adios

So long. See you later. Peace. It's been real. Catch you on the flipside. Later, gator. Auf viedersein. Chuz. Hasta luego. Hasta pasta. Ciao. Sayonarra, saying GOODBYE!

Kuala Lumpur, take 2

Back in KL, as they say (and so miss out on saying "Kuala Lumpur"!). I'm staying with a girl I met on a trip in Kota Kinabalu--she's a magistrate and so so so so sweet. I was thinking yesterday morning as I got out of a nice bed in a clean, empty, quiet room and walked over barefoot without fear to the showers, then helped myself to some yogurt out of the fridge--hospitality is one of the top human experiences. I mean, aside from all the amenities, it's just amazing to me that after a few hours, this girl was all "Come to my house!" and meant it! Then there's trust--she must really trust me. And of course, I trust her. How many times do you get to see trust in the flesh, so to speak? It makes you feel really good about people.

KL is definitely my favorite city. There's so much transportation here I could get from one end of town to the other in probably 15 minutes if I really tried. Three local rail lines, commuter rail, buses, etc. etc. It's got a lot of highways, so it's not THAT pedestrian friendly, but after:
--every city in Borneo
--most of the cities in Java
--all of larger towns in India
it's a cakewalk. And there's more food here than just rice and noodles, though they still dominate...I'm getting rather tired of rice and noodles. I will never complain about pizza three days in a row again (did I really complain about that?).

One major site around here is the Batu Caves, which are maybe 10 minutes by car from where I'm staying. We drove out to see them last night and once again, it was little South India! It's really funny that the one place I went, Tamil Nadu, happens to have immigrants all over Malaysia. There were lots of colorful temples built into the sides of the cave, and some tableaux-type displays of Tamil people or maybe gods and goddesses pulling donkeys and things--sort of like a miniature Tamil amusement park. It also has 272 steps and many mischievious monkeys.

So long!

NIAH CAVES

Now, I know I tend to hyperbole, but if I could choose one place to go to out of all the places I've been, Niah Caves would be it. It's a national park in Sarawak near the aforementioned Miri. Miri's a hole (thank goodness for the Americans--someone to gripe with) but man, I would fly back there in a heartbeat to go see the caves again.

I walked down the plankwalk to the cave--a good hour's walk!--and then through the caves another hour to get to the painted one. I was behind a noisy crowd for most of it, until the ringleader of that posse freaked out and they all turned around! So there I was, solo traveler, feeling very brave, and totally not freaking out in the gigantic pitch black cave. I made it. I met another girl coming out later on and I thought, "Yeah, you were in there, too, huh?" But it was worth it. The cave paintings are from 2000 "BP" (Before Present) and they are amazing, swirly red men and women on boats to the afterlife doing a crazy dance with some wild hair and spirals. I don't know what the spirals mean but they're in the local tribe tattoos, too. And that's why the Niah Caves are so amazing. The people who were there 2000 years ago--their great great great grandkids are still living there today. I saw some men collecting guano, two houses, and lots of ladders for collecting the birds' nests they used for soup (blech). But wait, it gets even crazier, because some archaeologists found a skull that is 40,000 years old. And evidence for habitation for ALL of the years in between! Meaning that the people who hang out there today, they've been living there for 42,000 years! In a manner of speaking. I'm not even sure what continent my ancestors were on 1000 years ago!

Now I'm back in KL--the last leg! If you don't hear from me, it's because I'm napping.

Sarawak

I flew to Miri in Sarawak--the southern Malaysian state in Borneo. So far so good, but I left half my clothes in Sepilok! In a hostel I don't care to return to, thank you very much. I had my first shower in three days just now. And then I met six--count 'em, SIX--Americans! This doubles the American count. We States-ers suck at globetrotting, at least in Asia. I've met six times as many Danes, Dutch, and Swiss. So I can't tell you how spectacular it was to hear New Jersey jokes, or rather the suppression of New Jersey jokes when I told these guys where I was from.

I'm starting off in Miri. My intention was to stay a quick four days all in one place, but the hostel-runner is a bit eccentric (when I asked for four nights she said, "Let me see." I'm not really sure what she's waiting for, seeing as I'm offering to fill a bed for her...) and I heard there's a nice beach about 3 hours away with cheap accomodation and a barbecue area. That sounds like a nice way to round up a trip. Miri is an "oil town" and quite rich from what I've seen. The town bus was air-conditioned and there were honest-to-God developments outside of the airport. Most of the cars were shiny and big--none of these "Protons" I've been seeing all over the place (do we even have that car in the US?). No more stares for my whiteness (though maybe it's my tan...ha! ha!) and slightly pricey dorm beds. Yep, they're relatively rollin' in Miri.

Sepilok, where I left at o'dark thirty this morning, was pretty cool aside from the shower situation. The orangutans were awesome. You can't believe how human-like they are (actually "orang" means "people"--all the tribes in Borneo have names with Orang in them). I felt priveledged to see such a creature. This is one of the two or three places you can, and they're very shy. They came up to a feeding platform which was right on the edge of the jungle. The point is to convince them bit by bit to move away from the rehabilitation center. The organization was completely Malaysian-run, which was surprising to me and pretty cool.

The Lonely Planet and everyone who visits (it seems) talks smack about how the Borneo jungle is being replaced by palm oil plantations. This is another thing I'm ambivalent about. I think it should be a bit harder for Westerners to condemn a country for making money off the land. I mean, surely once the States were a lush forest, too. But today as I flew over Borneo, I could see that the plantations really did take a chunk out of the rainforest. So all I can say now the solution is more complicated than something like "save the rainforest" (my guess is it will likely only work out when the money is favorable to saving rainforests--like if all of you all went to visit it! But then we have other problems, right?). See the world. Become ambivalent. I should make t-shirts.

Borneo

I was doing you a favor not updating in Kota Kinabalu, the jumping-off point in Sabah, a.k.a. North Borneo. You really are here for the nature, because there ain't much else. KK is near Mount Kinabalu national park, which I took a litte driving tour through. That was the first real dud of a guide I got--all he did was drive us to places, then bought himself an ice cream. I didn't even get to walk around the park, which was a bummer! I decided not to climb this mountain because 1. it's outrageously expensive, especially when you're used to paying nothing, and 2. I'm really tired. Every time I've climbed a mountain so far I've needed a week on the beach to recover, and it's coming up on the end here.

I went to the Nature Lodge on the Kinabantangan River next. We saw orangutans in the wild (!), lots of probiscus monkeys (big noses), long-tailed macaques (not birds but monkeys), and hornbills (like the bird from the Lion King). We took a little jungle trek, too. I'm ambivalent about this experience because as close to nature as we were, the jungle was very trekked-in and our guides were a bit ruthless with the machetes. It was just bad practices, and I suppose they'll have to right them eventually or else it'll be the Mud Pit Lodge. But I did get a leech! We saw a cool-looking frog and some birds roosting at night, too.

The people I've met here are definitely cool. I've gotten on the tourist track because there really isn't any other option, but the tourists are all here to dive or trek, so they're awesome. I also managed to leave my converter in KK and get it back in Semporna. It's a small world in Borneo.

Semporna, where I am now, has even less going for it than KK, which at least had a museum. Everyone is here to dive off Sipadan, one of the top ten diving sites. Since I can't scuba (yet) I snorkeled off one of the other islands, Mabul, where I saw two turtles! This is really lucky, especially for snorkelers. I literally jumped off the side of the boat, turned around, and there he was! I followed the big old guy swimming for awhile, then went around seeing the coral and everything, then saw someone pointing and there was another one! The second guy was so old he had barnacles on his back. The turtles look like they're flying, they just bat their little flippers slowly and turn every once in awhile to follow the current. It got me excited to try diving. It's hard to imagine all the stuff going around living down there.

Tonight I catch a bus back up to Sandakan tonight to see the orangutan rehab center (they save baby orangutans! Could there be anything cuter?) and then it's onto the next stop...which I'll figure out there. Only 13 days left in this epic journey!

Penang

I finally emerged from that hostel after a long parade of characters. My snot still looks like an alien life form but I feeeeeel GREAT! I took a few pictures in KL of the Petronas Towers (Petronas is like the Malaysian Exxon), and many many more of the monorail. If I hadn't been so ready to get somewhere (anywhere!) new, I would have ridden around on it for a day. But as it was I hopped on a bus to Penang.

I know I've mentioned buses once or twice, and I think I said something about Indonesia having the best buses in Southeast Asia, but that was back when I thought that Greyhound was more or less the standard. Not true. In fact, there are buses that have seats the size of armchairs. They're run by Konsortium in Malaysia. It's like the transportation gods are trying to make up for that hellish ride to Kanyakumari (still not there yet).

Anyway, I landed on the little island of Pulau Penang yesterday evening. Before I left home one of my world-traveling friends said "Penang is awesome." I remember reading about it in the Times Magazine (maybe?) and it sounded like a gem. What a place! I'm glad I didn't decide to skip it. Penang is (I think) the whole pulau, and George Town what everyone means when they say "Penang." My bus stopped outside of George Town and it was a bit of a hassle getting here, and I only got on the bus at all thanks to some kind students at USM. (I don't know what it stands for, University...Malaysia...) On the bus ride, I saw a Hindu temple, which was unexpected in this Muslim nation, and what I thought was Tamil writing! THEN, something momentous happened: the Lonely Planet was wrong. I kid you not. We call it "The Book" out here, and if you can't trust the Book, then what can you? For your reference, 100 Cintra Street is not a hostel. It's a souvenir shop, and it closes before 6. I found alternative accomodation at 75 Lodge. They're sponsoring this evening's update, so I can't complain.

Ok, back to the Tamil script. It turns out it was Tamil and that there's a really big population of South Indians from Tamil Nadu here. There's also a lot of Indonesians, though it seems most of them are from Sumatra and not Java, but I've seen a lot of batik fabric. The other populations are Malay and Chinese, mostly, though there are many others, and plenty of mixed. Like I saw a Chinese-looking man who did the Indian head-tock and spoke English with an Indian accent. The Babas and Nonyas, who are Malay-Chinese men and women, wear batik. I found out all this stuff in the Penang Museum, which gets five stars.

There are lots of other cool things about Penang. You can walk around it easily. It's a little like Pondicherry that way, and there are lots of old colonial buildings, too. Of course, since Pondicherry is in India, it's louder and scarier than Penang, which is kind of strangely silent. For all the stuff that's here to see, not to mention eat, there aren't tons of tourists. I guess it hasn't been "discovered" yet even though it's a World Heritage Town.

The food is just totally crazy. It makes me curious to see the Phillippines, which is the only other place I can think of that's such a mix. I ate rojak--fruits and vegetables covered in hot sweet sauce and peanuts. I also stopped in Little India for some nassi kandar, in a shop that said they had the best nassi kandar. I'm not sure which part was the kandar (nassi is rice), but I'm pretty sure they were right. After my first bite, I thought, WOW. The food in Indonesia AND Malaysia sucks compared to India. I had forgotten. India was delicious, if trying.

Oh, and then there's religion! I actually decided to venture into a mosque today. The men at the door waved me in. I was reading the rules on the signboard and I told them I thought I was impure. They told me it was ok, so who was I to argue? The younger guy actually gave me a really good tour, it was like being shown around the meetinghouse by a gung-ho Quaker. I liked it but I think I was a little obnoxious. I've been finding that I have real antipathy towards Muslim nations in some kind of moral way that I didn't have in the also-very-conservative India. It's interesting--I'm more than happy to cover my legs in Bangalore but out here I want to flaunt them. I think America maybe has brainwashed us a little. But then again...well, this could go on for ages, couldn't it?

There's so much more to say--the guy who founded this place is a fascinating character, and there's a lot of Chinese temples, and even a Burmese one an hour or so out of town--but this has gone on long enough and it's time for rojak, round two. Tomorrow I fly to Borneo.

KL

I got into KL around 1:30 this afternoon, feeling a bit woozy from what I thought was a retreating sinus infection. When I stood up I found out it was very much in full force. Luckily Kuala Lumpur is a pleasant city. If I had to compare to somewhere, it'd be Philadelphia, only with a few upgrades--a quality monorail, for instance. It's a bit gritty but it's got lots of character, and compared to Singapore it's cheap-cheap-cheap. There're some sights to see but they'll have to wait while I rest in the lovely Bedz KL.

I went to the pharmacy here and found the medicine counter. The pharmacist's name was Alycia, a good sign, I thought, and she was a middle-aged Chinese woman. I was glad; motherly types usually help me out. I asked her if I could buy an antibiotic. She said no. I wasn't surprised, but I'd figured it was worth a shot because I've heard they sell Valium and some kind of speed over the counter here. I explained to her that my head was in a vice, I couldn't move, my snot would probably kill small animals, etc., did she have any medicine that would help? She pointed to the (extremely lame) decongestant I've been taking. I told her I was taking the stronger 12-hour one. She said to me, and I quote, "Then I think you should not take any more medicine. Your body needs to fight it." Followed by the most patronizing smile I have every received in my life. I'm pretty sure the last time someone gave me that smile I was in the second grade. It said"you silly Americans, always wanting to fix things with drugs." Let me tell you, if I had bought the blowgun they tried to sell me in Java, I would have pulled it out right then. She dishonors my name. But all I could do was smile back pleasantly, borderline patronizingly, and ask if there was a clinic nearby. And quite obviously against her better judgment she gave me a little slip of paper with a map to the clinic, which was lucky for me very nearby, because the pharmacist didn't really understand this, but IT HURT TO WALK.

I was a little nervous before I got to the clinic that it would be a rancid and evil place, and when I got there and saw that it wasn't, I was worried they would charge me an arm and a leg to see the doctor. But they didn't--for the same amount I pay as a co-pay at home, I got a consulation and a week's worth of antibiotic. And so now I'm hanging out in the hostel and sleeping this nasty business off.

SINGAPORE

No gum! That's pretty much what I knew about Singapore before I got here (last night). That and I'd heard it was very clean, ridiculously clean. I tore out Singapore from my Lonely Planet, so I had no idea where to stay, but as luck would have it (shout out to Uncle Marc!) I have a relative who knows the area. I ended up at sleepy sam's (no caps) where I'm writing you on the free (!) internet and where I will sleep tonight on a mattress in an air-conditioned all-girls room (!!!!!!!!). The air conditioning was particularly exciting for me when I arrived. But since being here, I've met SO MANY other solo girl travelers that the air conditioning is playing second fiddle to pleasant company. Now that I know they're out there, it's like I've got an international posse. Better watch out, we can take you! And we'll have a life-changing experience while we do it.

Oh, and it's true about the cleanliness. It is so clean here I think the government must have a horde of nightmen who come out and scrub the streets at night. They must also have some fashion police. Good God, but I am (was) underdressed! I took it upon myself to embrace the local custom and shop until I couldn't look myself in the mirror any more. Everyone was smiling at the doofy little tourist--at least I have a tan now!--and no one (NO ONE) tried to sell me anything. It was like I was in a mall at home, only cleaner and with hipper shoppers. And way, way better food.

Singapore is a very interesting case study, I think. It's 4 million people in 2oo square miles. That's almost exactly half of New York City. But it's not crowded like NYC--my host took me to the Marina Barrage (rhymes with "garage," and he didn't know what it meant, either), one of the nicest parks in town, and there was close to nobody there. There are short lines for everything, nothing like the chaos in India but also not even like the ridiculous lines you get at Macy's in NYC. We didn't have to wait to get a seat anywhere at lunchtime on a Sunday afternoon.

Singaporeans speak English with a Chinese accent as their FIRST language--that's right, they learn Chinese in school! I think I'd have to go to China to start to understand what makes these people tick, because to me their culture looks a lot like their language--accented and very correct. But correct in a way that I'm not completely familiar with. They take pride in following all the rules and being very disciplined. You should hear what makes the headlines here: my host told me to put away the fruit, because the papers said people have been eating on the subways. What will they do next?!

The government of this tiny tiny tiny place has a ton of money. This blew my mind today: 200 square miles, 4 million people, and the country has existed for 44 years. Want to know how much money the government has? Guess. No, I'm serious.* They're response to the recession, which has hit them the say way it hit us, technically, was to pay every 10% of every single employee's wages (not just the public ones). Now the companies have no incentive to let anyone off--it's like they just got a 10% pay decrease. They're putting 20 billion dollars into this project. (That was a hint.)

And so everyone is rich, the food is great, it's all very clean, and there's tons of stuff to do and see, all easily accessible, to boot. But since I have to find something to make it come up short against my beloved homeland, I'll say this: it's a little creepy how Singaporeans follow the rules with PRIDE. It makes even the thugginest guys look pretty lame--they might have long hair, but they aren't eating on the subway.

*140 BILLION DOLLARS. That's how much money ONE generation made.

Gunung Rinjani

That other d back there (Gudung Gede) should have been an n, also. Gunung means "mount" in Indonesian.

I climbed another volcano, and this time I saw LAVA! Around 7 after the sun went down and the fools I was with were thoroughly freezing, the lava appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the little volcano we could see and I said, "That's the coolest thing I've ever seen!"
Stupid boys: Really?
Me: Yeah, what would possibly be cooler than hot lava?
SB: Spurting hot lava?
Me: You guys suck.
SB: Naked women?
Me: Ha. Ha.
SB: Spurting hot lava with naked women?

So you can imagine what seven hours up the mountain was like with that crowd. Actually, it wasn't so bad when we were bonding over the awesomeness of X-men Origins: Wolverine, but once they called Christian Bales' Batman a gimp, it was kind of hard for me to like them. Still, I had a great time. Climbing up took so long and I had a bit of a cold, so I slept like the dead in my ultra-warm sleeping bag. The climb down the next day was brutal but I ran down the last 2 k's--downhill mountain running is the world's most under-appreciated sport, I'm telling you! And two days later, I'm still sore.

I've been cooking on the beach in Senggigi--it still reminds me of beach towns back home--and getting ready to go to Singapore.

people, Gilli, Lombok

Traveling with other folks is awesome. I like to think I've struck a balance between touristy and "experiencing" stuff. Touristy stuff is easy to see, it's quick, the transport's mostly with other tourists, you all hang out together. It's the same as touristy places at home, basically. Only cheaper and grubbier because I trail the backpacker route. "Experiencing" stuff is even cheaper, because I want to be with the locals, so I take PT and eat where ever there's a crowd and see things around town. It's kind of my ideal version of traveling but I've realized it's not really possible to stop being a tourist ever. I've gotten over this and decided to enjoy the fact that I am spending money to see a place.

The Gillis are a primo example of a backpacker haven--the little islands are a mix of families on vaca and travelers that get stuck there diving for weeks and weeks. Me and my two compadres only stayed for two nights but we went to the party (the island is so small that there is one party per night), which was surprisingly a good time--everyone who worked and visited on the island was mingling.

We took a boat to Lombok which is where I am now, in a beach "town" called Senggigi. I forgot how much I love the beach. And it gives me great comfort to know that the beach is the same everywhere--really, really chill. I'm looking forward to getting back into the slightly more real world and seeing what there is to see, but for now, this traveling is officially vacation.

Yogyakarta to Bali

When last we spoke, I had just climbed a volcano. The original plan was to go to the Dieng Plateau in Central Java but that involved a bus and I was too darn tired to hop on. So, I took the night train to Yogyakarta, an artsy, backpackery town. It was hot and bothersome and I said hello the biggest cockroach anyone in the history of the world has ever seen. That's how I felt, anyway, at 2 am in my room.

Needless to say, I hightailed it out of Yogya ASAP and ended up going to Dieng, which was cool because it's mostly an Indonesian vacation spot. It's the site of a bunch of craters, some are still active, and they use the action for an electricity plant. I had a lovely, lovely, lovely homestay with hot water, clean sheets, and a host who couldn't speak English (it was perfect--I wasn't in the mood to talk). I managed to communicate that I liked to cook and we cooked lunch the next day, though! I found out the secret ingredient around here...MSG (for serious).

I had to go back to Yogyakarta since Dieng is a bit inacessible, and I got a new hotel room and a bus ticket to Denpasar, Bali. I hereby declare Indonesian buses infinitely superior to all other buses in terms of value, comfort, and level of scariness. It cost me as much as Bolt Bus to go about 21 hours, and I didn't realize it had been 21 hours until I looked at my watch because I had SLEPT! We reached the ferry just in time to see the sun rise over the islands. And I caught a last glimpse of the volcanoes on Java.

Now I'm in Ubud, Bali, an artsy town with many, many Westerners and Westernized prices. I wish I could live in my Ubudian bungalow for the rest of my life. They put hibiscus on my bed every morning.

Gudung Gede

So, I climbed a volcano!

My kind host in Cianjur, Mr. Yudi, arranged for a guide to take me and he brought his buddy so Kus, Echa, and me made a happy trio the evening of June...17. (I was right, it is hard to keep track of dates when you're on vacation for a month). We left around 6 pm--by the time we got to the foot of the mountain I was thoroughly shooken up because we had to take a motorcycle (even I with my newcome adventurous spirit was wishing that this was happening AFTER the volcano so at least I'd die after having done something cool). But we made it with no problems, gave our tickets at the information booth and started hiking. I had my "torch" (flashlight) and Kus had the kerosene lamp. It was steep and insane, hiking at night, I couldn't believe it was actually possible--because it was hiking a real mountain, no bones about it! There were rocks, trees, all kinds of stuff. At one point it smelled like sulfur!

It was actually nice not being able to see what was up ahead, because it was always more hard breathing. Around 12 midnight we broke out into the meadow where we were to camp. I've never thought "moonscape" until then--the field was open and full of edelweiss plants, and we were by volcano peaks. It was cloudy but that was a small kindness on the gods' part because when I saw the stars later I had heart palpitations from all the beauty. We looked closer to the sky up there.

Echa and Kus pitched a tent (they told me to sit down and wait and I was too exhausted to argue. I have to write about Indonesian hospitality next time. It's more nerve-wracking for me than Midwestern politeness), then we went to "sleep" for a couple hours (Side story: at one point I rolled over and COULDN'T BREATH my nose was stuffed up so bad and I thought, "This is my body saying, what the hell, this ain't cool" but I realized the next day I think I got some kind of bug sting on my tongue that I'm a little allergic to. Good thing I didn't realize that at the time, I would have completely freaked out (but don't worry, Mom, we were surrounded by a school group that had 60 kids and about as many accompanying teachers, probably one of them knew CPR and had an Epipen)). Kus kindly woke Echa and I up at 4:30 am so we could hike the rest of the way to the sunrise. Kus the chain smoking guide with the monster backpack claimed that it was a 30 minute walk to the top from where we were but it took us 40. Fifteen times he's done this and he still doesn't know how long it takes.

The sunrise was about what you'd expect it to be, great. If you've never seen a volcano at night, I think you should try. We were actually above the clouds and even with a posse of high school boys, the effect of volcanoes at night becoming volcanoes by day in ten or so minutes was not lost on me. I took a lot of pictures but you guys will have to wait--I have to get a massage, I can't be spending all my time at the internet cafe, you know.

The hike back down was much, much, much longer than the hike back up. Just thinking about it makes me exhausted. I'll save that six hour story for later.

So now I'm in Yogyakarta (sounds like Yog Jakarta) in the backpackers' ghetto where I have gotten lost no less than three times going to and from my hotel. Luckily the people here are used to doofy Americans. I've taken to ignoring people when I don't want to talk. You'd think this was common sense but at home, if someone said hi to you on the street you'd always say hi back. I'm such a celebrity with my white (red) skin that if I did that I'd go insane. "Hello, Missus!" "Where are you from?" "Where are you going?" I'm not a Missus and I don't want to tell you! When I need help, I just reply. They must think Americans are moody, but sorry, fellow countrymen, I don't have the werewithal to improve our image right now.

See ya!

Cianjur 2: religion

Most people here and in Indonesia period are Muslim. I've been woken up by the call to prayer two days so far. The other morning I was dreaming that I was telling someone about it and I said, "And just when you think it's over, it starts up again," because that's what was happening. They pause for like 30 seconds and you're turning over to snore and then it starts up again. It's really loud, like the PA system at a public school but outside. It just started up again and every time it blows my mind. My host family just walks around doing their thing while it's happening. The other day we waited 'til after the last call to prayer to eat dinner. Maybe it's like church bells in the States? You just sort of ignore those. They kind of mark time.

There was also a very loud speech that sounded angry about God (so I was told) last night. I can't tell if it was actually angry or just impassioned. It was more surreal that there was a speech coming over the neighborhood PA system. There is nothing equivalent to this at home. Maybe if you took a talk radio show and broadcast it from everyone's radio at once in your neighborhood. And then you took away everyone's control dials. The more I think about this the crazier it sounds.

The food here, by the way, is ridiculous. It's hot like nothing I've ever eaten. I'm pretty sure there are Scotch bonnet peppers involved. (Even if there aren't, I'm saying there are. My face melts every time I eat the chili sauce.) There are lots of fried vegetable cakes, different kinds of soy bean cakes and tempeh stuff, lots of chicken (even at breakfast!) and fried bananas. I've made it my personal mission to eat as many fried bananas as I can, and to hit the daily mango quota of three. So far, so good. The local tea, of course, is fantastic. The coffee is all instant.

Cianjur, Indonesia

So, yesterday morning I was in Ooty, India and today I write you from Cianjur, Indonesia*. I'd detail you the past 36 or so hours but there are way too many details for that since I've been awake for almost all of them. But I caught about sixteen lucky breaks: I got on a Mysore bus instead of a Bangalore one from Ooty and had a lovely time in that town buying a last-minute plane ticket (only 4 seats left!). Then I showed up at the airport in Bangalore 6 hours early but they put on a 3 hour show of regional Karnataka dance and music. Then I ended up flying with some nice fellas from Holland who protected me when the Indonesians wouldn't sell me a visa (why can't you exchange rupees for rupiah, I want to know?) and THEN I took an epic, epic, epic, there are no words to describe how long it felt, van ride with about 16 people (not even an exageration there, actually) but I was next to an English speaking kid from Jakarta and I found out later that he was probably the only English speaker for miles. The icing on the cake is that when I found out that "homestay" in Indonesia means actually staying in someone's home, I was a little freaked out but guess what--there are two other American girls staying here, and we all want to hike up volcanoes. Oh, and the host family is awesome--they fed me pineapple, a mango and a passionfruit, all before dinner.

Can I just say, I think you guys who make fun of my lucky penny obsession should hop on the bandwagon.

*This doesn't fit in with lucky, but it's really weird--both Ooty and Cianjur are known for growing tea. There aren't too many places that are known for that because you have to be 1300+ meters above sea level to do it. The landscapes at both places look really similar--there's tea plantations cut into the sides of hills and eucalyptus trees in both because tea needs some shade. But Indonesia is totally TOTALLY different from India in lots of other ways--it's just added to the surreality that they have the same kind of place in two places, and I've seen both of them in two days.

snooty Ooty

I'm in Ooty, the biggest hill station in the Nilgiri hills, where they grow a lot of tea.  It's really beautiful.  The guidebooks decried it as "built up" but I like the madness in the side of a mountain.  The town isn't all that big--just strings and strings of little stores and some biggish hotels.  All the signs are still handpainted and there are still plenty of cows.  Ooty has a long way to go before it reaches the disgustingly touristy heights of, say, the Outer Banks.  And I don't mind the touristy things, they're really kind of comforting.  Because yes, I do want to trek, thanks for asking. Sure, I'd like some chocolates (Ooty is famous for homemade chocolates.  Do you believe this?  Chocolates and mountains in one glorious place).  And thanks for not staring at me for being white and/or wearing the same pants three days in a row.

But there is Jolly World.  Right next to the lake (and my hotel), it has light-up giant bears, some flowers, and a go-kart track.  The sign says "Get your daily speed fix!"  I don't get it--why do they think that when you go to the mountains, you'll probably also want to go-kart race?  This happens at home, too.  It's some kind of universal human phenomenon.

Maybe I've been grinning more, but riding buses has gotten much more pleasant since the kids started smiling at me.  And since every bus ride has also become the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.  I got off at the wrong bus stop trying to see a famous peak today, and instead of being in Queens or East Jesus or the Middle of Nowhere, PA, I was in the tea plantations in the middle of the mountains a couple of miles up.  Some farmers gave me the old "What the hell are you doing here?" look, and I actually had no idea.  It was pretty neat.

the dream (Kerala version)

I write you from a houseboat.  Yesterday and the night before I slept at my friend's aunt/cousin's resort-hotel in Fort Kochi in Kerala which was literally on the water and full of local antiques and huge trees and plants and a restaurant that was the best food so far.  And I have eaten exclusively at restaurants for the past three weeks, so that's a big deal!

Ok, so in case you'd like to know my ideal day:  Yesterday I started out watching my breakfast being made--I figured what the heck, I might as well ask for some cooking lessons, and they let me in the kitchen and I even got to "help" make some appum, this fluffy delicious coconut pancake.  Then I rented a bike and rode around the sweet little beach/shore town of Fort Kochi, which is full of huge old churches, some cool graveyards, and lots of little market stores.  I didn't buy a thing because the idea of bargaining was just too much (there was a flea market in Goa and I was overwhelmed).  I found a bookstore and got a book called "Jesus Lived in India" that I took back to the hotel and read.  Then I watched them make my lunch of squid pepper garlic, aubergines and yogurt, local vegetable-coconut stuff, and chapatis (wheat bread circles that get pufftastic over a hot hot stove).  Then I read.  Then I got an ayurvedic (local homeopathy stuff) facial and full body massage.  Then I died and went to heaven.

I had to return the bike this morning after a spin to see the Dutch cemetery.  Fort Kochi is pretty historical, lots of populations have lived here, including but not limited to the Portuguese, Dutch, Jews, and Malayalam (palindrome!  do you see that??).  Then we checked out of heavenly hotel, but we boarded a houseboat with my friend's roommate, so it was ok.  Houseboat tours are what the tourists do in the Kerala backwaters--it's gorgeous!  We're next to very narrow strips of land between rice paddies and open brackish water.  The rainy season is really here--we hit a monster storm.  China crashed!  Tables slid!  Then they served us tea.

Til next time...

Bangalore to Goa

I spent the weekend in Bangalore.  We started out with an a/c super deluxe luxury night bus--talk about your small miracles!  Saturday we went to a Catholic wedding that was still very Indian.  They read my all time favorite Bible passage, that one from the letter to the Ephesians about man being the head of woman.  Then they threw a completely awesome party and we danced like it was 1999 (actually, exactly like it was 1999--no alcohol allowed).  The dj asked where we were from and when we said "US" he yelled, "And if they can dance, you all can!"  Aw, snap!

My friend and I slept a wee 4 hours before heading to the Bangalore 10/5K!  Yessir, I strapped on my hiking boots and ran for the first time in 3 weeks.  The 5K had at least 26,888 participants, which if you will recall, was blowing my mind back in Philadelphia.  It's really hard to get your head around 1 billion people.

After that we headed to a fancy hotel to take advantage of their pool.  A lot of nice places have this day thing where you can buy a meal or pay a bit and hang out as long as you like.  I got a nice sun tan.  I also got to reflect on Bangalore, the IT capital of the world, and very Westernized.  Most everyone spoke English, and aside from the palm trees everywhere, it was pretty cosmopolitan.  We even got ice cream at the cool part of town, Brigade Street--it looked like mini-New York with all the lights and well-dressed YP's.  The hot fudge was supreme.

Another a/c bus later (Paulo Travels has all of my love) and we're in Goa.  Goa is to India what Ibiza is to Spain and San Francisco is to the US--former hippie mecca.  We even saw some lesbians!  The Arabian Ocean is quite warm.  The stray dogs abound.  An albino cat crawled onto our bench while we were eating--inside a restaurant, mind you--and I FREAKED OUT.  At one point the dogs started howling and I was about to bolt.

There were a couple flash thunderstorms in Bangalore and today.  The rainy season's getting started.

Pondicherry

My friend asked me if India is like I thought it was and the answer is NO but Pondicherry was.  Pondicherry is a little formerly French town (I think I have a thing for French colonies).   It has nice-ish roads with names like Rue de Bussy/something in Tamil (I figured out that's what they speak here) that lead directly to the beach.  The beach is distinctly Indian--you can't swim, and there's about ten feet of sand--and there is a really nice little French cafe called Le Cafe right on it.  I had a chocolate croissant (and died from happiness).

"Pondy" is also home to a gigantic ashram and community called Auroville which is, from what I can tell, seriously weird.  Pictures of "the Mother" creep you out at every corner.  She looks like a harmless, hungry old lady.  (All these great figures in India, they're all hungry.  That's all I think about when I look at them.)  The Mother had a vision of people living in harmony and that's what they do in Auroville.  They also make some fine handicrafts and I bought out the store.  My photos, if the box makes it home, are going to have to work hard to look as nice as the album I bought to put them in.

Some doofuses (cough cough my sister cough) think that Pondicherry is really Puducherry.  Technically, that is correct, but nobody here calls it that.  Pondy is much cuter than Pudy would be, anyway.

And to wrap up, let me talk about the white people I saw in Pondy.  We got three varieties.  

1--Old(er) women.  Ladies in my life, if you'd like to have a mid- to late-life crisis, go to Pondicherry and rent a motorcycle.  You'll fit right in.  

2--Father-son pairs (also seen in other parts of India) from Australia or New Zealand.  It must be a coming of age thing for cool people.  

3.  Nomadic youths of America and Europe who wear culottes and tank tops, spend time in Coffee.Com, and look really, truly, disgustingly hip.  

I have neither culottes nor a New Zealand father, so I guess my closest companions were the enlightened elderly.  But they mostly walk around in white clothing, so I stuck to the coffee shop and hoped some of the hip would rub off on me.  And in case you are wondering just how far I am willing to travel for a coffee shop, let me tell you--7 hours, and I don't regret one sweaty minute of it.

Ta ta for now!

dirt

I was wondering what I should write to explain how traveling here really is, because I feel like all the travel blogs I've read have not prepared me for my trip.  They're all about the high points.  The low points are hilarious.  But let me give it to you straight about one thing--buses in India are nasty.

This is not a "travel is no bed of roses" kind of thing.  I half knew that when I signed up, and it's one of the reasons I decided to go to India, anyway.  It's more like "some aspects of travel are boring, far beyond unpleasant, and hinder the good parts of travel, and there's no getting around them."  That's how night buses are.  They are dirty, filthy, even, unkempt to the point of having bedbugs in the seats and body odor in the fabric.  They are filled with lecherous men.  I haven't slept at the proper time on one yet, making me not only the only white girl, but also the only awake person (which I guess is kind of a treasure, because no one will can stare at me if they're asleep).  It's lonely even with a friend.  I hate my three experiences enough to never want to take one again, but sad to say--it's the only option!

I've learned some things from my terrible journeys--for instance, nothing compares to the relief of stepping OFF the bus.  Soap, water, and a nap are pretty much always the solution.  And I don't like buses.  That's pretty much it.

breakfast

It's ten to 12 here in Thanjavur, so it must be almost 1:30 am at home (why we are 10 1/2 hours ahead I have no idea.  What was wrong with plain old 10?).  I just ate breakfast-unemployment certainly has its charms!--and now's a good a time as any to expound upon a meal, because that one was delicious.

I ate at the restaurant about ten feet away from my friend's house, and she's been there so much they know she likes coconut chutney.  I've been there a few times and I am the color of coconut, so they say "hi" and wave when I come and don't try to talk to me too much. They're very nice, and for some reason they don't accept tips.  I give them about 800 points for that, because the food is really good.

When you go to a restaurant, they bring you a section of palm or banana leaf that's about the size and shape of a placemat.  You use a little water to rinse it off and shake the water right onto the table.  Then you ask the cook what's in.  I've tried to order puri, some thin fried brown bread, at two wrong meals so far.  It's only for breakfast, I found out, and I got there too late today.  But no matter--I ordered a dosa, the other thing I know how to say, instead.  

Once you order, they bring you out little metal cups of chutney, which you pour onto your leaf.  The chutney is waterier than you'd think for being called "chutney."  It's the main ingredient--mint or coconut or tomato or chili--ground up super fine and mixed with spices, especially some very flavorful tiny black dots, mustard seed.  It's all very spicy.  So far the mint is my favorite but you have to eat certain things with certain chutneys, and mint doesn't go with much.  Today came with coconut and tomato, and something called sambar that if I had thought ahead, I would have refused, because it's the only thing I don't like so far--oily, pungent tomato sauce that tastes like fennel or something else really fierce and odd at breakfast.  I mean, it's all odd at breakfast, but this stuff is the consistency of snot.  

Very quickly, they bring you out your bread of choice.  Dosas are gigantic circles, probably 1 1/2 feet across, and have to be folded up in quarters so that they fit on your plate.  They're paper thin and mine arrived hot and crunchy at the edges--the Indian equivalent of a fresh Krispy Kreme.  You tear off small pieces with your right hand and use them to scoop up the chutney.

When you're done, they'll bring you coffee, though I've always asked for mine with my food.  I haven't figured out why the coffee or tea is served after, though I'm sure it's for good reason, because all of the food seems to be served and eaten with purpose (for example--there's this thing called rice curd that is rice ground up in curds and it actually cools you down, so everyone eats it all summer).  The coffee comes in a little tin cup that stands in a shallow, flat-bottomed bowl.  You pour the coffee back and forth between the bowl and the cup to cool it and mix it.  And then you reach nirvana as you sip it, because the coffee here is hands down, no question, sorry to say, exactly two billion times better than the sweetest, most cream-filled coffee I ever got at Dunkin Donuts.  And I am devoted.

They only give you half a cup, but it's enough.  When you're done, you fold your leaf in half towards you to cover up the mess, rinse your hands off at the sink, and tell the man at the cash register what you ordered.  He prints a reciept with a miniscule amount of money on it (today's dosa cost 26 rupees, which is about sixty cents).  It says "Thank you GOD BLESS YOU" across the bottom.  Of course you leave smiling and stuffed.

Thanjavur

I'm in a pretty little town (of 215,000) with a huge temple in Tamil Nadu, now, after an epic bus ride.  Truly, I could write an epic about that bus ride--a baby peed on me an hour into it!  First I was shocked, then uncomfortable, then laughing to myself, because COME ON, that really happened?  That's too travel-story hilarious to be true!  Then I was just uncomfortable again.  But I made it!

I met a nice Australian guy at my first hostel, a haven-like YWCA in Chennai.  When I told him it was my first time in India he said, "Oh, then everything's new!"  Yes, sir.  Everything is completely new.  

Let's start with the head bobbing.  South Indians (at least) don't nod or shake their heads.  They tick-tock them.  Take your head and tilt it to the right, then the left, or start with the left, it doesn't really matter.  Do that again and again and you have the gesture for something.  It might be yes, it might be maybe, sometimes it's definitely been no.  When I really don't want another bite to eat I put my hands up and tick-tock my face and that seems to get across "no mas, por favor."  When I do the same thing with no hands up, they heap it on.

Another novelty has been the auto-rickshaw ride.  This three-wheeled beast has taken me to hell and back, nearly hit many a bus, pulled into three lanes of traffic going the WRONG WAY, and made me realize that you don't have to go to Disneyworld to get a pretty decent roller coaster ride.  You can just go to India.

Finally--for now, because yes, EVERYTHING is new--the food is totally worth writing home about.  I love me some Indian food, and it tastes even better at a buck a plate!  I haven't yet gotten used to eating sour and spicy things for breakfast yet.  I must admit, I crave the Pop-tarts.  But whatcha gonna do?

In response to my fave raving Scot, I'm staying with a buddy from school who's finishing up a year here.  I am eternally grateful to have a friend who knows this place.  We're doing some traveling together before she heads home.  Then I'm on a train to somewhere!

hi

from Chennai. This place is overwhelming. I've been alternating long pauses in my nice room with excursions--to buy clothes, to get money out, to come use the computer. Next on the list is dinner. Veg or non-veg, so funny!

I knew this would happen--I have no idea what to tell you guys. I can make my train ride to town sound like an adventure but that would be weird. There was a blind man singing on it and a kid selling Lifesavers who sounded like an auctioneer and we went past a complete mile of shanty-town. I don't really want to rehash my shopping experience because it was mostly pleasant but everything feels like a trial where I just get seriously embarrassed--I get benevolent smiles from women and demands or requests for money from men. It'd be redundant to say I'm overwhelmed. But let me tell you, NOBODY was lying about the chai! Or the cows by the side of the road!

They should have told me about the stray DOGS!

nueva jersey

I'm going to pretend my nomadism has already begun and I'm just a visitor here in my hometown. It's almost true. Ok, so pretend I'm an ugly American*:

My, the grass is really GREEN here. Like unnaturally so. How pleasant it is that people stand around outside and talk to each other. If I were a local, I might know who that really skinny man is who's walking up and down the street [I do: he's the really skinny man who walks up and down the street]. Ah, he's stopped the postman! What a nice town. That pizza place looks authentic [bet it's more authentic than you've ever had, kids!]. The video store looks weird. I bet the lady who works there is the town crank [she is]. Where do people go to hang out around here? My God, there are so many children! There's not even enough room on that playground for them! They're spilling over into the street! Holy mackerel! How did they fit so many kids in this town?! It's only what, a mile wide? [1 by 1.5, approx.] All those under-twelve's, and what's a girl got to do to get some ice cream around here? Drive?! Jeez-a-lou [local slang]. This town could use a big ol' ice cream store. Or maybe some people between the ages of 18 and 25.


*About the term "ugly American"--according to a vocal few, The Ugly American is actually about an unattractive American who went around doing nice things. So all you all have been misled.

overload

Items of note:

4/30: Roomie extraordinaire and I pack up the remains of our stuff while landlord less-than-extraordinaire REMOVES CARPET.

4/30: Consume more food than God at Underbones, the fantastically bright and well-painted barbecue place in Davis.

5/1: Fax my last fax!

5/2: Me and Li'l Skipper become one after 8 hours sharing airspace with everything I own.

5/3: Me and BC kick #$% in the Broad Street Run--10 miles of Philadelphia experience!

5/3: Eat more food than anyone thought was humanly possible at a nameless (well, I just forget the name) Brazilian bbq place in Sketchville, Phila. Good thing there's no barbecue in southeast Asia.

5/4: Make my grand re-debut to the Jersey shore.

5/5: Wish I was Mexican.

Oh, and begin the official countdown. Do you believe this?? 8 days!

thoughts on stuff

I'm getting tired of being a nerd. I just bought antimicrobial underwear and got a little thrill when it showed up. It looks like plain old (new) underwear. Thank God it doesn't shine and too bad they don't have patterns.

Another tangent in this pre-trip saga has been Organizing My Life. 'Til now I've had seven boxes at my folks' and I'm very proud of that one-digit number. I just added three more and now it's starting to get a little hairy. Roomie has moved out and it's VERY CLEAR to me exactly how much stuff I have--the liquor store is going to know my name after the sixteen times I've asked them for boxes (also, the liquor store sells coffee. I think they're trying to corner the entire addictive beverage market). The little boxes are so cute, and so stackable--I'm just hoping they stack up as cutely in my car. Which is a hoss, so I'm not really worried. (Whoever wrote that wikipedia article broke into my driveway and photographed Li'l Skip, I just know it.)

The original plan was to go Jesus and sell all my possessions, but then I realized, if I sell all my possessions...I'll have to buy new ones. Even antimicrobial underwear will not last me forever. And seeing as I'm not forty and apparently not a nester, I have very few whatchamacallits. So we've gone with the St. Lucia plan, which is, if it's something I wouldn't pray to St. Lucia for if I lost it (there's a handy rhyme, go Catholicism), it gets tossed. So far, that's been a box full of shoes that were already lost under my bed for the past 10 months and a miniature wooden sleigh that Wolfram Research sent me full of chocolates at X-mas.

Packing always brings out this debate about how to live I have with myself, um, every time I pack. Do I NEED this? How about this? And this? Or--hold up a sec--do I need ANYTHING? And when I get to the point where I've boxed everything up I think, I could just toss it now. I can't see it--I wouldn't even notice--it looks like trash from here--bye, bye. But then common sense, or something, kicks in and says, come on, now, kid (that's what I call myself), a necklace or two never hurt anyone. When you unpack that box, you won't think, Christ, I am worldly. You'll think, hey, I missed that sweater! So much! And aren't I lucky to have parents who send me Easter-themed mugs! And what a nice collection of love letters from the insane-o twins--I mean my sisters--I have. And no, it's not possible to have too many copies of Joy in the Morning.

So the guilt at my attachment to things subsides and I continue to haul my boxes from place to place and wonder what it would be like to actually not own a single thing, not even the best little French press that's been keeping me in coffee for three years now, not even a jar of pennies I've picked up lucky all over the place, not even a jacket, nevermind ten. I think it would be liberating, like everyone says. Heck, getting rid of unuseable shoes felt good. But it'd also be jarring. If I didn't have a copy of Joy in the Morning with me, wherever I was wouldn't feel like home. And there might be something to be said for that--never feeling at home on Earth--but I don't want to say it. I like my little existence. It's a good collection.

cómo?

I wish I could recreate the bug eyes I've gotten. Never have I shocked so many people in so short a time. This must be how David Blaine feels every day.

another necessary purchase

This trip is already broadening my horizons. I have never bought myself a waterproof jacket before (I completely rock my "little" brother's ex-ski coat). Also, I never bought myself a camera before (thanks, Santa!). But the time has come. Camera #3 (if you count my AWESOME original Polaroid and the totally sweet party Polaroid with sticky pictures, which I do) bit the dust after being dropped and eating God's own portion of batteries. I just can't take it. Spending money on batteries is worse than spending money on soap. Because when I use soap, I don't feel bad that I'm using a lot of it, or that I'll have to buy more soon. I HAVE to shower. I don't HAVE to take pictures. And every time I zoom for like, ten seconds, and focus, and refocus, and plug in my camera to download pictures, I just think--there goes another bar of battery life! Oh, and don't talk to me about rechargeables. I'll smack you every time I have to wait more than thirty seconds for my camera to wake up and actually TAKE the picture I wanted it to take thirty seconds ago.

Oh, God. I just realized I'm one of THOSE bloggers. Don't you ever want to say--like, to the blogosphere entire--STOP. BITCHING. You're really not that funny.

Anyway, I'm buying a camera. Here it is:

things i will miss

1. My fellow commuters. They dress like this. And I used to laugh at them, too, but today I got a cheery "Morning!" from a guy in neon green. Of course, this was as he and his thigh muscles were passing me. As if I were on a unicycle, and crippled. But no one says "good morning" on the bicycle commute. They say "On your left" as in "passing you on your left" and "%#^$ you" as in "you @#$$ing idiot, why are you driving in Boston?" and sometimes, if you're stuck at the Epic Traffic Light and you say, "Nice weather, huh?" they grunt. So basically, I got the spandex blessing.

2. Continuous television on Saturday. It's kind of a thing now, me renting Friends and forcing everyone who's in the house to watch it. Because it's due back Sunday, yo.

3. The Squeah. Know what, I live where I'd call "downtown" in all the other places I've lived. It's awesome. Everything closes after I go to bed. I know space is nice and trees are pretty, but man, do I feel cool when I walk to the subway and pass by three coffee shops. I guess if I'm going to other urban hubs in the Indian subcontinent, I'll get just as much life, but I'm starting to feel all settled here. I mean, I've tried all the French fries within a ten-minute T ride. This is HOME.

4. Cooking for myself. Oh, wait, no, I won't.

and the countdown begins

One month from today I'll be freaking out and hopefully just waking up right now. You know, I've been calling this traveling (or is it travelling?) but I could also be thinking of it as an 85-day vacation. And technically, it starts on May 1. Unemployment, vaca--tomato, tomahto.

And just in case it looks like I'm a huge slacker (don't read my timestamps, please), I have been working like a woofer for the past three weeks because it hasn't hit me yet that I won't be pulling in cash for three months, but I know when it does I'll be sitting on a volcano somewhere and don't you know, it probably won't have the courtesy to explode.

India Visa Notification - Passport Sent

So says my inbox.

PHEW.

google "weather india"

That's just hilarious. The high in India today is 98. Tomorrow, 105. For all of INDIA. All one billion people (fact) spread across many bjillion square feet (approx.) of land...all having one hot day.

Well, it's 43 degrees in the US today.

things i don't need

At least when I get to India, I won't have to deal with emails that are WRITTEN LIKE THIS!!!!!!

Another thing I won't be doing is running. I'm pretty sure this is going to be a big deal, because I've been running, like, a lot lately. Before I did a half marathon I ran 3 or 4 times a week, and I felt pretty ok about it. I pretty much had to drag myself out of bed to do it, though. These days running is pretty much part of every day. Maybe it's because I've been H.I.I.T.-ing (High Intensity Isomething Training), which takes 15 minutes (and makes me want to puke and/or have my lungs removed). So I just go out, run around, shower, and get on with things. Except for when I run for like six miles, pass out, watch a movie, eat everything in the kitchen, and then get on with things. So I'm one of those guys. I can't not do it. I'm an addict, whatever--at least it's not crystal meth, or cookie dough (wait, just kidding). And also, if I didn't go running, I'm pretty sure everyone would hate me, because I get depressed and turn into a Complete Witch.

So, what's going to happen when I land in the land of no runners? Well, I plan to do a lot of walking. Like epic amounts of walking. Like so much walking that my legs can't move anymore and I can't even contemplate using them to go faster. I also plan to be SO MOVED by everything I see that I don't need the thrill of blurry scenery to give me endorphins. And I just signed up to run a ten mile race two weeks before I leave. If anything can sap me of strength for a couple weeks, that should do it.

I have no idea what's going to happen when they cut me off from cookie dough.

for future reference

It is sunny and warm in Boston. I rode in to work with a fair amount of people, about two-thirds guys. All of them looked like they were over thirty but I think most people do against that dreary MBTA lighting. My fellow commuters minus five were white, but it was the kind of "diverse white" I've come to associate with urban-ish areas ever since I found out that white people look the same in places like central Pennsylvania and upstate New York. I had to wear a sweater. I ate toast. The "cool shoes" go with the "cool purse" and I'm eating Ramen for lunch. I feel vaguely guilty because the temps we hired are all at least twelve years older than me and kind of obviously out of a job. And vaguely bummed because it's Tuesday.

I'm trying to predict what I'll forget about when I'm on vacation for two+ months. Will I have cool shoes? Will I remember that it's Tuesday? The things that puncuate the time these days are going in the trusty old Tempo for home in a couple weeks--goodbye, beautiful bag. Pretty much everything I'm used to being around is going to be reversed: no more cars full of sullen young professionals, the weather will certainly not require a sweater. I'll be the one out of a job and looking for directions and wondering where the coffee is.

Finally!

if I were a guidebook

I would want to be this one: South-East Asia: The Graphic Guide. It's like what I want all my diaries to look like. It's got schematics. It's got some pointers but not enough. Hopefully enough.

Now, some thoughts on planning. I feel I've struck the delicate balance between planning ahead and leaving things to chance with India. I have to make a room reservation for the night of May 14, but besides that, I've got a rough idea of where I'll be and kind of when. I consume guidebooks at all meals and I'm printing out about eight billion helpful emails. Many are from kind folks in what would be most aptly called the Fear Network, as in your mom Fears for your safety and has contacted everyone she knows who has ever been to India and it's a surprisingly large number and includes your uncle. Also, from the P4th Network, Parrish 4th '04-05, where one day we realized the housing gods had mixed up the rooms so that the ratio of black:brown:white in each room was 1:1:1 (which was actually 2 too many people given the size of our bedrooms). Three cheers for all-girls halls--it was a two-semester pajama party and now I've got a friend in Delhi. And finally from the Catholic Mass-Attenders Network, which includes two people who are on the Indian subcontinent right now, one of whom is my reference on my visa application (thanks!).

Which brings me back to the planning ahead/chance balance. Yes, I've struck it, which means that with tickets and pseudo-itinerary in hand, I have yet to hold a visa, the thing that would actually get me into the country. But that's ok, because part of leaving things to chance means being just a little bit nervous because you left things to chance, and yes, it's your own darn fault you didn't apply yet and failed to purchase travel insurance on the ticket and now you get to chew on your nails until they return your passport with a stamp (or something) that says YES, MA'AM, YOU'RE GOING. You know what? This is good preparation for when you're stuck in a train station and the train won't leave and if you don't get to the ferry landing in an hour you're going to miss the ferry and then you'll have to spend a night in the seedy underbelly of a port town which everyone knows is unpleasant no matter where it is (see Elizabeth, Annapolis) and you are SO OK with that because you have gone with the flow so many times before now that there's no reason to think that one night in a grungy hostel full of grumpy travelers who also missed their ferry that you'll now have to hunt down would shake you because remember? Once you forgot to get a visa before you bought your $800 plane tickets and look, that worked out (here's hoping) just fine.

it's adding up

I called to my mom after buying a backpack and an S.O.L. (that's Survive Outdoors Longer...!) kit and extolled the virtues of blowing an entire paycheck on myself. I mean, most of my paychecks go to myself, unless I send my sister a postcard. But paying the bills is so lame compared to buying a gigantic backpack and all kinds of stuff to put in it.

And I thought it might be educational to add up my bills in public. Now you can be en/discouraged to do as I do. It's only...

$832.59 (tickets) (those are cheap, because I peace out of NYC)
$129 (totally sweet backpack)
$13 (nerdy neck pouch)
$10 (socks)
$18 (S.O.L. kit)
$75 (toiletries. subtract at least $20 for men)
$85 (guidebooks)
$200 (quality rain jacket. tentative)
$100 (waterproof pants. tentative)
$73 (Indian visa)
= 1535.59

And that, folks, is my tax refund. Note to future self: always make big purchases on or around April 15.

trekking

I'm really glad I got out a trekking book. It's got lots of helpful suggestions, like bring over your own dried fruit and the bus from Delhi to the hill station is three days long. My favorite quote, though, is from the description of the trek through Markha Valley: "If camping, bring a supply of food, a stove, and sufficient kerosene for the entire trek."

If camping, what a beautiful phrase. I was hesitant to buy a trekking book because I was afraid I'd find out that trekking in India means something much more hardcore than I'm capable of. But good news: trek does not equal overnight hiking with a tent and some yak butter tea. (I've had yak butter tea. If I have to drink yak butter tea on a hike in the mountains after a night of sleeping on the ground and probably freezing my ass off, I just know I'm going to cry. And after all the smack I talk that would be poor form.) Trek means you get your friends together, find a guide, and take a hike. At night, you stop by a guesthouse, or you camp in a tent. Then you get to see things like this:

And this:

Sure, you have to deal with your backpack and scrapes and sore feet and all the other mountain-climbing stuff. What I mean is: it's still hard. But the trek through Markha Valley has tea stalls and villages that offer soft drinks and accomodations. At the end of the day, you can peel off your socks and get in bed. So good job, Lonely Planet, you've almost escaped the bearer-of-bad-news axing you were going to get for bringing me down with the girl talk.

kudos to all old ladies

A lot of times when I tell people my plan they go "Who are you going with?" and I say "No one" and they say "Wooooow." This doesn't make me pat myself on the back, it makes me freak out just a little bit more. Like the edges of my apparently unequipped-for-solo-travel body bug out an inch further, I go through my mental list of men available for travel, come up with nothing, and resign myself to being on edge for all 85 days of my trip.

So, in the interest of not getting trapped in an alleyway or stuck on a mountain with an unsavory character, I have gone straight to the "For Women Travelers" section of every guidebook I pick up. I've pretty much talked myself out of recurring rounds of fear about being on my own in a city--it's the mountain climbing that's got me freaked out now. The Lonely Planet Trekking in the Indian Himalaya says:

In simple terms, the traditional attitudes in some remote villages are that
there could be something wrong wth females trekking without male company.
Here, your guide--who normally comes from a more educated area--can assist by
explaining why you have decided to trek without male company. This can go a
long way to assist women trekkers who want to spend time in the villages, visit
the local school and be invited into the houses.

Trekking crews (there are rarely, if ever, women porters, horse handlers or
guides) treat women with more respect, although they will always defer to any
males for instructions on where to camp, etc. It is an attitude to be
recognised but will change as more women trek in India--it can be overcome to
some extent with good humour and patience. Women trek leaders are likely
to be treated with appropriate respect.

So, I've decided I will latch onto a large crowd of strong men when hoofing it through the mountains. This is what you might call a huge downer. I'm going on the trip of a lifetime, blah blah blah, and for the first time ever, it depends on the will of the patriarchy whether or not I get to do something. I'm not really worried about finding a bunch of guys to hike with--it seems to me that all the posters on the Thorn Tree are hardy men with big backpacks--but it's possible that I'll only get to look at the mountains just because I'm a girl!

And it sucks fundamentally when I think about how if I were a man, I wouldn't have to read this section at all. I could trip up to a hill station, ask who's the best cook, and head for the hills.

That's when I give myself a pat on the back. Go women. And if you know of anyone who wants to climb a mountain, give them my card.

bummer

Travel Document - Chennai 5/13/09

That's the title of the best email in my inbox, hands down. Last night, the tickets got bought around 11 pm with Meg on the phone (we're meeting up in London in August). Here are the highlights:

Me: Hold the phone--the options for a meal are Bland Soft (Veg), Bland Soft (Non Veg), Low Protein (Non Veg), Low Protein (Veg), Low Purine (Veg), Low Purine (Non Veg), Veg, Veg Lacto Ovo, and Jain.
Meg: Low Protein?!
(debate over whether or not I can get a Jain meal without being a Jain. I choose Non Lactose (Veg), another thoughtful option)
(Jet Airways times out)
(twice)
(I hope this isn't a sign of things to come. Jet Airways is last year's Air India + Jet Airways, the two Indian airlines)
(head over to Orbitz)
(computer freezes)

1 hour and 44 minutes after calling the Meg/an residence, I hung up with tickets in hand. Well, almost. I have them in hand now, and let me tell you, they are even better on paper.

packing light

I had some CVS bucks that were about to go bad, so I decided to stock up for the trip. The toiletries you ABSOLUTELY MUST have to go to the Indian subcontinent include:

• two boxes of neon green bandaids, pre-ointment-ed (why did no one think of that before?)
• two toothbrushes
• two pairs of flops
• two Sudoku books (pocket and pocket-book sized)
• two tourist-sized things of "All, Small & Mighty"
• three bars of soap (one per month).

The four tourbooks are also coming with me. The cat's staying home. She's agoraphobic.

bienvenue

Hi, folks. Welcome to my soon-to-be travel blog. Even though takeoff isn't until mid-May, there's lots of packing and picture-taking to be done at home.

As you might know, I was the happy victim of our economic downturn. My job is up May 1, and shortly after I'm going to hightail it out of the country for a trip through India & Southeast Asia. I'm going solo (unless you want to come) and plan to stay for two+ months.

Why India and its friends? For one, I'm ready for something new. The Western world is great and all but I think it's time I saw the other half. I've had a thing for India for awhile (have you read The Namesake?) and I can't get enough of the food. Plus, there are mountains in the north and the south, and lots and lots of trains--pretty much everything outside I'm into.

Malaysia made the list because of its name. Back in the 6th grade day, Mrs. Eton's (edit: Egan's) geography class included all the capitals of every country in the world (minus the former Soviet Union, so I don't know the capital of Moldova). An even shorter me was sitting in the back of the room and getting very disappointed as we went through the list. "The capital of the Philippines is Manila." "The capital of Thailand is Bangkok." Then Mrs. Eton pointed to Malaysia, and said, "Now we come to the good stuff. The capital of Malaysia is...Kuala Lumpur." And that's how I've said it ever since. Kuala Lumpur. Do you believe that's the name of a real place? That there are people who get to write "Kuala Lumpur" every time they address a letter? That they get to say, "I'm catching the early bus to Kuala Lumpur on Wednesday"? I've read that the cool kids call it "KL" but that's just so everyone doesn't get jealous/the shivers every time they hear it. So now it's my turn--I'm going to Kuala Lumpur. Yep.

Indonesia is the part of every museum that I like the most except for the mummies. When I'm reading blurbs about festivals in Bali and gamelan music I just feel like I'll get to see it someday. I have this vision of me in a jungle, and the jungle is in Indonesia. Also, there are volcanoes all over Indonesia, and those are like mountains on crack.

If I get the chance, I'll hop on over to Laos and Vietnam for the beaches.