Pictures...

Yup, it's a pretty gay holiday shot. Me atop a canon overlooking Jodhpur.
Camel Safari in Jaisalmer. The little boy was Aicha's camel guide.
Max and I met for breakfast here at the famous Omlette Shop right at the gate entering the old city in Jodhpur.
The blue city behind me looked much bluer in real life.
A gigantic hot boiling pot of milk in Old Delhi at a sweet shop.
Holi in Delhi. The poor chap who lives at this apartment got evicted because we trashed the balcony this picture was taken on.

Preparations for Burqua-istan

So I went and bought a nice little veil number for myself yesterday in Old Delhi. The set included a long jacket complete with velcro buttons and black flowers stitched on, a head scarf and a niqab (face veil). All this for the low, low price of $9.99!


Sometimes a picture is worth a thousand words....

24 Hours in Delhi

Around 3:30pm today I stopped negotiating. I had already been in three rickshaws today going to and from the same places and frankly, I was sick of asking for a price and then haggling it down to a more appropriate fare. The drivers just laughed at me when I asked them how much the ride would cost and then announced I would only pay him 40 rupees eventhough he had asked for 60. I figure that if he didn't want 40 for it he wouldn't have driven me.

My mom arrived safe and sound. Hooters and I were dillusional at 3:30am at the airport and it was great fun watching the sterwardesses strut off the plane. The best was the man in a full white linen suit with long slicked back hair and shades. Shades at 3:30am in the morning!? Me likey.

In the first 24 hours with my mom I have been told to move back home, stop doing everything I want to do and start listening to my mom and finally get married, have children, buy a house. I'm too much of a loner according to her and need to integrate myself back into our community. She thinks my travel plans sound kind of shady as there is a big hole after June....

Being with her has been lots of fun as well. She's like a kid in a candy store and asks a million questions. Why don't the cars stop to let us cross the street? Why aren't there any payphones? How do all the trees survive the pollution? Where are the residential neighbourhoods? Why are the cars parked in neutral and then pushed into their spots by the attendants rather than their drivers? Why are there people sleeping on the floor in the train station?

Generally speaking she's amazed by everything including the fact that I travelled alone for two months with all the hub bub around. Going to the train station I was reminded of how difficult it is for someone who is new here. First off, she thought we were going to die in a terrible autorickshaw accident. Then a few aggressive touts tried to get us to go to the wrong tourist office where they would have booked us into a rather expensive or non-existing tour and she stopped to actually listen to them. The most bizzare thing has been taking her hand and leading her accross the street. She just instinctively reaches for it now when we are about to cross a street. Crossing the street is like climbing Everest sometimes. It's dangerous and scary. You get honked at, bumped and cut off by rickshaws, cars, motorbikes or cycles. Traffic lanes don't really exist.

Tonight we head to Jamma Masjid, the biggest mosque in Delhi. A couple days from now we are off to a town called Ajmer in Rajahstan, an important Sufi pilgrimage site near Pushkar, an important Hindu pilgrimage site. I pretty much saved all the religious stuff for my mom. Away with the tank tops and out with the scarves.

Mummy Dearest

Tonight my mother arrives in Delhi. We mummy proofed the apartment today which involved drinking a whole bottle of wine. Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do.

I wonder what her reaction will be to India. I'm a bit apprehensive about her visit only because I think there will be a lot for her to take in. India is an incredibly beautiful country with wonderfully, warm people but there are also other aspects to this nation. I don't know how my mom will react to seeing a line of people going to the bathroom along the train tracks or the cow dung on the streets or kids begging or the shanty towns. We spoke briefly last week and I told her life here is different. She told me that life in Afghanistan is quite something in itself and once I see the poverty there I won't quickly forget it. That made me feel better. She's seen more than I have and I need to remind myself of that sometimes. This is the woman who experienced Afghanistan under Taliban rule.

Jodhpur Sun City

It's better known as the blue city as many of the houses are painted blue. Originally the Brahmins, the top caste, were the only ones to paint their homes blue but the tradition has been picked up by other caste members as well over the years. The red stone hills of the region remind me of images of Arizona. We drove here with Max from Jaisalmer. I'm tired. Will go to watch a movie at the swank hotel Max is staying at tonight. He's invited me for a picnic in his room to watch an HBO film of sorts. I don't what it is but I'm looking forward to just sitting back. I suppose I will have to wake the family at my own guesthouse after the movie....

What an uninspiring post.

The beautiful elephants of India. I thought I should include an image of these magnificent creatures. They roam the streets brightly decorated by their keepers.

Pal Haveli

This would be the hotel Max is staying at. It's called Pal Haveli (palhaveli.com).

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We watched Ray on HBO. A very good film and quite fitting because we listened to Ray Charles on the way over to Jodphur in the car. Afterward we went up to the roof (see the Pal Haveli rooftop picture above) and had chai at midnight. The wind had kicked up sand and dust and covered the city and fort. It was super romantic. The city looked like it was covered in fog. Witnessed another dog fight on my way back to my more humble accommodations in the middle of the night. It's kinda scary but I tried to remind myself not to stop and stare but to walk by as quickly as possible. I kept thinking "I can't die in a dog fight. Lulu would laugh her ass off at my funeral."

To Live & to Forget in Jaisalmer

There was no mention of scorpions or huge white spiders in any of the brochures about the camel safaris. In fact, there was no mention of it in the guidebook either. When I felt something crawl across my feet I assumed it was one of the black beetles I had seen earlier, before it was dark. My heart jumped when I saw the small white scorpion make its way over my toes. The light of the headlamp helped to hurry it along and it scurried under the cot I was sitting on. My heart was to jump again a few minutes later when a very large white creature resembling some sort of spider crawled over my knees. I screamed and hopped and Max, a fellow safari tourist, yelled "don't move. I want to take a picture of it." So, I stopped and posed with the large spider on my knee and even pretended to kiss it.... Of course not! Meanwhile Aicha, whom I had met on the train ride from Delhi, laughed and laughed. The three of us ended up huddling on one cot in the dark. I guess we figured the scorpions and spiders would not attack us if we sat really, really close to one another.

The sunset over the desert had a simple sort of charm and I think the masala chai I was drinking atop the dunes helped make it more enjoyable dodging beetles while keeping an eye on the progress of the setting sun on the horizon. Once the sun was down, and we had our little scorpion experience, it was time for the spectacular lightning show in the black desert sky. An hour into the lightning extravaganza the wind picked up and we had to move camp to seek shelter from the sand storm behind a bigger dune. The sky out in the middle of the Sam dunes is filled with millions of stars. Looking up at the sky I resolved to learn more about the constellations. You can see them so clearly in the sky but it would be nice to be able to point at them and say "that is the big dipper" as opposed to "what's that one? You know the one with the three stars in a row and then the tail with three stars going the other way". Astronomy. It's on the list with learning the guitar, a great skill to have while travelling.


Jaisalmer's fort rises out of the golden sand like a sandcastle on a hill. The old city sprawls out beneath it. This vision evokes a 1001 Arabian Nights. Thousands of flies and hundreds of cows are among the inhabitants of this small town. In fact the flies greatly outnumber the human population. These days (in mid to late March) the tourists are not crowding the markets as the high season has ended and the heat is closing in on Rajahstan. It's a great time to visit the intricate havelis and carved balconies of Jaisalmer. Shopkeepers have more time to chat and joke around. Their sense of humor is mischievious to say the least as they constantly test the boundaries of decency.

Max is giving Aicha and I a ride to Jodhpur tomorrow. He is from Montreal. We met on the camel safari. Aicha is French/Italian, a philosophy student that wrote her masters thesis surrounded by buff chip and dale dancers in a small apartment in Chile. Apparently her boyfriend was the laziest one of them all. "At least the others were aspiring actors or robbing banks but he did nothing. I had to push him to even go to his job at night to dance." Ah, but he was a chip and dale dancer.

Compassion and the Mind

Obtaining security clearance to attend the lecture series with the Dalai Lama is quite easy once you find the little office hidden away in the Tibetan Welfare Office. Directions are given like this: "You will see two chai shops and it is just before the bakery. Go downstairs. You might not see the sign but it is there."

A metal detector, some light padding and a bag search later I was sitting in a courtyard with a couple of hundred travellers, Tibetan monks and locals. A large chair was set up on the stage and a tarp covered half the courtyard in case of rain. I got out my radio and put in my earphones. Set it to the station and listened to the monks begin to chant. The Tibetan part of the crowd got out their prayer books and followed along. A white gate opposite the stage swung open and everyone swiveled around on the floor. Everyone remained seated. A nun carrying incents, two monks, three security men and then the Dalai Lama scurried past followed by three more monks and twelve (I counted them) security men. That alone was amazing. He walked through the crowd to get to his seat. We all got up once he had passed by and bowed.

So there it was. Another one of those expriences I did not plan on. Hawks circled in the blue sky and the courtyard was surrounded by mountains and trees. His Holiness began his lecture as monks swept down the staircases on either side of the stage carrying baskets of bread. Everyone got bread and chai and we listened to the teachings. The Dalai Lama cracked jokes and chuckled to himself. The teachings were, in general, on compassion and more specifically on attachment and aversion and the power of the mind and it's limitlessness. A few minutes in a puppy appeared out of nowhere and ran through the seated crowd.

Today it was grey and rainy and fewer people came to the session. Half the courtyard was uncovered and that would be the half I sat in. :) Karma was the topic for this lecture. I was asked to save an insect by a woman sitting a few seats over. All those sitting in the covered area of the courtyard gave up their umbrellas to those sitting in the uncovered area. Everyone got fed sweet buns and we sat together as one listening to the chants and the teachings in the rain.

Going to Church

The last thing I expected of my travels up to McLeod Ganj was to visit the lovely stone church I saw on my way up here but there I was on a motorcycle holding on to a teenage boy who was telling me about how immature he was speeding down these roads at 18 and how responsible he is these days at 19.

"You want to go to church?"
"Uhm... sure." It was almost Sunday anyway. Might as well. I didn't quite know how much sense it made to ride to a church right outside of town in the dark but I'm travelling and therefore open to any and all experiences.

How I ended up on this bike is a story that starts back on the first day of checking in at the hotel. The place has no name yet as it is still under construction. I wouldn't have known that the hotel existed if a woman at the top of the stairs leading down the hill hadn't told me to try walking down into what looked like a construction zone. Sure enough, at the bottom there was a hotel and a lovely family that runs it. The boy is part of this lovely family. His sister is drop dead gorgeous as is his mother. The family ranks above average on the looks scale.

Back at the church I discovered that there was no moonlight to guide me down the path past the gate. The church and adjoining cemetery sit off to the side of the road surrounded by trees. Walking around a cemetery and a church on a mountain in the night is a bit on the eerie side. Especially when there is a lone dog locked within the church to guard it from intruders. Looking at the star filled sky with the hollow echoes of a dog barking from within the church meant that we were off to a local restaurant sooner rather than later.

Riding on the bike was fun. It was a good day for meeting people. I recommended my hotel to a German guy that had hooked up with a Korean fellow. The Korean man was on a whirlwind tour around the world and had only spent two weeks in India. The best experience aside from the church was walking by a Tibetan woman carrying a load on her back and in her arms. As I walked up next to her in the dusk she just handed me whatever was in her arms. She turned and realized I was not the person she thought I was and laughed and started speaking to me in Tibetan. We laughed and I carried some of the load for her. I had no clue what she was saying but I didn't need to know to understand.

Paradise on Earth

Kashmir is paradise on earth is what I have been told. There's an aweful lot of coiled barbwire at the train station in paradise. Piles of sandbags, soldiers with handgranates strapped to their uniforms, tanks covered with green tarps and army checkpoints every kilometer or so. Then there is the beauty. Palm trees sprouting from an enclosed courtyard. Lush green fields fenced in by a giant jagged mountain range. Meadows of flowers and blue skies. The greenest and bluest eyes I have ever seen set in faces with pointy chins, surrounded by shades of sunkissed dark hair. Men with long lanky legs that would make any supermodel green with envy. And a huge amount of wild marijuana plants growing all over the place.

I lasted exactly six hours in paradise. The road into the depths of this heaven was treacherous. There was a big landslide. Roads were closed. I had the choice of waiting for them to reopen the roads tomorrow or else keep moving. I didn't want to take the chance of waiting because in India things don't exactly work on time. "Some time tomrrow" could easily turn into some time next week.

Travelling on this latest leg of my journey started yesterday at 4:45pm with a ticket to Jaisalmer. I got to the New Delhi train station with ten minutes to spare. I checked the board for my train's platform. I didn't see it so I pulled out the ticket to make sure I was looking for the right number. Yup, right number. A man leaned over my shoulder "that's for the other train station". The ticket said Delhi and apparently that means Old Delhi. There was no way I would make it across town in ten minutes to catch the train. I did the only logical thing: I rebooked for Jammu to head to Srinagar in Kashmir. Met a nice man by the name of Lorenzo (I figured this was a sign) who was also heading to the Old Delhi train station, so we had dinner and took the metro together.

The Delhi metro is another world. A clean world with potted plants and a metal detector and police who searched our backpacks before we could get to the platform. It is an incredibly efficient and fast system.

The train at Old Delhi station however was a zoo. Two to three people were sleeping in berths made for one person. I met a very nice 13 year old girl who was heading to Katra to visit a Hindu temple with her family. One very uncomfortable sleep behind me I got off the train in Jammu ready to head to Dal Lake when I was given the information about the roads further into Kashmir. Adullah stopped trying to sell me on his beautiful houseboat and the comfortable local hotel that would put me up tonight when he figured out I wasn't going to be staying. He switched tactics to try and make me stay for the night so HE could show me around Jammu. Everything was offered: dinner, sightseeing by bicycle rickshaw, a free stay at the hotel and a ride to the train station for my onward journey to Dharamsala. I declined and he started to tell me where he made most of his money: brown sugar also known as hash. He exports the stuff. His best client lives in Montreal.

The mountain range was a crisp white backdrop to the blue sky today. The bus headed into the big puffy white clouds where Dharamsala sits atop a hill that backs onto a snow covered moutainous wall. The valley drops in front of the town with small undulating hills as far as the eye can see. No funny signs to mark the roads up this time around. Instead the signs read "Road Damage" "Bridge Damage Drive Slow" or "Strong and Furtive is the Norm. The Indian Army". There's a big army base on the way up here. Much like Darjeeling, Dharamsala is cold but at least there is hot water around here. The Dalai Lama is running lectures this week and next and the town has filled up. I have to apply for a security clearing tomorrow and then am free to attend his lecture series. I am certain things worked out like this for a reason....

Holy Holi

The PG version of Holi is what I expected. You know, all the members of the family get together and then happily and prettily throw colour on each other. Everyone looks beautiful all the time and smiles. Sometimes people even burst into well coordinated group dance and song sequences. They know all the moves and the words to the song. Everyone knows who the main players are and you dance around them. Everyone looks pretty and colourful and acts like their drunk and high from the bhang lassies. Then everyone goes inside and has some more drinks and a wonderfully delicious home cooked meal made by the cook. Mummy-ji even makes some favourite holiday dishes along with the regular curry fare. That's what Holi is. I know this because I've seen it in numerous Bollywood movies.

I didn't get this version. I got the version with the three guys covered in purple dye and raw eggs coming over to my sister's house. They didn't wait until I was done brushing my teeth or changed out of my pajamas to start the festivities. My eyes got pink dye in them, my teeth had the gritty dye on them, my clothes were ruined and my face was a deep fuschia. Once the initial ambush was over we were told to change and come downstairs where we hopped into a waiting car with the Three Stooges and drove off visiting various friends in town. In the backseat beer was flowing like Crystal at a P Diddy party. We never seemed to run out of the stuff.

"Hey, look everyone else looks so pretty with their colour on them." I pointed out the window. Everyone in Delhi was covered in colour, even the cows.
"They don't know how to play Holi properly" Abishenk responded. Abishenk was about to reveal himself as the craziest man I had yet to meet. He insisted on going to a farm house party. Apparently his 'cousin' had invited us to one. Holi is famous for farm house parties. Everyone who is cool goes to one of those. Abishenk was under the impression he was cool. It's either that or the Times of India party where the celebrities go to celebrate the version of Holi I described above minus the home cooked meal...and possibly the song and dance sequences. Although I would like to go on believing that Indian celebrities spontaneously burst into dance in their everyday life. Abishenk couldn't get us 'tickets' in time for the Bollywood version of Holi which is why I'm telling the story of the Three Stooges version.

"Farm House" actually means estate with driveway leading to a mansion with a muddy backyard and a pool where people in various states of drunkeness throw each other into the wine coloured water. Of course the water was clean earlier in the day before the crazies with the dye all over their bodies took it up a notch and decided a wet t-shirt contest or, in this case, the Indian version: a wet salwaar kameez contest was in order. Being in a pool of water that colour is no fun. Especially when you swallow a hole bunch the first day you feel better from your Delhi Belly. Interestingly enough the hallways in said "Farm House" were all tiled and muddy with the handprints in the hallways leading to the two most important rooms in any house: the bathroom or kitchen. The Three Stooges insisted that I take a dip in the pool. All I could do to prevent them from dunking me in the water was threaten to take them down with me by jumping on their back and holding on for dear life. Once I was done hanging out with a poolful of guys it was time to eat. The kitchen seemed like an obvious place to go to snack on lamb biryani and sandwiches while dripping a deep red dye all over the tiles. Once that was over with, it was another quick dip in the pool with drunk strangers and probably various forms of bacteria that could do any number of horrible things to my skin. Many of the drunk strangers were men which meant that their pants came with pockets they actually used for things like wallets, cigarettes and cellphones. It was great to see their cheers turn to horror when said objects would float out of their pockets to the surface of the water. The pool was cleared of cellphones, cigarettes, wallets and drunken bodies by late afternoon. Holi ends around 5pm. Everyone gets civilised and cleans up for work the next day. In the Three Stooges version the girls get dropped off at home while the soaking wet drunk men go on drinking and partying at their friends house who was earlier in the day evicted from his apartment for the Stooges drunken behaviour on his rooftop.

An hour and a half of bucket showers later and I have shea butter on my face to help me remove the remainder of the pink dye before I go to bed tonight. Holi was fun. I will never do this again. Ever.

Whatever Happened To Bubbles?

I'm not talking about a certain famous Canadian Bubbles. A man who much like my sister seems to be taking rides with people drinking rum and cokes. Seriously, a friend of hers poured herself a rum and coke while driving her home. I don't know what they put into the booze but it tastes really gross. Okay, let's get back to the original intend of this post.


Whatever happened to Bubbles?

Here is how I came up with the thought: I happened to glance at an old copy of Star with pregnant Gwyneth on the cover and that made me think of Katie Holmes and then I thought how she is a pet monkey to Tom Cruise which then led me to thinking about famous pet monkeys and voila: Bubbles and Michael Jackson popped into my head. Whatever did happen to poor Bubbles?


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The countdown is on. My mom will be here in less than two weeks. I spoke to here briefly the other day when she called for my sister's birthday. Seems that she's still not over the fact that I didn't call her immediately upon landing in this country and then every other day. Oh well. I suppose she'll have to get over it....

In other news: I think God is punishing me for not calling my mom. I have had Delhi Belly (that is code for diarrhea) for the last four days. It was especially bad last night but thankfully it stopped for about six hours while I was out dancing with my sister on her birthday. We went to a swank place called Climax. The club was build behind a golf course and had two awesome patios. India's hottest DJ played some really hot music. Let's just say that I won't forget the night I danced to the soundtrack of Beverly Hills Cop THREE times. Afterward we got a ride home with a guy that brought a change of clothes to the club (which is apparently the norm) and had been pounding back the drinks all night long (which is also apparently the norm). Men in India insist that they can drive better when drunk because 'they have to pay more attention'.

Will you play?

Of course I will! Holi, the festival of colours, is on Wednesday. All I need is one cheapie white punjabi suit, coconut oil to oil my face, hands and hair (so the colour comes off when I wash it) and bhang lassies.



This is the one day when everyone, old or young, partakes in consuming bhang (a marijuana derivative). A very nice Japanese lad told me to stay off the streets in Varanasi on Holi because apparently some people take the bhang consumption a little further than it needs to go and are so crazy that they 'molest' everyone, male or female. Thankfully I won't be anywhere near Varanassi on Wednesday.



26 hours on the train from West Bengal and three people have walked away with email addresses and one gentleman has my sister's cell number. It was a pleasant ride except for the three times the car filled with dust so thick it stung my eyes and was hard to see. "Will you play?" Sanjit asked referring to Holi. We agreed he will call to check if I'm still around to play on Wednesday.

Someone out there loves my feet

Yup, finally met someone that looooves my feet. A lot. So much she had to touch them and then put henna on them. She, a lovely Korean girl at the Paragon Hostel in Kolkata, was adorable and mostly drunk in the evenings. Thanks to her both my feet and one hand sport flowery henna designs. Henna is hot. Not to most other travellers I met but to hell with all of them. I absolutely adore it. She was going to put the Om sign on the back of my neck but then Varanasi happened and I didn't want any religious sign on my body especially because I plan to visit Kashmir in the next couple of weeks.

The news of Varanasi hit Kolkata around 6:30pm when most tourists were back at the hostel from their day of volunteering or sightseeing. The area most of the hostels are located near Sudder Street is predominately Muslim so police presence was increased on the streets and at major intersections. India went on high alert. Holi is less than a week away and more attacks are feared but worse yet, religous riots could ensue much as they did four years ago in the Gujarat. The papers were filled with the outcome of a high profile case of years ago in which 14 people were burnt alive inside a bakery in Ahmahabad during rioting. So far three or four suspected terrorists have been killed.

So, completely oblivious (I blame the heat) I went about sightseeing temples one day after the attacks as police officers watched in disbelieve that a tourist actually showed up to look at the places of worship. I spent much of Tuesday visiting Belur Math (the Krishna temple complex) and Kali Ghat across the river. It didn't really click that Tuesday was a big Hindu worshipping day in India. The bomb squads at the temples should have been a clue... or the fact that the crowds were much smaller than what I had encountered previously.

Asking for directions to the temples was also a unique experience. People were surprised and then very, very helpful in making sure I find my way. The Kolkata transportation system is extensive and I used most of it trying to get to the sights. The buses don't really stop at any one stop and I saw people waving them down. So, I went and stood next to a huddle of people that looked like they were not waiting to cross the street and therefore waiting for a bus. A very nice group of students got me on the bus and paid for my ticket and then made sure I got on my connection. Leaving the peacefully quiet Belur Math complex an older man led me through a maze of lanes to the river where I caught a boat across to the Kali temple. Then came the biggest challenge of the day: a local train. The kind of train that people are piled into so tight that they are hanging out the doors...just like in the picture above.


One of the most beautiful palaces and worth every bit of the 'payoff' to enter was the Marble Palace, tucked away in a lively lane off J Mohan Avenue. Getting in was a bit of a situation as the guidebook had listed it as a free site but then the guard at the door made it clear that unless I had a special letter of permission I was not going to get past him. Hence, 30 rupees for the guard at the gate and I was greeted by two large storkes for free but then I had to pay 30 rupees to the man that gave me a tour. The tour consisted of this guy pointing at the floor and saying "all this Italian marble" or at a sculpture "Queen Victoria made of one piece of oak" or at a huge mirror "one piece of Belgian glass". The big wooden Victoria and the gigantic facing Belgian mirrors at either end of a marvelously decorated hall were amazing. The palace itself has a great charm which is mostly due to the fact that it looks like no one paid to clean the stone structure. Not like the palaces of Europe that are splendidly kept up and become quite devoid of any kind of spirit. What's great about the Marble Palace is that it looks like someone threw sheets on the furniture a century ago before going on a trip and never returned. They didn't forget to pay the gardener though because the grounds are well maintained. The glass chandeliers (that's Belgian glass) hang dusty over marble floored rooms filled with large oil canvases (a Ruben among them).


Calcutta, like Kerala, has an elected Communist government

Walking back at dusk down the lanes here I am surprised every time I encounter one of the rickshaw-wallahs pulling big-boned sari clad Indian ladies and their umbrellas to nearby destinations. It's such a unique sight but yet so fitting in this part of the world.

Dino Morea makes me hot and other less important matters

My obsession with Hrithik Roshan is over. The man with the extra thumb has been replaced with hottie Dino Morea. I had all but forgotten about Dino until last night when I attended a picture show of his latest, Aksar. The love scenes in the film were way steamier than anything I've ever seen in a Bollywood film. Unfotunately most of them involved his much uglier co-star seducing and bedding the temper tantrum throwing Victoria Beckham wannabe lead actress. There was tongue and the lead actress (aka the bitch) wore a tan coloured band across her chest for some of the nude scenes. It wasn't quite booby shots but the most convincing Bollywood version of the money shot I have ever seen.



This time there was no security guards and metal detectors at the theatre. Only men who didn't turn off their cellphones and loved to whistle and catcall when the lead bitch walked onto the screen like a horse on a catwalk in barely-there outfits. The crowd burst into song when the Bollywood hit of the year was played fifteen minutes into the film. Murray, the British guy I met on the train, enjoyed his first Indian film experience and was so grateful he took me to a rooftop bar for some refreshing drinks.

A scene from Aksar

West Bengal is hot and dehydrating is quite easy. So easy that I had to try it for myself. At 2 this morning my love affair with street food and cold beers came to an abrupt end. I woke up exhausted this morning from my midnight walks to the squat toilets. Of course there was no water to drink anywhere in the dorm. The second day in Kolkata was spent sleeping under the constant rattling of two very noisy ceiling fans until 4pm. Then I got it in my head that I needed to get up and take a walk, you know, to take advantage of my time here. Walked to the park and started to feel vomity again, so on the way back I stopped at St. James' cathedral for a quick rest and then it was to bed for ten minutes before I got my first meal of the day. Two naans.

Tomorrow will be action packed. Yup, I'll get up at 5am to attend prayer service at the Motherhouse (Mother Theresa's little pet project in Calcutta), Belur Math the Ramakrishna headquarters, a quick walk through the marble palace and then off to buy some punjabi clothes at the New Market bazaar.

The man with the extra digit, Hrithik.

Okay, so we all make modelling mistakes.

Tell me this man isn't hot.

Eh Rickshaw-wallah!

A few hours in hot, humid Kolkata and I'm loving this city already. Saw a shepherd with a dozen goats walking down Sudder Street. Wow.

Kokata is the only city so far where I have encountered rickshaw-wallahs, people who actually pull their rickshaws on foot. Some of them are old enough to be my grandfathers.

I ate my way through this sweetshop near Park Street. Most of the sweets were 5 rupees each and the workers at the shop huddled behind the counter watching with amusement as I finished one sweet and immediately ordered another. There's still more to try and I will return tomorrow for another dose of sugar.

Street food is what it's all about around here. The vendors are everywhere and the food smells delicious! Drinks are served in terracotta cups that get smashed against the sidewalk for luck after you're done with them. Today I had a rose lassi and tomorrow I am going for the green mango lassi.

This is Sudder Street, the main backpacker neighbourhood and the location of my hostel.

The Demons are Inside my Head

Temperatures dropped and two layers of socks are no longer enough to keep my runningshoe clad feet warm.

A first: a crazy western woman with sky blue eyes sitting on the street proclaiming "the demons are inside my head. Will you save me? Please protect me." Her hands clasping her head, her body rocking back and forth on the cold pavement.

A jeep winding down to a warmer elevation away from the saffron & wine robed Tibetan monks that wander the hills and a sleeper berth to Kolkata tonight.

Chowk bazaar where the locals shop for groceries and I found a great local restaurant in an alley tucked away from the street between stalls.
The main jeep stand downtown.
My hotel is right behind the yellow building on the right. The hill leading up to it seems steeper every night.

Of Water Shortages, the Bird Flu & Landslides

Just as I was about to lament my lonliness over a solo dinner of thentuk and momos at Dekevas a dozen Bhutanese college students walked in and sat around me. What ensued was a long conversation about Bhutan and its beauty and the fact that most of these boys are actually slackers that couldn't get into the only college available to them in their homeland. Hence, they packed their C average bags and moved to Darjeeling to earn a bachelors at St. Joseph's College. One of them offered to sell me drugs and another one took my email address. Next year is Bhutan's 150 year anniversary and the $200 a day visa price will come down considerably to allow more travellers to participate in the celebrations.

All this commontion around me made the three other westerners at the restaurant eat their dinner quickly and leave...except for one. He scoped out the scene and sat there waiting for the guys to leave. Then he non-challantly walked over and we went for a few drinks at an English style pub that made me remember all the dingy little places I love to drink at in Toronto. I was supposed to meet the dude this morning at 4am for the sunrise over the Himalayas but I didn't quite make it on account of the hotel owner had locked me into the second floor of the hotel for my own protection over night (I'm the only occupant of the floor).

Watching the sunrise with about 200 tourists is quite a different experience. Once the sun started coming up people started pointing at the big red circle and the crowd chatted excitedly. It was quite hilarious. Alas, it was a cloudy day so we didn't see much of the mountain range but about half way through the ever-so-exciting sunrise Everest appeared like a cloud in the sky as the morning fog lifted for a few hours. I took a picture but the black thing on the lens has been replaced by my thumb print (trying to get the black thing off the lens) and consequently mixed with a bit of lint hanging around the glass. Keep this in mind when you are looking at my pictures in future and wondering what the black thing is and why there are fingerprints on the monasteries.

On the way back I stopped at several Tibetan monasteries and even caught a morning prayer in progress. The little monks looked incredibly bored and were passing notes and yawning and playing with little toys hidden in their robes during the chants. The old monks didn't notice a thing and kept drumming and reading their prayer books. Saw the original copy of the Tibetan Book of the Dead.

Had lunch with two local teachers that told me the water supply in Darjeeling is trucked in on a weekly basis and people ration their water to last until the next delivery. This explains the lack of running water at the hotel. Also, the fear of bird flu has brought down the price for chicken considerably. Apparently almost no one eats chicken anymore and some vendors have started to give it away for free. In Sikkim, just north of West Bengal, more than two dozen dead hawks were found. It is believed they died of the bird flu after feeding on infected birds. The conversation then turned towards the landslides. The monsoon hits this part of the country in June and July wiping out roads, houses and trees. The poor are the most common casualties of the season. Darjeeling is growing so fast that the local economy can not support its inhabitants. Drug addiction is becoming more common. Pot is grown all over the region but it is the 'brown sugar' addicts inject that is more of a problem.

Then I went and watched a patriotic Bollywood film that featured a 41 year old man playing a 20 year old college student, lots of 'cool' drunk driving scenes and suspiciously clean Delhi streets. The seats at the theatre reclined. I mean really reclined. Properly. A security guard with a baton was posted at the exit and the power went out ten minutes into the film.