Into the dust: Afghanistan

My dream has finally come true! We were upgraded to business class on our flight to Kabul. The perks were minimal but I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. The seats were nice and broad and the cups of tea larger than economy for sure! Hasina spent three days trying to get our tickets in Delhi and therefore, made friends with the folks at Ariana Airlines. One of them was a the airport in Delhi and made sure that we went through customs and got on the flight without a problem. My mom couldn't wait for us to put on our hijabs. The first thing they did before making any sort of safety announcement was to pray. I didn't call the place the land of Bismillah for nothing. The sterwardesses had extremely powdered complexions a la Michael Jackson.

Arriving in Kabul was a bit of a surreal experience. The city is sand coloured and the airport has more UN choppers than jets. The terminal is small and once again we had the good fortune of being fast tracked through customs. This time it was the man we met on our way to Ajmer on the train. Turns out he is a head of police at the airport. We didn't wait in line and he made sure our passports were stamped and our luggage collected. The first thing I saw stepping out of the airport was an American with a handgun and several war journalists. I don't know if that is true.... They looked like war journalists to me, so we'll go with that. Our cousin came to meet us and we got into a cab and drove out into the city.

Kabul lies in a valley surrounded by mountains. The streets are mostly unpaved and kick up a lot of dust. People scurry about and women, of course, are covered from head to toe. We switched cars and rented a van that would drive us north toward Jallalabad and toward the border. The scenery was once again out of this world beautiful. The honey-combed mountains of Afghanistan are quite the sight. We drove through the mountains on unpaved roads and were surprised by American military choppers flying through the valley. I don't know why I was surprised because I expected it all along.

Once we had passed the mountains we reached olive groves and a river. The water was a clear blue and at prayer time the car stopped and several men gathered near the river and held evening prayers. Driving on we noticed hundreds of clusters of white paint spots on the side of the road on hills and in fields. Each one of the white paint spots represented a mine that was cleared. That was a sobering reminder that these inviting hills and fields were off limits. Driving through the olive groves we could not see the trucks in front of us because of the dust. "It's been five years and the roads have not yet been paved in this country." My cousin remarked. It does make you wonder where the money is going. All those billions being pledged by nations around the world. There's some interesting stories of what is really happening in the country. About jewels and precious stones being mined and exported to the States, about weapons being smuggled through Pakistan, about the search for natural gas and oil near Kandahar. You have three guesses as to which country is behind all that.

"At night you can hear children screaming and women crying there" explained my cousin. He pointed out of the window toward the mountains, in the direction of Tora Bora. You will all remember that name. The caves near the small town became famous because the U.S. thought Osama was hiding there. They pretty much flattened the entire town with bombs and killed most of the population of the city but not Osama. People here still talk about it. The locals now tells stories of the screams of people dying in the darkness when one passes by the town at night.

My mother's mood has shifted. It's a complete 180. She's much more chipper and happy and smiling and not worried and chatty. It's like I've suddenly gotten married or something and all her worries have disappeared.

The border crossing was interesting. We pulled the scarves over our faces and only our eyes were visible. We had to cross on foot through a mountain gorge. I looked up "Khyber Rifles" it said on the side of the mountain. The van pulled over, our luggage was packed onto two carts that were pushed along by two little boys and we started walking through the sea of trucks and men toward the other side. One small bribe later we were in Pakistan being greeted by another cousin and ushered into a waiting red car. A few hours after that we arrived in Peshawar also known as Little Afghanistan. I just made that up. It's a city filled with Afghans. Quite conservative.

The land of Bismillah

Apparently the Chinese are wearing crop tops on the streets of Kabul. I was very happy to hear that because it means that Chinese cuisine has finally made it to Afghanistan! Lecker. AND I can drink the water in the country of milk and honey (aka the homeland) as per my mom said they don't have bacteria back home. The water wells are dug so deep that I won't ever have to spend money on bottled water.... Mmmmh.

Now, more pictures:

That's Pakistan right over there!
Guard at Attari border crossing.
Crowds leaving the border after the flag lowering ceremony
Canola field in Kashmir
Dried goods anyone? Road stop in Kashmir
The road to Kashmir
Kashmir's Mountains
More Kashmiri road.
Soldiers at the road in Kashmir

The Taj Mahal

Aisha is now in town. She arrived late Thursday night and immediately got annoyed at my mother. I'm really happy about this because it means that I am not making shit up about that woman being difficult. Phew.

The four of us went to the Taj Mahal together. It was trying at times and I attribute this to the heat...and the fact that our train was three hours delayed. We bought tickets for the general compartment which meant riding for three hours in a sardine can. Everyone was pretty much on top of each other. People even sat in the luggage holding areas above the seats. However, three hours of non stop sweating and feeling other peoples sweaty bodies brushing against you later, we were in Agra.

We learned a little something about carpets in Agra. For one, the Turkish import all their 'Turkish' carpets from India because labour is cheaper here. The quality is still the same. My mother was disappointed to learn that Afghan carpets are considered to be of a lesser quality than Persian (gasp) and Turkish carpets due to the density of knots. I don't remember the number of knots but it's half of the other carpets. The designs are also more tribal and less colourful. Apparently to asses the quality of a carpet you need to look at the back of it and see how dense the knots are. Also, hand-made carpets change colour in the light as you step around them while machine made stay the same colour. Walking on a carpet is good for it. The more you use it the better it looks because stepping on it compresses the fibers and gives it more sheen. I suppose that's why they go up in price the older they get. Okay, this sounds like an infomercial. Back to the main reason we came here.

We went to Agra Fort where Shah Jahan, who commissioned the Taj Mahal for Mumtaz, his wife, lived. The poor bastard was later imprisoned there by his son. The place had a nice view of the white marble mausoleum and it was strange to see it as part of the landscape. It has a huge field on one side of it with a river running past it and then a big ass highway just before the river. Cars are not allowed to drive within a few kilometers of the building and there are no factories in Agra. All these measures are taken to protect India's crowning jewel and money making machine. Tickets to enter cost 750 rupees for foreigners. It's worth every rupee.

Once I got used to the sight of the building in the distance I thought it might not be that great. Stepping through the gate into the garden before it and approaching it though I was totally blown away by its scale. It's huge! Built of white marble with a floral design inlay of semi-precious stones. As the sunsets the stones reflect the light and the building sparkles. Everything is perfectly symmetrical. A mosque was built on one side and another building that looks exactly the same on the other side. That building was used as a guesthouse for visitors from abroad and now houses quite a few beehives in its vaulted ceiling. 22 steps lead up to the gigantic raised platform upon which the building sits. They are called the steps of eternity. The number of steps reflect the number of years it took to complete the Taj. It is built to look like a crown, hence the name, Taj means crown in Hindi. I must say that it was not disappointing at all. It's an imposing structure that is awe inspiring. Sometimes the big architectual marvels of the world can let you down a bit once you get to visit them but this one sure does not. I shot three rolls of film in an hour, that's how great the place is! ;)

On the way back in the train I closed my eyes and thought about a detailed psychiatric treatment regiment for my return. After the next five weeks I will need it. Heck, I need it after the last month with you-know-who, to mend some of the mental scars.

Pictures of India

Kashmir's valley from a soldier checkpoint on the road.
Kashmir. It's way more beautiful in real life.
Kashmiri Valley near Srinigar.
Fields in Kashmir on the other side of the tunnel (see my inshallah I will come back post)
Snotty nosed kid behind me on the bus ride out of Kashmir.
Amritsar's Golden Temple.

My Man, The Hoff, Needs YOUR Support

This is a dream of a cubicle. I think I could be a very, very productive person working there. It's better than traveling!

Seriously though, my baby has come under some fire recently over his divorce from Pamela. She's been making trouble for the poor guy. He hasn't even edited her out of his website yet! I think everyone of you should show their support for the man by going to see Click this summer. He plays funny man Adam Sandler's boss . I think it'll be a hilarious picture that will elevate his sexy machismo status to new levels.

Lulu, Alicia: I want reviews.

Other ways of showing your support for him involve helping him find his nipples. Or by visiting Rip-Hoffs. If you have attended art school (and I know some of you have: Deaner and Shanna Rose) you can make a wee little shrine and proudly display it, say, at work near your cubicles.

In the meantime I think y'all should learn the words to his biggest German hit song, Looking for Freedom:

One morning in June some twenty years ago
I was born a rich man's son.
I had everything that money could buy
but freedom I had none.

I've been looking for freedom
I've been looking so long

I've been looking for freedom
still the search goes on.
I've been looking for freedom since I left my home town

I've been looking for freedom
still it can't be found.

I headed down the track
my baggage on my back

I left the city far behind.
Walking down the road with my heavy load

Trying to find some peace of mind.
Father said: You'll be sorry
son
if you leave your home this way

And when you realize the freedom money buys
You'll come running home some day.

I've been looking for freedom
I've been looking so long
...

I paid a lotta dues
had plenty to lose
travelling across the land.
Worked on a farm
got some muscle in my arm

But still I'm not a self-made man.
I'll be on the run for many years to come

I'll be searching door to door.
But given some time
some day I'm gonna find
The freedom I've been searching for.

I've been looking for freedom
I've been looking so long
...
I've been looking for freedom
I've been looking so long

Sh-Sh-Shimla!

Another 9 hour bus ride from Amritsar and were in Shimla, favourite hilll station of the British. I like the mountains. I especially like walking uphill. My mother hates it. She was cussing like a sailor all the way up. Swearing at the poor guy showing us to the hotel Ashoka with its great unobstructed view over the valley. He didn't understand the words she was speaking (in Pashtu) but I'm sure he got the jist. Everyone was a son of a bitch. At one point she refused to walk any further.

We did get to the hotel. It was cheap and clean...ish. The view of the school yard behind was mind blowing. ;) So, we awoke the next morning to drum rolls and children singing the national anthem. We heard the couple next door coughing through the walls, the monkeys on the roof doing god knows what. We walked a bit uphill and then some downhill. There was a man carrying a full sized fridge on his back, another man with a red baby carriage. We saw that baby carriage at least twelve times throughout the day. Why? I don't know what in the world they were doing with the baby carriages. It got cold. It thundered, there was lightening, there was rain. Lots and lots of rain. The power went out in the restaurant so we ate by candle light in the small shack of a restaurant. The food was lovely. Grape curry, vegie biryani, salad, chai, cumin fried potatoes. Mmmh.

The temperature in our room was 10 degrees over night. I watched the news for the first time in months. The violence in Kashmir was rising. They showed images of a man with the lower part of his face shot off. The violence and protests in Nepal were on a rise as well. The Maoists in the south of India just killed a few hundred people. I turned off the TV and snuggled up to my mom.

We're back in Delhi now. Aisha arrives tomorrow. This is my last week in India. Next week Wednesday we leave for Kabul.

Baisakhi at the Golden Temple in Amritsar

I woke up on the bus to a hand placed right on my ass. I slapped it away. This is how most of my time in the Punjab would be spent. Smacking, pinching, slapping hands off my ass and back. Men passing me on the street would have their hand accidentally brush against my thighs. Standing in a crowd I grabbed someone's hand and pinched it really hard. I started looking around for a face that would wince with pain in the crowd. I wasn't doing this for fun. I wanted to see who's hand had been caressing my thigh and inching its way up my waist. However, Amritsar was an amazing place. The spiritual vibe at the Golden Temple complex is all encompassing.

We got off the bus at 3am and were taken around on a cycle rickshaw to a few hotels. The prices were through the roof for accommodations that included cockroaches as bed companions. Some of the hotels were full. We weren't aware that it was Baisakhi, the biggest Sikh holiday and this being their holiest shrine many pilgrims had already snapped up the hotel accommodations. Finally we decided to wait until it was light before looking around more, so we asked to be taken to the Golden Temple. After all, there is no safer place to wait for dawn then at a religious institution. The road leading to the complex was gated off to traffic and amazingly enough there were hundreds of people trekking towards the temple, even a fat man in a shirt without pants was on his way over there. The white marble complex was lit up by the full moon. Someone told us to go along the side and we followed their directions. People stooped to touch the threshold leading into the square and there were golden streameres tied from one end of the gate stretching a hundred feet ahead to the other end of the gate above our heads. The sounds of the complex left the biggest impressions. Almost instantly the sound of the wind blowing through the streamers was competing with the clanking of a thousand metal dishes being washed by volunteers at the free cafeteria. At 3am in the morning! The cafeteria never closes. Anyone can get a free meal at any time of the day. You have to take off your shoes and cover your head to enter but that's a small price to pay when you're hungry.

One of the guards at the temple saw us with our backpacks and waved to us. We didn't say a word about why were were there and what we needed and the guard led us into a dorm filled with foreign tourists. He got us a mattress and asked us to keep our wallets safe and that was it. I was blown away by the hospitality. There were two guards posted outside the door 24 hours a day to make sure no one comes into the dormitory to hassle you. The place was bare. Beds, with mattresses, ceiling fans, unfinished walls, no windows, lockers and an attached shower. It was one of the best places I've stayed, not for it's luxurious surroundings but for its vibe. Everyone there was grateful for the hospitality and respectful of the religion and customs of the Sikhs. To many this was an introduction to Sikhism. You can stay up to three days at the complex and at the end you pay a donation. No one tells you how much to pay.

In the morning, mom and I went to the Golden Temple. You leave your shoes behind, cover your head and walk through a pool of water to clean your feet before entering the marble square that leads to Amrit Sarovar, literally the "pool of nectar", the holy tank that surrounds the Golden Temple. Pilgrims bath in the pool and then head to the temple. We waited in line on the Guru's bridge for an hour before we entered the gold plated Temple. All the walls, doors and the ceiling are covered in gold, decorated elaborately. Inside the pilgrims walk around the Gurus chanting. When leaving you are asked to hold out both your hands to receive an offering of halwa. I call it halwa because that's what it reminds me of. It's sweet and sticky and oily.

The city itself doesn't have much to offer in terms of charm. There are really only three things to see in Amritsar. One is the Golden Temple.

Two: Jallianwala Bagh. If you have seen the Gandhi movie then you'll remember the scene of two thousand unarmed Indian civilians peacefully sitting in a square protesting massacred by British troupes in 1919. Now a memorial park is build around the still visible bullet holes in the walls and the well that many jumped into to escape the attack.

Three: Attari or more specifically the Indo-Pakistani border crossing at Wagah a half hour outside town. It is quite the spectacle. Thousands of people show up to watch the lowering of the flag and the comical parading of the Indian Army. I've never seen legs swung up so high and people walking more comically. The crowd went crazy chanting and singing and dancing. Wow. The dancing. There were quite a few dancing machines in the crowd that would run up onto the street leading to the gate marking the Indian crossing and dance their little nationalistic hearts out. Then there was the waving of the flag. An old woman ran up and down the road stopping in front of the Pakistani officials waving the flag like she was possessed. Following her was an old man and then a woman in high heels and then a bunch of kids and then the officials put an end to it all. The crowd was more fun then the ceremony itself. On our way out we saw a giant and had some "narwar", shaved ice doused in sweet syrup, shaped into a cone and stuck on a stick. It brought back memories for my mom. We couldn't find our bus back so we hitched a ride with a delegation that had dropped off the blind Indian cricket team before the border closed. They were playing against Pakistan in the next few weeks in Lahore and Peshawar. There we were in a bus surrounded by the visually impaired and blind along with their family members speeding back to Amritsar. At the bus stand we shared a cycle rickshaw with a rather hefty widow and her cute little daughter. Something bad must have happened to that woman in her life because she said "Men are dirty. All men are dirty." in a way that speaks of a painful personal experience.

Inshallah I will come back Kashmir

Kashmir. Paradise on earth. I have been stubborn about coming here. So where do I begin recounting the tale of my experience in paradise? Lets start with the bus ride. It is a 24 hour bus ride from Delhi. The first few hours are not interesting at all. You get the usual congestion and smog and dust and traffic. Once you cross Jammu the ride becomes something else all together. The road starts to narrow and two way traffic seems like not a good idea anymore but the bus and truck drivers make passing each other somehow possible. I held my breath the first few times the bus slowed to negotiate a hairpin turn that overlooks a breathtakingly steep mountain gorge. Holding my breath all the way up to Srinagar was not an option so I started to focus on the trees, the mountain ranges, the water below and the ride became a great experience. My mom enjoyed it too. She couldn't take her eyes off the terraced backyards people had built behind their homes in the mountains. There were streams and a large river just zig-zagging its way alongside the mountain road.

There is army checkpoints everywhere once you pass Jammu. At 6am in the morning we saw the first of several mine detection teams with their dogs. For some reason that didn't disturb me at all. The presence of the soldiers quickly became a part of the scenery for me. We passed some settlements and that is where the story takes a bit of a turn. My mom closed her eyes and leaned back. I looked out the window, the bus slowed down to make a turn and there it was. A man shot in the head at the side of the road. The blood was still streaming out of him onto the road. A small group of people were standing around and a woman was being held by another, screaming. I really couldn't believe my eyes. I turned to ask my mom if she saw. Of course she didn't and so I told her it was a car accident.

Just before entering the three kilometer tunnel that leads out of the mountains our bus was stopped for a routine check. We were waved through only to be surrounded by soldiers seconds later. They started yelling at our bus driver and a soldier got onboard scanning the rows. He pointed at us (my mother and I) and asked us to follow him. We were escorted off the bus and once out were surrounded by six or so more soldiers who escorted us away to a shack at the side of the road. I looked over my shoulder and saw that the bus driver was now trying to give one of the soldiers that was yelling at him money. One of the guys put his hand on my back and didn't remove it until I left the shack. There was quite a stir and a few nervous smiles when we got back on the bus a few minutes later. Apparently we had to register ourselves entering Kashmir and our bus driver wasn't aware that there were tourists on his bus. That's what got him in trouble.

The scenery changed on the other side of the tunnel. We entered a large valley with fields and fields of yellow canola flowers surrounded by snow capped mountains. Clusters of villages appeared. In this part of the world children get their education sitting in front of a large blackboard in the middle of a meadow surrounded by the moutain ranges and fields of flower. What a way to learn your ABCs!

Entering Srinigar the presence of the army gets stronger. There are barracks and barbed wire fences with glass bottles hanging in them everywhere. Banks and post offices had soldiers posted at the entrances with the usual barbed wire and sandbag fortifications. Once off the bus we were pulled aside to the government "tourism office". There was a man on the bus with his daughter that was going to show us the way to Dal lake and he was seperated from his daughter, questioned and asked for ID. The guy at the "tourism office" was clearly taking bribes as he wanted to arrange for our accommodations. He was a mean looking guy. It took us the better part of half an hour to get out of there and convince the police that Anam and her dad were not trying to kill us. It was such a ridiculous affair. My mother by this time looked like we were going to be hanged. My mom refused to get on a houseboat so we had to find a hotel. With the way things were going it didn't surprise me that at midnight someone was pounding on our hotel door asking us to open it. We didn't. My mom was freaking out and asked me if I would have come here on my own. The tone of her voice told me that there was only one right answer so I gave it: "No, of course not." She eyed me suspiciously and replied: "Of course you would. You're not afraid of anything." I really wish that was true.

The next day we left and got on a bus going to Amritsar. I don't know how many routes there is through the mountains but this one was way more spectacular than the one we took when we entered the region. There were waterfalls, bridges and more hairpin turns but this time we would look ahead and back and up and down and see the roads snaking around the mountains with convoys of trucks like a line of ants speeding there way out of sight around a bend, disappearing into the sky or into the mountain. There was evidence that some of the trucks didn't quite make it as their remains lay at the bottom of some of those drops we gazed down upon.

I am ridiculous

I really am. You'd think that I would have some perspective after having spent a night in the Thar desert with scorpions and large white spiders crawling over me but no siree bob. Not so. I didn't make a scene when I saw that big ugly rat on the street. I just crossed the street silently and went about my business. Rats are like sharks, snakes and spiders. Scary! But what do I do when I see a teenie tiny bug scurry across the bert on the train? I jump and yelp (I do this simultaneously) and lift my bag out fo the creatures way. Of course the train is stopped at a station and the guy that has been sitting next to me is trying to get his luggage so he can leave. The bug and I are standing between him and his luggage. He gave me "a get over it sister" look, then flicked the thing across the aisle toward someone else and got off the train. I felt pretty effing ridiculous.

Oh my gawd!

Someone call the people at Lonely Planet! I think I just found the "real India". YOU'll never guess where it's been hiding from the clamouring masses of backpackers frantically searching for it. Delhi, Kolkata and Mumbai are just distractions like the line ups at Disneyland. You know, the ones you wait in for hours only to be let down by the cheesy music and mechanically flawed ride. The "real India" lurks in the backstreets of the Victoria Terminus in Mumbai, the smiles of the person you sit next ot in the train and the sales reps who teach you Bengali phrases as you wait for your newly purchased punjabi suit to be tailored. The "real India" always asks 'which country' and wishes you 'a happy journey' on bumpy roads filled with high beams and shop keepers who never have any change for a 100 rupee bill. Why didn't Lonely PLanet print a guide fro all those hapless backpackers looking for the "real India"? It should be shelfed right next to the guide on "real life". Apparently "real life" only exists in the "real world" which happens when you are not travelling. There is no guide to the "real world" oddly enough becaus no one seems to be able to find it on the map.

Mumbai again

It's hot but beautiful.... I'm leaving tomorrow again for Delhi. I'll miss sweating in the humidity of Bollywood.

Udaipur's Octopussy

They won't let you forget that Octopussy was filmed here. Never. It plays at every hotel bar at night. It seems to be the only DVD they have readily available in the English language around here. "Last year you could walk to the Lake Palace" the waiter told me as I was staring at the TV. He seemed bored, so he joined me in watching the 007 film. I'm sure he's seen it 300 times already. Last year there was a draught. Mom was sleeping downstairs under a windy fan while I snuck out to watch a movie in the restaurant upstairs.

Earlier in the day my mom had a palm read by a shopkeeper (I know, I'll rant about that decision some other time). The 'palm reader' had incredible psychic powers. Apparently my mother had TWO children and an affair....Mmmh.

FOPs

So, here we have it. My mom on a night train. Trying to sleep. Hasina parked herself in the top bunk and was not to be seen for the entire 10 hour ride. Luckily I was seated next to an Afghan man! Fresh off the boat...er, I mean plane so that makes him a FOP. He was nice and complimented me on my honey tongued Pashtu. For sure I'm gonna get me a man back at home with that honey tongued Pasthu. Wouldn't it be great if I came back married and preggers?! Y'all could take turns babysitting while I "go to the library" or "night classes". The child could be raised by a village. Like in that saying, you know the one about the village banding together and raising the child and the child entertaining your cynile old ass and maybe even committing you to an old folks home where you'll meet other old people that don't want to be there.

I've been meeting a different breed of traveler now that my mom's around. They all seem to be from Afghanistan or Iran or Hare Krishnas who are escaping heartaches from London. My mom has also been exposed to a different sort of travel. I took her to a chill Israeli restaurant with floor seating and awesome trans music. She was the only mom in the sea of 20 something backpackers. Later that day we sat near the lake in Pushkar and watched as a huge mofo of a car backed over a little puppy. The dog yelped in pain and was crying for what seemed like hours. I got up and another traveler stopped and we held him until we could figure out what to do with the poor baby. He was a stray. It was aweful. Everytime he moved he cried. We thought its hind leg was hurt but then saw that it was his front leg. The local crazy man (you'll be happy to read that he was Canadian) yelled at me for caring. "Let him lead his life. He's a dog. He will think he is a human. Children need beds, not dogs." Clearly this Canadian was crazy. Clearly. Apparently sometimes he dances by the lake "just like a lady" the waiter told me with a big grin. Poor honky has no idea how to dance like a man, so he dances like a lady. I saw no suge spectacle. He did soften his stance and even walked me back to the market to chat while my mother kept eyeing him with that 'why is this hobo talking to my daughter' look on her face.

Today we're off to Udaipur. Saw the amazing the two and a half day mosque (built in 1192) earlier today. Quite an amazing site. We spent the day in Ajmer, site of one of the most important Sufi shrines in the world. Hazrat Mu'inuddin Chishti, the founder of the Chishti Sufi order's tomb. It was all very halal with my head covered and all. We prayed. We gave alms. We sat. We drank chai. We talked about old times and the nazar (otherwise known as 'evil eye'). Very halal as I said. My mom wasn't annoyed or anything. Then my mom yelled at me because I made her ride a horse drawn cart back to the train station instead of a taxi. It was awesome.