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.