shouting matches ensued when we made our exit. But oh, just in time, his brother did manage to show up in a working auto rickshaw. Not until we are 20 minutes down the road do we notice the unfortunate fact that this particular vehicle has no lights. Our 2 hour drive resembled an advertising run on how to become road kill as we were dodging trucks, cows, bikes, pedestrians and more rickshaws, some of which also had no lights, slowly but yet too fast bumping our way along the pitch black country road.

The train station was dire. People even tried to steal newly acquired husband’s crutches and I managed to get in a fight over luggage space complete with throwing a bunch of teenagers their one hundred bags straight out of my seat and into their laps. It appears Varanasi unleashed a beast in me and I forgot all the chill I may have acquired over the month and change and the fact that actually all that goes wrong really just makes for a better story and adds hilarity to mundane things. Hanging over us was also the knowledge that unless the leg situation of the husband improves we may be send home early, only where home is, that is not entirely clear. Hauling bags on crutches and a peg leg is no future!

But now we are in Agra, sipping mango lassis on a rooftop overlooking the Taj Mahal, Germany made it to the European Cup final and even the parasites seem to have died off and life is a happy beach again. I pretty much forgot for a few days that I am on vacation and that I am happy. And most imprtantly that I am NOT doing spreadsheets right now. Now, we figure worst leg case scenario we can still sit on Thai beaches, pouring Pina Coladas over the effected area, throwing mango chunks to the monkey and frying our brains, so the future is bright.

The major insight of the past few days is that whereas living and traveling in South America some years back really turned me on to economic development and sustainability and all that wonderful stuff that I made into my career, this makes me want to be a fashion photographer. It pains me to see the pretty saris be laid out to dry in the dirt and cow dung, I want to take pictures of the pretty bejeweled girls and boys who wear the glitter and the colors and have the pretty faces (maybe in front of their scenic, ragged home town well and always with lots of happy cows) and I just wish all the non-bejeweled ragged ones would already be happy and taken care of. Call me impatient but I feel like working in economic development for what, three years, should have done the trick and there should be no more sad poor people out there.

Off to the Desert

Street Corner, originally uploaded by Christiane B.

After three days of cow patty jumping, watching the river rise to spill all it's gooey goodness upon the holy sidewalks and picking up the odd stomach parasite at every meal, we have decided to move on, albeit at a different formation. Newly acquired husband will lead, loaded high with souvenir stuffed bags, on crutches, his leg in an oversized wrap, (which on the packaging was modeled by a very happy Indian girl in a light blue negligee so there is hope) and me following, crouching over every few minutes giving my parasites a moment to reshuffle asking newly acquired husband about the behaviour and status of his parasites.

We are picking up the pace now, giving ourselves a full 24 hrs in Agra to oogle the Taj Mahal at which point we are guaranteed to be saturated with more souvenirs, having learned more scams, made more random friends. The street kids stick to us quite literally speaking like flies to shit in the alleys that we have been roaming. Without a doubt the most entrepreneurial generation in an already amasingly entrepreneurial nation.

This weekend should have us in Rajasthan, more specifically in 50C weather by a lake in the desert. Hopefully we will make it without having to invest in a peg leg or declaring outselves post-eating in the most post modern way possible.

AHOY

Varanasi

We are in Varanasi. It takes dirty to a whole new level. Bombay is overwhelming and sweaty, the Everest trek was not exactly littered with comforts but here there are bodies burning by the river, bodies being carried through town, bodies being washed in the Ganges while cows and goats hang out, eating a concoction that is half human and animal shit and the other half just regular garbage like chicken bones, potato peels and plastic bags. In the midst of all the shit, people are praying and the Ganges, filthy with dead fish, more garbage has mourners dipping in between all that mess, tasting the river on their tongues, then going for a swim. Kids are diving in, laughing, oblivious to the mourners. That is if they are not busy catching giant dying fish with scarfs and tarps straight out of the water. I'd say this is the most 'Indian' and insane place we have yet seen. People are crouching down in all of is, stuffing food into their mouths from their dirty hands. Impromptu crickets matches make you run for cover. I am amazed what filth humanity can survive in.

I literally feel sick just looking at it.

Also we just managed to get out of Kathmandu before major riots started over fuel prices. There had been lots of strikes and general tension but on the way we left it all came to a head. "No going to airport today" we were told. We did manage to get there though despite the fact that everything was shut down. The streets were full of people walking, with what seemed a purpose, at 8am, no taxis or public transport but lots of anger mounting. One cab dude said, ok, fine, I take you, but we got to go right now. Apparently they get pulled out of the cabs and get their asses kicked if they break the strike. So we sat around the airport for 8 hrs, then our plane miraculously showed up, a huge airbus. There were only 8 passengers who had made it to the airport. Well, here we are.

My Postcard to You

My Postcard to You, originally uploaded by Christiane B.

Everest is the peak in the background to the right that you can't really see.

More peaks than you will ever want to see here: www.flickr.com/drunkenponies

Victorious at Everest Basecamp

Victorious, originally uploaded by Christiane B.

EVEREST

EVEREST , originally uploaded by Christiane B.

Back from the Bottom of the Top of the World

I just took my first shower after 10 days. I put my clothes into a nuclear holocaust resistant bag and burned them/dropped them off at the laundry facility in Kathmandu. Then I looked at a map and realized we have hiked 70 miles roundtrip spanning an altitude of 2,200m to 5,400m. The latter is 17,600 feet for you people to think non-metric.

My dilapidated ankle held up amazingly and no altitude sickness to report except the odd headache. I guess coming from the absolute flat marshy parts of Germany really does prepare one for mountaineering. Newly acquired husband managed to acquire a nice war injury from the trek, but that is his story to tell. All I want to add is that he walked the last five days holding hands tightly with a lovely, older Nepali man who managed to carry about 40 kg load strapped to his head and felt adapt to rescue A on his long and arduous hobble down the mountain in which he realized he did not like cold weather, or trekking. Bless the Cuban.

I have come back to the world of electricity, running water and fresh produce this morning only to realize that if I ever have to eat fried eggs, fried rice, fried noodles or fried bread ever, ever, ever again I will vomit. I don't mind walking around the dark with a flashlight on my head (very coal miner-ish), don't mind washing my face in a cold bucket and only partly mind freezing my butt off at night when covered by five moldy blankets, I can even handle that A declares publicly he no more wishes to take my clothes off with a 10 foot pole then he wishes to be gagged, bound and drowned but I just can't eat any more fried eggs. Never. Again.

The basecamp trek was amazing though and we even saw Everest. You laugh, but it's not a given. We did not see more than its chunky mid section when we were standing right below it while balancing on an ice fall that moves it's sweet 3 inches a day and in the process throws huge ice chunks around in a playful manner that can kill the casual observer, but on the way up and down we saw the Mother Goddess in all her beauty. That was a run on sentence if I have ever written one. As we were walking we were sometimes above, in the middle and below the clouds and every morning we woke up to a clear sky only to start seeing little clouds sweep in like a parade of cotton balls through the valleys. I could get excited about how pretty that looks that every single day and I did. It's now summer/monsoon season, meaning it's warmer, wetter and less crowded, which is a good thing, minus the wetter maybe. With the exception of the last day we were very lucky. Yesterday we did walk in the pouring and I mean pouring rain for about nine hours. I was forced to leave Lukla, the town where our trek ended and we boarded a dinky plane back to Kathmandu, in short short red shorts, my soaking clothes over one arm, some prayer scarfs over the other. Due to the dinkyness of the plane I felt it was unwise to discard the scarfs and alas, we made it. On the short walk to the "airport" I made many and oogling man happy too, which seems like a nice way to give back to the community. Note: short shorts and not appropriate mountaineering gear or culturally acceptable in any way.

While walking for eight hours a day for thirteen days, crossing various ridiculous rivers, breathing almost non-existent air at 5,400meters and squatting over overflowing holes in the ground for entertainment I realized something that somehow most travel until now has failed to really hammer home: I am so lucky that I can visit this place and then leave. I am so lucky my husband neither smells like Yak cheese nor shit. I am so lucky I don't live in a damp hut with a smoky fire place high up in the mountains where every single thing, be it rice, rocks, wood, sinks, roofs, chairs, must be carried up on some one's back. Literally there are half constructed houses walking along small windy paths from 1,500m up to 5,400m. Thank the UNDP and as it turns out the German government for building some decent bridges, that while resembling those fun wobbly bridges on playgrounds, span canyons with waterfalls 200m below, buit at least they hold up. On our return trip from basecamp we were forced a different route however because one of the non UNDP bridges that we had crossed on the way there, had simply collapsed. A great feeling. Other crossings were made with eyes closed, boots in hand and frozen feet finding boulders to hop on while the glacier waters crashes on by. The time has come now to put those feet up and have that first sip of something that is not water or fried and catch up on what's been happening in the world.

The only news that reached me on this trek was that Germany made it to the quarter finals of the euro cup. I will now have to look up if Obama has a running mate, whether anyone has started WWIII and ponder whose birthday I am forgetting.

Pictures to follow.

The Underbelly

I have been walking around the dusty streets of Kathmandu looking at the mountains surrounding us and I am excited we are going to get out of the city. It’s a good place - temples, Nirvana cover bands, Italian trekking legends, monkeys and chanting monks.

 

However, I am at that point in the journey where I am feeling half immune and half cynical towards all real and faux friendly encounters.

 

The first part is the haggling. Today I managed to buy a necklace for 120 rupees that was originally offered to me for 900 rupees. It’s dumbfounding how low one can go and still I was probably still taken for a fool, but that is par for the course. Makes me feel like an idiot for all the other times where I started the haggling process at half the original offer price. I sincerely don’t mind paying a few rupees extra because it simply does not hurt me, but I don’t like the idea of being ripped off quite so severely.

 

What is harder to deal with than being a silly white girl in a bazaar are the people who at first sight don’t want to sell you anything but who still on this white girl like flies on shit. We have met so many great souls on temple steps, cafes, half way up windy mountain roads and last but not least we recruited a bunch of guys we met in an internet café to storm into the Air India office with us to help resolve some ticketing issues which turned out to be unresolveable. But the staunch “by the bible” and no room for thinking bureaucracy is a whole different, hilarious topic. So, generally I would say the people we have met on this trip have been my favorite part of our travels so far. For all the greatness though we have also been cheated, hassled, taken advantage off and then taken for the scenic route some more. It is tiring to go through conversations about where we are from, where they are from, how many cousins they have, how we met and our romance history in detail for hours on end sometimes only to find out in the end the person really just wanted some cash. Now I don’t blame anyone for trying to get a dollar out of us. Afterall we have a dollar and it shows, but it’s hard to differentiate between people who want to chat and people who want to cheat. In half the cases where someone talks to us, at some point they will pull me aside (maybe because I am a girl they think I am nicer? They are wrong) and say with a serious and pained face that they are really strapped for cash and can’t I shell some out. I do believe they are strapped for cash but I don’t believe my one dollar charity will solve their problems.

 

Then there are the fake sadhu’s and the million street kids. Today in an attempt to be nice to some kids who were hanging out with us and who were pretty smart, scrappy and generally great we took them to a store to buy them some cookies and water. The whole store was full of candy and crackers and little packets of chocolates. However, because we were treating the kids asked for this ginormous dusty Quality Street box of chocolates the size of a tractor wheel which must have been sitting on the top shelf of the store since 1964 and in all seriousness thought we’d buy it for them. They probably could not even have carried it. I bend over laughing and then bought them some stale lemon cookies as revenge.

 

Now I am sure they too were strapped for cash and I am also sure they would have shared with their brothers or cousins, but I could not help feeling irked at once again being taken for a cash dispenser at the slightest gesture of good will. Maybe because there are so many kids who look like they could use a truckload of cookies and there are so many open hands directed towards me, there is so much need and poverty and so many people who are smiling yet desperately need help, I feel tempted to just shut my eyes towards the whole thing, shut it and them out and keep walking.

 

I won’t because that means I’d miss the good parts and the great people too, but it’s getting to me.

 

 

 

 

Nepal

Prayer Flags
Originally uploaded by Christiane B

We are going to attempt Everest. The base camp at least.

Lets get out the prayer flags and hope for the best.