Khajuraho and the Day from Hell

Wednesday, November 19 We woke up to a rare November sight - rain. It had been in the air the night before but everyone was quite amazed at this inappropriate weather. Armed with rain-gear, umbrellas and our wireless sets Mama-Ji led us through an amazing sight - the equivalent of the Kama Sutra in sculpture. It's always good to get one's day off to a sexy start. Khajuraho is another UNESCO World Heritage site made up of a series of temples built during the Chandela dynasty which was at its height from 950 to 1050 A.D. On the temples are sculptures depicting all manner of gymnastic and creative (if somewhat dangerous) erotic positions. Men with women, men with men, men with animals, men masturbating, numerous men with one woman being held in a most uncomfortable position, you name it, they'd thought of it. To think of the very severe restrictions which now exist in India, where any public display of physical contact between men and women is frowned on, and where women are hidden behind saris and veils or burkhas and where arranged marriage is the norm, is to understand what the impact of Muslims, British and time can do to change society's concept of sex. Somehow after the tour most couples in our group probably wanted to do nothing more than to return to the hotel and try their skills at these creative positions. But that was not to be. We were off to the airport for a short trip to Varanasi. Or so we thought. Having gone through the most thorough security I've seen at any airport we sat in the small Khajuraho airport awaiting our plane. And we waited...and we waited...and we waited. Luckily we had seats in the very small waiting area, but subsequent tour groups which arrived were left to mill around and as time passed and the small vending stand was swamped the mood grew restless and just a wee bit edgy. After five hours it was finally announced that no planes would be arriving today or probably tomorrow - fog was the stated reason. At this point it was 6:00 p.m. and we were expected to be in Varanasi that night. Prakash and Lisa went into overdrive and before too long all luggage was retrieved from the airport and we boarded the very same bus we had left earlier and were promised a ten-twelve hour bus ride over pot-holed roads with rain and the usual dare devil bus and truck drivers. This was when we came to appreciate our merry group of travelers. We laughed, we joked, we groaned but we all understood this was the only alternative. To salve our souls while awaiting the various license permissions which would allow our bus to traverse the roads from Khajuraho to Varanasi we went to a near-by hotel where drinks were poured for everyone and box lunches were created. We boarded at 7:00 p.m. and every three hours we stopped at some roadside rest stop which gave us all an opportunity to see the 'real India'. For the women a hole in the ground with places for one's feet, for the men not much better. Thank god for Eau de Purrel with which we slathered ourselves after each such stop...and thank god for our sense of humor. Our box lunch, as imagined by India standards, consisted of a bread-on-bread sandwich with a minuscule 1 cm. slice of cheese; a boiled potato; an apple which was off-limits for reasons of health and a few other items I've buried in my memory. Ten hours later having gone over pot-holes so deep that we literally were levitated out of our seats, passing every known vehicle in the rain and with three changes of drivers to assure that they remained alert, we arrived bedraggled but alive at 5:00 a.m. The Taj Ganges Hotel looked like heaven on earth and Lisa allowed as we deserved a bit of sleep. She gave us until noon to rest, shower and gather our wits about us. This was the true Indian experience as none of us had planned it. But we'll all remember our ride through the countryside probably longer than we'll remember the names of the Mughal emperors. It was this event that told us we were in good hands with Lisa and Prakash since for them this must have been a minor nightmare. We all sat like good little children while our two 'parents' figured out the logistics for our night from hell. We appreciated them all the more and understood what they had done to make our trip as smooth as possible. Thursday, November 20th As usual, Lisa and Prakash had re-jiggled the schedule such that all promised events would occur, but not necessarily in the same order. Our first tour of the day was to Sarnath, the Buddhist pilgrimage site. This is one of the four important places in the life of Buddha. Sarnath means "deer park" and it is here that Buddha first taught the Dharma - his first important discourse. We went first to the temple built in the 1930's where wall paintings told the story of Buddha's rise from mere mortal prince, to prophet, to death. There were a group of Buddhists from Asia, the men dressed in saffron robes, who were being led in prayer which gave the whole place a holy atmosphere. We then walked around the grounds where there was an enormous bell given by Richard Gere, and where there are various memorials given by Buddhists from around the world. What is amazing is that it began here in India in the 3rd century a.d., and yet it is an almost non-existent practice here having taken hold more strongly in Asia. At the end of the 12th century, Sarnath was sacked by Turkish Muslims. The site was subsequently plundered for building materials and has remained in ruins until the present day. The site was entirely deserted until 1836, when the British began excavations and restoration... and that is what we would see. We explored the excavations, which reminded me of seeing ruins in Greece. A few walls, the outlines of structures, but a rich imagination required to think of this as a busy, thriving series of temples. At the site were various Buddhist groups, one group wrapping a huge yard-wide golden ribbon around the large Dharmekh stupa, others being led to various sites where they were leaving gold-leaf mementos on the ruined walls of important buildings. We went through the museum associated with the site which was one of the nicest museums I had seen in India. One of the important items which was located in the main entry hall is the Ashoka Lion capital made of polished sandstone - it is a four-headed lion which sat upon a large pillar and which has now become the emblem of India. There were some famous statues of Buddha and many small sculptures of animals which reminded me of Greek animal sculpture of the same period. It is as if people of a fixed period represent a dog the same way, no matter which continent they are from - or rather at a certain level of civilized culture, a sculpture is represented in a similar fashion. Filled with knowledge we returned to the hotel for a rest before our final evening together where our farewell dinner and our journey to its location promised to be the highlight of our trip. We were warned that our dining place would be on the Ganges and that mosquitoes would be rampant, so while we might have truly dressed for the occasion, we rather bathed ourselves in insect repellent, covered all known parts of our bodies and met in the lobby for our next adventure. There we were greeted by a series of bicycle rick-shaws where we were loaded two to a rickshaw for our ride through Veranasi to the ghats. What a hoot! You had to learn not to try and look at the traffic or you would have seen death approaching at every round-about or intersection. Between the trucks, cars, tuck-tuck taxis, rickshaws, goats, cows and pedestrians it was a r0lling nightmare on wheels. No matter which way one turned there was another surreal sight: a cow which had taken up permanent residence inside a fabric store to such a degree that the store now advertised its presence on a huge banner outside the store-front; men squatting by a tea shop chewing on paan (betel leaves) and spitting professionally into the street; a groom riding on his white horse to ride to his wedding and his waiting bride; and people - thousands of them. Afterall, this is THE pilgrimage site for a Hindu. It is where one goes to have ones ashes spread upon the Ganges, and if one is lucky where one hopes to be cremated as well. All manner of pilgrims were walking towards the ghats, stopping to pick up marigold wreathes, votive candles or any manner of offering to give in hopes of a better life. Along the waterfront are a series of ghats - each built by a maharajah for himself and his people so that they could come and bathe in the Ganges. The whole place looked not a lot different from the photographs taken by Daddy - only a few more neon signs to light the way, but otherwise it could be 1928. The same wooden boats are at the base of the ghats for the tourists and pilgrims to ride out upon the Ganges to place ones votive offerings, and ones ashes. For us tourists riding in the boat was a chance to look back at the shoreline of Varanasi and to appreciate the hoards of people. Hindus believe that bathing in Ganga remits sins and that dying here ensures release of a person's soul from the cycle of its transmigrations. Whereas I had believed that re-incarnation was to be wished for, it is in fact the opposite. One hopes that one is NOT re-incarnated since the next life may not be as good as the one you're leaving. It was just plain amazing and other worldly. The darkness, the neon lights, the noise, the prayers, the people, the swarms, the hawkers and the animals.... I have never seen anything like it ever! Our little wooden boat with its half-horsepower engine putt-putted its way past the cremation sites (one at either end of the whole line of ghats), we went under a floating pontoon bridge (with a good deal of comic chaos by our less than expert navigators), and suddenly we were at the base of one of the most elegant palaces in which one of the last Maharaja still lives. It is his private home and for the first time he had opened it up for us to have dinner on his open patio high above the river. The food had been brought in by the Taj Hotel where we were staying, and all we had to do was climb out of our boat, past the muddy shore and up the steepest set of stairs I have ever seen. One false step and one would find oneself tumbling back IN the Ganges which would have definitely not been a good experience. Once one entered through heavy wooden doors, there were still inner stairs to climb to get to the main level of the palace, and every few steps there was a welcoming swastika designed in marigolds. It has taken me a while to get over this symbol of India. For me it represents all that was horrid and evil, but in India at festivals and other happy occasions a swastika design is drawn to represent good luck and fertility. Even the camels of Pushkar had them happily tattooed on their rumps...but it does take me a minute to adjust to this other usage of a hated emblem. We had a wonderful buffet dinner in this magical place where many movies have been made. After dinner each person was asked to stand up and tell the one thing they would remember about this trip. Each person had taken in a different aspect of the trip. For those of a religious persuasion, the deep religious nature of the people had made a strong impression; for some it was the role of the hard-working women who toiled so endlessly and for whom in many cases life was difficult and arduous; for others it was the incredible strength of the family which is in evidence everywhere and which seems so much a part of an Indian's perception of self; and for all of us it was the wonderful guidance of Lisa, Prakash and Doranne who had made this adventure a singular and amazing experience. Each of us had a different experience, but no one left untouched by this amazing place. And thus our trip was ending. We carefully walked back down all the stairs to our boat, putt-putted our way back under the pontoon bridge and to the shore near one of the ghats where we then walked through the sleepy back streets of Varanasi, past sleeping cows and sleeping lumps of bodies before we arrived at our bus which took us back to our hotel for a good night's sleep.

Agra to Khajuraho

Tuesday, November 18th I was afraid I wouldn't get a train journey on this tour, but I did.... Agra to Orchha. The Agra train station and the one described by Daddy have changed very little: dirt, vendors, people living on the station, beggars, noise and ancient trains with people crammed into every nook and cranny. We had to wait at the station for awhile since the train was late, and there was a good deal of mutual staring between the Indians and the Americans - there is a mutual curiosity with the only difference being that we had cameras to capture it all. When our train arrived we were escorted to our first class car where tea, coffee and snacks were served. It was an uneventful ride but nice to add this to my list of local transportation methods. We were met at Orchha by our local Indian guide - Mama-Gi, a fairly pedantic older gentleman who loved to hear his own voice, did not abide disagreement and who was not all that comfortable with using the wireless headsets. (Of all our local guides to date, he was my least favorite. I don't doubt his base of knowledge, it was his delivery and manner which was a bit off-putting). We boarded another bus, a little less plush than the last ones, but perfectly fine for the occasion. Our first stop was lunch at a large restaurant, obviously designed for tour groups, and then we were off to see the 16th century medieval town of Orchha and its a palace high over-looking the town with beautiful wall paintings. I skipped this part of the tour chosing to sit on the bus and read about places we were to see next. I can only take so many palaces and forts before I go into over-load. Upon everyone's return we had the wonderful experience called by Lisa "Bus shopping". This is a process which she and Prakash have obviously done in the past. Its goal is to allow us to avoid the constant hassle of hawkers and vendors who when seeing a group of tourists immediately glom on with a persistence that is to be admired. It can be daunting to have large numbers of young boys surrounding you, shoving items before your face and telling you that they have the best price. Their favorite lines are that "you are my first sale of the day and therefore a special price", or "you are my last sale of the day...." or "my sister made this", or simply "Hey Lady, buy this"....For the most part the objects are all the same, be it books, jewelry, head-gear...but local to each town in which we stop. But the prices are arbitrary and usually start quite high. It's up to the poor tourist to try and figure out the right price, and then god forbid, if you buy something, they smell the odor of a sucker and there will be a hoard of other hawkers sure that if you bought one thing, you want to buy a few things more. It is frustrating since you do want to perhaps buy something, but you don't want to be smothered in vendors. So. Lisa and Prakash arranged "bus shopping" as we leave each location. The two of them would 'negotiate' a price for each unique item from the hawkers, they would bring it onto the bus, and we could buy it directly from them. They would in turn give the money to the hawkers waiting anxiously at the base of the bus stairs to see what they would reap. It was explained that most of these young hawkers all report to one primary 'pimp' to which they owe a quota by the end of the day in order to keep their jobs, so that this added pressure adds to the urgency of their sales approach. We have all enjoyed "bus shopping" which is done in great humor by Lisa and Prakash, but there was a certain pleasure in negotiating directly as well. On average nothing cost more than the equivalent of $2 - 5 so it wasn't exactly a high risk process. So far I have purchased various necklaces, tour books and one snow-globe (glitter rather than snow inside) of the Taj Mahal. The danger is, of course, that you get caught up in the frenzy and find yourself with lots of chatchke that you really don't need. We were now off on a five hour bus ride to our next stop in Khajuraho. Our goal was to stop mid-way at a small village where Mama-Ji was familiar with the children of the town who were awaiting our visit and the bags of sweets and cookies we would leave behind. By the time we arrived it was dusk so we quickly walked to the center of the village where the children gathered and Mama-Gi, acting much like a very stern school teacher, asked each child a series of questions which they answered enthusiastically. It was a bit like watching performing seals waiting for their treats so after a few pictures we returned to the bus stumbling past numerous cows and humans and continued our ride. How to describe the countryside - Surreal. The area we were passing through is a very fertile plain with farms prospering on both sides. Personally I would chose farm life over city life, were I an Indian, but as Doranne explained, the country life is only tolerable if one is a land owner, otherwise you are working for someone with little chance for advancement. To own no land, but to work the land was hard work with little reward. I kept thinking that little had changed since Daddy was here. There were ox-drawn wooden carts carrying grain; ox-drawn wooden plows that looked almost biblical with a man steering the oxen while a sari-dressed woman walked behind strewing seeds in the newly made furrows; there were water buffalo everywhere - the main source of milk and dung; cows looking scrawny, but with free range to walk whereever they wanted and bullocks with their big hump on their back; large pigs, bulls with painted horns which helped to identify the owner; goats and their kids; sadu priests ash covered and scantily dressed; and everywhere piles of garbage. The road was more a one-lane road but was treated as a three - lane super highway with the game of Russian Roulette everytime one passed another vehicle. Who will give way first: the on-coming vehicle, the vehicle you're passing, or your own. With much honking of horns and near- calamities, it was enough to have me sitting at the back of the bus rather than in the front where my heart would be in my throat. We arrived at the Taj Chandela late in the evening, had our dinner and crashed. There appear to be two main luxury chains: Oberoi and Taj. While their prices may be similar, the qualities are distinctly different. Oberoi with its management training and structure gives one a sense of service, the Taj on the other hand seems like the employees are simply there to do their jobs. But in neither case can we complain - the alternatives are not even close. And after a long bus ride any bed looked fabulous.

Jaipur to Agra

Sunday, November 16 Drove to Fatehpur Sikri, another world heritage site. This site was built by Mughal Emperor Akbar in 1571 in honor of the famous Sufi saint, Salim Chishti, who had promised the childless Akbar would he would have a son and heir. This entire walled city became the capital for fourteen years until Akbar moved away leaving this a ghost town. All its lush decor was plundered but the external structure was saved in no small thanks to the efforts of British Viceroy, Lord Curzon. Our guide pointed out the frescoes, the palaces, the administrative area where the 'supreme court' would meet and make decisions. We went into the mosque built for the holy man Chishti where to this day people leave pieces of string tied to the marble lattice work of the tomb, hoping for a miracle to be granted. If their wish comes true they return to the mosque at a later time and leave a sari and money in thanks. Both the coins and the saris are given to the poor. We hopped back on our bus and headed for Agra...arriving amidst throngs of people going to market, doing their shopping and chatting on the streets. We were staying at an Oberoi again - The Oberoi Amarvilas - which is exactly 600 meters from the Taj complex. The rules are that no building can be built within 500 meters of the Taj in order to help reduce the corrosive effect of auto and household fuels. All cars within that 500 meters must run on batteries, not gas or diesel. The Oberoi by being 600 meters away meets the requirement, but is the closest hotel and it is built in such a way that all guest rooms have a view of the Taj Majal. Were it not for the haze and pollution it would be a splendid view. That evening we had a lecture by Doranne on the roles of women in India. One of her articles, "Behind the Veil", was published in the National Geographic in August, 1977. India still has a very structured family environment where most marriages are arranged by the family and the couple may not know each other until their wedding date. While 'love' marriages are becoming more common, the predominant process is to have the parents make arrangements. On Sunday in the papers one sees page after page of ads looking for appropriate grooms. One most ensure that the partner is of the right caste, economic station, moral station, religious persuasion and a host of other criteria. The bride is still asked to provide a dowry, and while it is outlawed, there are still 'kitchen fire' deaths of young brides who either didn't meet the dowry requirements, or who, god forbid are creating too many girl babies and not the all-important boy. The bride in all cases moves into the home of her new husband and is under the thumb of her new mother-in-law and any sisters in law who are also living under the roof. She remains subordinate to the women and is expected to take orders from the senior woman. She keeps herself veiled to her in-laws until such time as she provides the precious grandson, at which point her own status is moved up a few notches and she may even become dominant over the has-been mother-in-law. While there are women who have broken out of this mold of subservience, they are a distinct minority and while divorce is permitted it would bring such shame to the family and would prove so devastating to the woman, that it rarely is exercised. Of course, as Prakash, our Indian tour coordinator told us, the parents work very hard to provide an appropriate mate for their daughter and whereas in the western world one loves and then is married, in India one marries and comes to love ones spouse. He explained that since his own father died very early, he became the 'man of the family' and arranged the marriages of all his sisters, and he himself continues to live with his mother, his wife and various other members of his family under the same roof. (This whole structure is so new to me that I will have to read more to understand it better). And as I was reminded: every family is different. Monday, November 17 In order to see the Taj Mahal in its early morning beauty where it is bathed in the sunrise, our group awoke at 5:30 in order to be at the doors of the Taj Mahal at 6:00 a.m. The big fort-like doors opened at 6:30 and we went through some of the tightest security I've ever seen outside of an airport. Because this is such an iconic structure, and because of unrest in the country, we were advised to bring as little as possible with us. I had brought the 'frog' of the Peacham , Vermont, Library with me, wanting to pose him in front of the building, but he was taken from me by the security guards who couldn't trust that he wasn't carrying some dangerous weapon in his soft body. We all were given white cloth shoe covers so that when we walked on the marble structure we would not mar the surface, and as always the perennial hawkers were there promising us gems beyond belief. When we had come through security we were at a large portal structure from which one could see the Taj at the end of a long reflecting pool. We were told that we were really looking at the back door of the building since most guests would have arrived by water on the River Yamuna. But this is the view that we all have seen a million times, and while I knew what to expect, it still stood out so clean and pristine and perfectly proportioned. Even shrouded in pollution it was beautiful. The building is an octagon with four minarets, one at each corner, designed in case of earthquake to fall away from the building, not into it. At either side are two buildings which have absolutely no purpose than to provide symmetry and balance. We were given lots of information on Shah Jahan the Mughal emperor who built this to honor the death of his favorite wife, Mumtaz Mahal. We learned that he himself took a strong hand in much of the building and that it took over 20,000 workers more than 22 years to complete the structure in 1653. While I thought the building was built entirely of marble, it is actually built of red brick with a marble facade only. The Pietra Dura was astounding with jewels and semi-precious stones used to create intricate floral designs inlaid in the marble. Uncle Walter, in his visit in 1928, waxed eloquent, and felt this was the sight of his life-time; and while Daddy also enjoyed it, he felt that Walter had gone a 'little over the top'. My own impressions were mixed. I appreciate the pure beauty of the structure and the thought that this was built in love, but I think I will always favor the Acropolis, perhaps because it was the first of these iconic structures with which I became familiar. We noted that below the T.M. they were monitoring the level of pollution around the building, and it appeared on a ticker tape readout, looking at first like a stock exchange reader. It has lasted more than 400 years, but without a strong reduction in pollution levels, I find it unlikely that it will be standing so perfectly in 2000 years. It was glorious being at the site so early in the morning with far fewer crowds and the opportunity to get a sense of the place without ducking a million people. Our tour guide told us that he had taken Bill Clinton around the site and that, in the guest book he signed, he wrote something to this aefect: "From now on the world is divided into two groups - those who have seen the Taj Mahal and those who haven't. I'm pleased to have joined the club of those who have." We returned to the hotel for breakfast (after retrieving the frog from security) and had a chance to relax at the hotel. We were then taken to the Agra Fort, which sits across the river from the Taj Mahal. This was built by Akbar and contains a complex of buildings, mosques, palace rooms and large courtyards. There is now a large military barracks attached which was an addition by the British, and which is off-limits since it continues to serve that purpose. There are a series of small areas in which lived the harem, the elegant rooms used by Akbar, and the very sad smaller rooms in which Shah Jahan(grandson of Akbar) was imprisoned in his last years (by his own son, Aurangzeb) and from which he was able to look across to the beautiful tomb he had built for his wife. While the history of this period in India was all new to me, I'm slowly beginning to grasp the lineage of the various Mughal rulers and to place it in context with what was going on in Europe at the same time. At 5:30 we returned to see the sunset at the T.M. and to take our group photograph. It was distinctly more crowded and the lines outside to get in were lengthy. But we all had a chance to wander quietly on our own without being given information, and promptly at 6:30 the site was closed and we returned to the hotel for dinner and bed.

Jaipur

Friday, November 14 We awoke at 5:40, had breakfast at 6:00, and were on the bus by 7:00 to get to the Amber Fort early to line up for the elephant ride to the top. We still stood on line surrounded by hawkers selling everything under the sun: "cheap, sister", "you are my first sale of day, for you special price", "auntie, for my poor mother" etc., etc. Our 'mahout' ( elephant driver) took us up to the fort on a wonderfully painted elephant - a smoother ride than the camel. I adore elephants with their sad eyes, huge leathery skin and steady plodding ways. I know they were once used as punishment - being crushed by an elephant foot would prove fatal - but they are such faithful steady things. Once at the top we had a very fine tour of the fort which was built from 1600-1700. While only the structure stands one can sense the lushness, imagine the carpet strewn rooms, the lavishly painted walls, the multi-mirrored room which with only a few candles could give the effect of a sunlit day in a very dark space. I had no camera (batteries out) but others took plenty of shots and we've all agreed to share them on line. What was compelling to me was the amount of human labor that was in evidence: to create a new floor, two men were hacking away with simple hoes and three women in brilliant saris were loading up 16" diameter wok-shaped bowls, raising them to their heads and slowly, gracefully hauling away the stone...returning again and again. No rush, just calm acceptance of this. At another location, there were women sweeping the dust from one corner to the next; and at another spot, women were sifting ochre colored dry cement to make sure it had no lumps. I know this is the full employment policy, but when you know that the average income for an Indian is less than us$600/year you feel so spoiled, so rich. My only disappointment in India is the trash... which is everywhere! Some of this can be blamed on plastics and packaged goods, but there seems to be an over whelming amount of trash in every place. Each individual shop keeper or stall owner or family keeps its own doorway swept, and at times they are literally sweeping the dirt to keep other stray material away, but that just moves it to the general area where it seems to accumulate. We are told that trash is swept away often, but when one sees cows and pigs grazing and chewing on cardboard and plastic you worry about the internal organs of these beasts. And waste bins are totally non-existent - be it at monuments, on streets, at shops. Maybe they would be stolen or misused but we 'green' Americans, taught not to throw trash anywhere, have our pockets laden with used tissues, wipes and plastic bottles... looking for a place to put them. But of all the problems which India faces: cholera, polio, malaria, illiteracy, job creation, infanticide, homelessness, perhaps trash collection is lower on the list. Once we had completed our tour, and taken a jeep down from the fort to our waiting bus, we went off to the Channi Rug and Fabric store where, in the calm of no hawkers, amidst beautiful fabrics and silks, I had myself measured (like in Hong Kong) for three Kamese: paisley silk, black brocade and shantung-like blue silk, and some pants. It is always awkward to stand there being measured in every part of your body while standing among the shoppers, and again like in Hong Kong the measurer and the recorder of data are speaking in Hindi, but they promise that by tomorrow morning garments will be delivered to our Oberoi Hotel. With that dent made in my shopping budget I returned to the beautiful hotel to 'chill' while others continued to various jewelry stores. This hotel may be my favorite so far, set amidst beautiful gardens with swimming pools, and clusters of units scattered throughout. One is truly in an oasis, and one can have a real sense of guilt when you realize that one night in such a luxurious site is equivalent to a year's earnings for those outside the gates. Each of the people on the staff is proud of their position. Oberoi provides a training program throughout India which is considered to be top rate. If one does well, one moves up the ranks of Oberoi and is sent to one of their many locations throughout the country. A fine opportunity for both men and women. In the evening Doranne provided a lecture on the pantheon of 300,000 gods which have a place in India. The main ones I'm beginning to recognize in painting and sculpture, but there are an incredible amount and each has its own vehicle of transportation, its own rituals, characteristics and purposes. We then learned about the various religions and customs which guide this country. My concern is that, like in old Greece, one can always use the gods to rationalize one's life and this belief that 'all is meant to be' could hold back a country that needs to move into the next century. It is a mixed blessing to have a strong religious faith: it provides one an explanation, a source of calm, an understanding of life, but were I living in a hovel with nothing and with no running water, I would hope that my children could improve their lot, and I'm not sure God will get them there.

Saturday November 15 -

Luggage out at 8:00 a.m., on the bus by 9:00, for a four hour bus ride through the countryside to a small town (name not remembered) where we stayed at our slightly less luxurious hotel - The Bagh in Bharatpur. But compared to the world outside our gate, we were living in a palace. The discrepancy is frightening, and as each worker left the compound they were being searched, and as one entered the compound all cars were examined with a mirror under the car looking for dangerous explosives. We are truly in a cocoon. This site is an old orchard (Bagh means orchard and this one had guava trees)which belonged to the Maharajah of Bharatpur who entertained dignitaries who came to hunt the birds at the reservoir he had constructed for the purpose of luring the birds there. The Bagh is now owned by Raj Singh the nephew of the former Maharaja and the orchard was opened three years ago as a hotel. Our rooms have bars on the window, and through them one hears pigs, goats and roosters and much chatter by those living in less elegant settings just on the other side of the wall. A few of the tour members went on a walking tour of the village (Pakka Bagh) to see India up close, but I feel too much like a voyeur peeking into the world of this relatively prosperous agricultural village... and it just seemed wrong...so I stayed at the hotel and read. I don't like to think of people on display for the tourists, no matter how worthy it may be for our knowledge. Doranne, our knowledge-leader, has spent years living in a small village in the 'belly button' of India, living with rats, snakes etc., while working on her dissertation in anthropology. She did this over 30 years ago with her husband, an archaeologist. The world she lived in is described beautifully in various articles she has written. She understands India, but doesn't gloss it over or explain things through rose-colored glasses. She obviously loves this country and its people but is clear about its problems as well. She has been a great resource on this trip and we turn to her often to explain the unexplainable.

After lunch we were loaded back on the bus for a visit to another World Heritage site - Keoladeo Ghana National Park., the bird sanctuary which used to be the hunting grounds for the Maharajah. We hopped onto two-person bicycle rickshaws and with our wireless headsets on our heads, we were led by a local ornithologist into the mango groves to see the birds: painted storks, kingfishers, anhinga, ibis, owls, cormorants, herons, and beasts like antelope. There are over 200 known pythons in the park, and luckily we saw none of them. It was an amazing oasis of calm and beauty amidst dung smoke and poverty. Our 'pedalist' has done this for eleven years, his legs were pure steel. He knew where all birds could be seen, where they nested and he spoke just enough English to explain what we were seeing. It was a lovely way to end our bus-filled day as all the pedalists raced each other at the end of our tour. They behaved not that differently from drivers on the road, making a one-lane path seem like a super highway as they rang bells, passed on the left or right and dared each other to give way.

After a rest at the hotel, and dinner in the dining room, there was a simple performance of dance by locals and off to bed for another bus ride.

Delhi/Pushkar/Jaipur

Friday - Nov. 7 - Haze. (aka smog, and pollution, so admits the paper). I stayed in since nothing encouraged me to get out in that air. Pat arrived at 11:30 p.m. we stayed up to watch Obama's first press conference - very staged, stiff, but we had to watch. We feel like we're on another planet. Saturday - Nov. 8 - Having both taken a sleeping pill , we woke at 11:00 a.m., had breakfast in bed and strode out to greet Delhi. A taxi picked us up and we headed for Connaught Place, which we were told was a shopping Mecca. To be a cab driver in Delhi is to be a dare devil - cycles, auto rickshaws, bicycles, cars, all jockeying for position while people and animals wander through it all. Whenever we stopped there were beggars at the windows asking for rupees, or children, or mothers with babes in arms. You had to steel yourself and look away. The hotel suggested that you rather leave money in a jar at the lobby to help the city poor, since to help one was to only invite a thousand more to come. We arrived at Connaught expecting some form of a mall, but it was rather a circular sprawl of small dirty shops, vendors on the street, hustlers trying to 'help' you find a location... or simply people strolling chatting into their cell phones. All the young are dressed in western dress, the older generation - especially the women continue to use saris. After twenty minutes we wandered back to where our driver was waiting. He had accepted no money when we left the cab, assuming of course we'd go back with him. He drove us next to the Craft Store where there were truly beautiful things...unfortunately Pat and I were not great at money conversion, so we estimated everything as way too costly. We were soooo far off! I saw a lovely scarf for 5500 rupees which I thought was 250 dollars, and was more like $100... oh well. Back to the hotel and a rest. Sunday - Nov. 9 - Another polluted foggy morning. We read in the India Times that the airport had to close runways because of poor visibility. Theoretically there was a large temple outside our window...which we saw once. We decided to make a trip to the Red Fort, but after spending 30 minutes in horrendous traffic, we turned around and relaxed at the hotel. It was Sunday and between families out for the day; a marathon being run through the street; and accidents...the pollution just didn't encourage us. God knows how they will get ready for the Commonwealth Games in time...it's like China. Pat and I who are quite adventurous both agreed that this city did not encourage one to explore. I wanted to go to Jama Mashid where Daddy had been, but was told that with recent 'unrest', it wasn't safe. So we bagged that idea as well. We're waiting for our tour to begin, where we hope to see more with more protection. Monday November 10 - A leisurely morning until we met our tour group at lunch - a mixed lot with everyone telling their tier one stories as we lunched. Our tour leader Lisa from Berkeley, and Doranne from Ann Arbor, and Prakash our local coordinator, instructed us as to how the day would go. We loaded into a lovely air-conditioned bus and with our local Delhi coordinator (Vicar) headed for a quick tour of the New Delhi Government Area, where we saw plenty of civil servants out on the grass areas playing cards or cricket. Then we headed to Mughal Emperor Humayun's tomb - a lovely garden oasis with a large tomb in the center and many smaller tombs around it... including a tomb for the barber. As we were told: the barber is the person closest to the head of state, and with a razor available at all times it was good to give him his own temple, and probably lengthen your own life. We were given lots of data quickly, and just as quickly forgotten... but I have the guidebook and can review what ever I think I need to remember. Groups of school children were also attending the tomb ,and they were as curious about us as we were about them. Lots of pictures taken...lots of shy winks. Back on the bus and off to Qtub Minar where Daddy also had gone. Took pictures at the exact same places that he had stood - very eerie and lovely. All the guides were pleased to help me in my quest to find the locations ...and where I wasn't sure of a particular photograph, they identified the exact location for me. Prakash, our Indian coordinator, had studied German in school and often led German tours ,so he could read Daddy's handwriting as well.... and was translating for me, just in case I didn't know German. Very amusing. While driving back to the hotel past beggars, children doing tricks for coins, mothers with children and scrawny starving people asking for handouts we passed by in our swank bus heading for our swank hotel while being taught the history of India, the caste system and the economic situation. Evening cocktail hour, sit down dinner, and a chance for each person on the tour to introduce themselves. My first impression: well run tour; very educated tour guides; interesting and curious tour members...this should be fun! Tuesday - Nov. 11 - An incredibly early start to our day. with luggage outside the door by 6:00 a.m., we staggered to breakfast and on to the bus ,and off to Indira Gandhi Airport used for local within-India flights. Security was like the US, with the only difference being separate lines for men and women so that women inspected only women. We flew on Kingfisher Airlines. It's as if we had a Budweiser Airlines in the USA. Within 40 minutes we had arrived in Jaipur where we boarded our bus for the three hour ride to the Pushkar Camel Fair. Doranne, who spent many years living in India and who loves the place deeply gave us some interesting data about the place we were going:

• Pushkar means Lotus Blossom
• 10k tourists come to see this site which is a new thing on the tourist route
• Over 200,000 Indians come to this every year
• There is both the Mela - or fair - where one has Ferris wheels, cattle trading, camel trading and races...and there is the religious aspect.
• Pushkar is where Lord Brahma lived...it is the only site in his honor, and people come at the full moon to swim in the lake and be blessed.
• Over $2 million dollars swaps hands during the fair where camels and cattle are the biggest sales, and horses and goats the next.
• Often the animals must be sold because there isn't enough fodder to feed them.
• Camels are beginning to dwindle as their grazing land becomes populated. A camel is used for its milk, its ability to haul things for long distances, and when it dies for its bones and its skin. They are never butchered and the same goes for cattle and horses.
• Saddu's are a very small and strange sect who come to the fair to beg and to earn rupees by doing some pretty amazing tricks including one who has taken a vow of silence for 25 years and maintains his chastity. To prove this, he hangs a large rock off his penis....this has to be seen to be believed!!!

As our bus went through the countryside we passed camel caravans, water buffalo, goats gamboling, and cows; and small villages where men sat at their tea shops by the side of the road sipping sweet tea and gossiping - like Greece.

Suddenly out of no where we're in Pushkar! We came to our Raj Resorts Tent Complex - and that is exactly what it was. They pitch large tents for the 10 day festival complete with flush toilets, cold running water and cots with tons of blankets...and we're here. It was not what was expected by most, and it was like arriving at camp as a child. We sat under a tent, had lunch, and then relaxed on our cots for a few hours. To get hot water one walked to a location where a gentleman would smile and bring you a bucket of boiling water which when mixed with the cold water of the tap allowed you to take a sponge bath or whatever you chose. Primitive after the Oberoi Hotel, but kind of fun since we knew it was just for two days.

Once rested we got onto flat-bed carts drawn by a camel - four people to a cart - and headed in a jolting way to the fair grounds. Every place we passed we were stared at...after all, many of these villagers had never seen Caucasians in their lives. We passed tuk-tuk taxis jammed to the gills; busses with people crammed in and on the roof; cycles, scooters and tourist buses all trying to find space on a sleepy two-lane road which normally serves a very small community of Brahmins. Our camels seemed impervious to the noise, loping along in their disjointed manner. I took lots of pictures and shooed away lots of beggars selling sandlewood statues, necklaces, elephants, bangles, booklets, you name it...they had it. These 'merchants' come to the fair from as far away as Agra to make a few quick rupees during the fair. We headed into the heart of the fair with naked children, gaunt men and women; and everywhere the brilliant colors of the saris. Bareback riders would whiz by, camels would snort and sneeze ,and you ducked to avoid the disgusting mess; and we passed people sorting out fresh dung to make dung paddys for fuel. People were grinding fresh sugar cane to make sugar cane juice; piles of fresh fodderwas being sold by the kilo to feed the incredible volume of animals; and all manner of snacks were availabe, which smelled wonderful but which would have killed us instantly. Words cannot describe this scene! To be in a dessert of soft sifting, blowing sand surrounded by camels, horses, people, piles of dung, piles of plastic and filth, touts selling any and everything ...and smelling new smells, hearing all manner of new sounds and constantly having ones eyes assaulted by another thing which you've never seen before. It was surreal. Usually I can compare things to other things in my past - there is absolutely no comparison. It is a unique first in my life experiences. I feel as new to this as Daddy did to seeing his first black Egyptian. Some of our fellow travelers were less charmed, seeing only the dirt and the dust, and wanted to go home. And in fact one woman left and asked to go back to Jaipur to await our return.

If one wanted, one could have a shave, have a dentist pull a tooth, or simply have a snack. We learned that camels live about 25 years; that their owners feel very close to their animals who provide them so much help, and feel terrible when they die. A good camel could be sold for us$10,000 dollars.

We 'camel-carted' back to the hotel, and Pat and I skipped dinner to sleep.

Wednesday - November 12-

It was a chilly night and I slept well under my pile of blankets, since there is no heat in the tents, and in the desert at night it can be quite nippy. After a breakfast of tea and toast we headed into the actual town of Pushkar - the place where Brahma is worshipped. We wandered through the very crowded markets filled with all the pilgrims coming for the fair, and for the holy swim in the lake. The stalls which had been set up sold all manner of dime-store things which reminded me of the markets in Monastiraki(Athens) in the 'old days' of the 60's. There were men putting soles on old sandals, using old tires; blacksmiths making bowls and tin containers; dentists pulling teeth; men selling fleece clothing, mattresses, blankets, camel decorations, snacks...you name it, they had it.

We walked to a small shoe shop ,where we left our shoes and our valuables in the merchant's care, and proceeded to the holy temple of Brahma, where having gone through the throngs and past the security police ,we walked up the stairs to strew rose and marigold, and sugar cubes, at the 4-headed statue of Brahma. Men to one side women to the other....It was an unbelievable scene, and someone said that it made the subway in New York at rush hour seem like a joyride!

Next stop was to have our own Puja (blessing) done. Doranne, having been here many times, was very good friends with a Brahman priest, and she suggested that it would be an interesting experience, and as she said, it certainly couldn't' hurt. We walked to the lake, sat on a series of steps rising from the water (we couldn't go into the lake, and probably wouldn't have wanted to). We were first given a handful of aromatic rose petals mixed with red powder (for blood and life) and yellow powder (for wealth and fortune). Next the priest asked us to repeat a prayer for our family and for ourselves and to think of a blessing which we wanted fulfilled. Next he handed us a coconut (not sure about its significance), we were daubed with a red dot to signify that we were married, and each of us received a red and yellow wrist band made of string which was proof of the contract we made made with the priest - we paid him 100 rupees, he prayed for us and carried the message directly to Brahma. Prakash, our Indian tour leader explained that each family may have its own family priest and if you came to Pushkar and knew your village and your caste you would be led to a specific priest who would know your entire family lineage. These are not only memorized by the priest, but are documented which serves as a fine genealogical process.

Feeling blessed, we worked our way back through the throngs to retrieve our belongings; climbed aboard our camel carts and headed back for lunch. In the afternoon six of us brave souls decided we needed to ride a camel directly. What a hoot! The hardest part of the event was getting up from the ground without falling out of the saddle, and at the end getting down, as the gangly -legged beast lowered itself down again. The rest of the ride was just a jolting, rocking event as we passed cars, humans and buses with everyone smiling at the silly white people riding camels...obviously we didn't look as if we did this often. However, I'm glad I did...It was a round trip ride to the fairgrounds and back again. Spent the rest of the day reading and writing in my diary.

Thursday November 13 -

Another early departure from Pushkar. This was the big day to be blessed at the lake - the day after the full moon and every bus, cart, tractor, flatbed or truck was loaded with people dressed in brilliant saris coming for their rituatl bath. It took us almost an hour to get out of the throngs because it was a small two laned road, and people were hoping it was a four lane road...which meant much jostling with our bus being the largest and the least likeliest to jostle. But we were able to stand a lot and were observed by all. I took lots of pictures of preening young men proud to have their picture taken; shy girls who giggled and posed; and older women who simply covered their faces with their saris... and all the time "Hey Lady..." Hello!

Returning to Jaipur, the same way we had come, past sparse vegetation and dirt. To see the women in their brilliant saris working in the fields in an otherwise brown and dusty surroundings was to see a gem sparkling in the mist.

Jaipur may be a wealthy town, but it doesn't look it. Along the sides of the road were monkeys, pigs, camels, cattle, dogs, goats, water buffalo, people going to the bathroom, shaving, sitting, eating, hawking...the streets are where they live and one's eyes can't absorb it all. I just kept snapping pictures since every sight was interesting and new - the fruit stands mounded with pineapples, chestnuts and things I couldn't name; the tea shops with people sipping hot sweet tea; women sweeping the dust to make sure their own personal space seemed orderly; a dead camel at the side of the road; people brushing their teeth, making wooden rakes, sewing blankets, you name it it was happening.

We were driven to the palace of the Maharajah of Jaipur whom Doranne has met numerous times. We never saw him (we're told he is old and had a stroke recently), but we did dine on his lovely veranda overlooking peacocks and acacia trees. After lunch we toured the palace, and then went to visit the astoundingly wonderful Astronomical Observatory...both an aesthetic as well as a scientific wonder which I won't describe in the blog but which I will need to study further to understand.

Exhausted and over-stimulated with data, sights and smells, we collapsed at our very luxurious hotel, The Oberoi Rajvilas, which deserves its claim to be one of the top resorts in the world. It is set in a park-like setting with various buildings scattered along lovely pathways where one actually had a room. Peacocks were wandering, sprinklers were sprinkling and golf carts took the lazy from one spot to another. Everyone took showers, and arranged to have laundry washed after our two days in the desert. (Laundry service is amazingly reasonable in these fancy-schmancy hotels). Every nook and cranny of our bodies was dusty, brown, and in need of soap and hot water. The bathrooms were amazing with solid glass walls that allowed you to sense you were showering out of doors looking at a lovely garden while lathering oneself in fancy unguents. That one could love a shower so much! We gathered our wits to attend a one hour lecture by Doranne, on the area we were to visit next, and then Pat and I took ourselves to our room to have room service and collapse before our very early hour departure tomorrow for the Amber Fort... and an elephant ride.

Arrival in India

I started this India adventure in paper format since I wasn't near computers...will transcribe into blog when computers are available. The start of another adventure on a most important day - a day when America will hopefully turn over a new leaf and chose a president who will take us forward in a totally new direction. While all the polls point to an Obama victory, I am nervous about whether Americans, in the privacy of the voting box, can chose its first black to be our next leader. To chose McCain and especially Palin would be abhorrent...I can't even think about it. But I'll know all when I land in Germany. This is one hell of a long journey, with four different airplanes, and if both myself and my luggage arrive at the same time, I will consider it a minor miracle. November 5 - A.M. Frankfurt Airport - With a three hour layover, I have time to shower, change clothes and stare at German television which tells me that Obama won. None of the details, nothing specific about individual states, but the main point is - he won! This was the best news after an eight hour journey across the pond. My next connection was Turkish airlines - one which I hope not ever to repeat. Their idea of a first class seat to Istanbul is to take the middle seat in a three-across and put a table there for elbows. But the seats are as narrow, the food as lousy, and the service as poor as 'animal class'. And I have the joy of taking this airline on to Delhi. November 6 - Arrival in Delhi at 4:00 a.m. - Turkish Air from Istanbul was a real first class seat - large - but no footrest, lousy service and thus no sleep. Reminded me of flying years ago - shabby but functional. All instructions were given in Turkish or some form of English only discernable by the very fuzziest of minds. If I didn't recognize that now was the time to "store all electronics" or "fasten seat belts" I wouldn't have gotten it through the voice over the speakers. But the main thing: I arrived safely and so did my luggage. Miracle! First impressions at 4:00 a.m.: The smell of burning; the airport could be in Belgium or England; lots of activity and people, considering the time of day; a pall in the air, so thick you could cut it. I was met, as promised and whisked through quiet Delhi to the Hotel Oberoi. Streets were dead; what would take one hour during the day took twenty minutes at best. I was asked by my escort all the private questions Rakesh had warned me about: where is my family? Where is my house? What do I do? Why am I in India? I saw joggers out early (at this point it was 5:30 a.m), and errand people...but the smell of burning and the thick smoke is astounding. I was told that now that it 'is winter', it was people warming their houses - but whether it was fuel, dung or pollution, was hard to know. The Oberoi is just plain swank. ... and that is pleasureable. The bed was soft, and I slept straight through until evening, when I woke, had 'breakfast' and fell back to sleep. So that so far I've seen an airport and my room.