12/14/07 Detroit International Airport

  This isn’t really the start of the adventure; it started yesterday when I got stuck in the Detroit airport because of weather. I prepare myself mentally to spend the night in the airport, but my mother reminds me of a cousin that lives in the area. He picks me from the airport and we go to eat at a Lebanese restaurant, La Shish. After he shows me his office downtown we go to his home. He lives in a very cute, European style house.
 

Since I have been preparing to leave I have been anxious about my trip. I do not know why, but possibly its just me thinking too hard about traveling alone. I’ll be in New York/New Jersey in a couple of hours hanging out with my sister. I’ll have to spend Saturday retrieving my bag from La Guardia airport.

12/17/07 En route to Moscow from JFK

  Haven’t you looked at History?
  There’s never been an empire that can stand against itself.
  Everyone collapses on it’s own greed.
  What makes you think you’re different?
  What makes you think it’s manifest from God?
  How can you sustain hurting everyone and making everyone hate us?
  If you want prosperity and what we originally set out for…
  Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
  How much more would we see
  if we gave this to everyone of every nation.
  What a better way to fight terrorism
  Than to help those that are so desperate
  They would rather lose their life in an attempt to hurt us.
  Can you tell when enough is enough?
  But you’ll do ANYTHING to win.
  What are the lives of millions you’ll never see?
  As long as you have your millions and stock supremacy
  You’ll only seek the illicit pursuit of happiness.
  Again I ask
  When is enough enough?
  How many cars, houses, yachts or gold bars till you’re happy?
  Truly, what does this give you?
  What do we do in the name of democracy?
  How many democratic saviors have we killed
  Simply because they preached a gospel that didn’t equal dollars for your pockets?
  Do you not know that if every one of these nations
  was a consumer and competitor we would do just as well?
  Tell me, when did God make us the caretakers of this earth?
  Can you tell me why you deserve to wallow in your wealth?
  I see that capitalism could allow everyone opportunity,
  but we never left feudal times.
  We’re all slaves, we’re all worthless pawns in your game.
  All the poor and dying and even our own young soldiers dying for you
  under the name of safety for a nation
  that deserves to be squashed and punished for its crimes against humanity.
  When will justice come?
  When will unadultured justice come?
  You can say I’m angry.
  You can say I’m idealistic
  And I will fill the mold when I grow old.
  You can say that I’m just as guilty for benefiting from your sins.
  But you can’t say that I have not spoken my conscious
  for the betterment of a great nation.
  And that is how we started, is it not?

Sorry, that was a bit of a rant that has been building recently.The adventure continues. The time with my sister is good; I always enjoy it. We go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art and look at English Photography from the mid 1800’s on salt treated paper and some made with paper negatives. It’s very interesting to see since I’ve been doing similar processes this past semester.
 

We go to the same Christmas party as last year at Jame’s Catholic Church. Last year for Dirty Santa I got Man on Fire on DVD, this year I get towels. Ah well, it’s useful.

Sunday I go to Mass with James and Sarah. I do like the priest’s messages, but they last like ten minutes. I wish he would expand. I pack everything in my Kelty Coyote backpack and hope I can use it as a carryon and not check any bags. It’s raining and I don’t want to take my jacket, so Sarah gives me a vest she did not want. I take the transit to B&H Photo. The place is a madhouse. They changed the floor plan and it’s absolutely packed because of the Christmas season. I buy some supplies I need and a new photo bag that is safer than the $11 bag from walmart. This one will last me for years and has proper padding. I then make my long journey via the transit system to JFK international airport.
 

I found our earlier that day my layover in Moscow was only 5 minutes, so at the ticket counter I changed the flight out of Moscow till the next day. I would spend the night in Russia. At first I’m annoyed, but then I think about it. I would be more time in yet another country.
 

On the flight to Moscow I sit next to an attractive Russian woman named Holga (hott name). We talk a great deal, especially for the two hours we sat on the plane while it was being loaded. She looks a bit older than me, but she tells me she’s 29, a complete surprise.  She’s a lawyer on a business trip across the US. She visited LA, Pasadena, DC and New York. She very much likes California and wants to live there. She is excited to get home and see her husband and eat borsch. Once we arrive in Russia, we part with a simple, “nice to meet you, goodbye.”
 

I follow the crowd like a lost dog in the Russian airport. I have no idea where to go. Finally I ask an Aeroflot attendant if he speaks English. He says a little and tells me what line to get into. It turns out that many people in that line had been set up for the same flight as me. They as well were promised a hotel in Moscow for the night. Some were Indian students from the US going home for break; some were from nearby Tibet and Nepal, and at least one other was going for vacation. The agent at the counter, after she looks very puzzled for a long while, informs us that the previous scheduled flight we were supposed to miss had been delayed for several hours, and moved us back to that flight. Only an hour or so later I board this current flight. We should arrive around 2AM local time…we’ll see.
 

God, I need your guidance and protection. I am vulnerable and dependent on you. Thank you for providing me with temporary friends.
  I forgot to mention that I ran into a group of Jewish students from IU at JFK traveling to Israel. Matt Careskey thought it odd that they were flying on Turkish Airlines into Istanbul. A group of Jews traveling with an Islamic carrier.

12/18/07 Tibetan Guest house in Majnukatilla.

  A Tibetan greeting: Tashi Telek. I sit not in a guest house for Tibetan refugees. On the last flight I was invited by a married couple for join them. The man’s cousin stays/works at the guesthouse.
 

After the plane landed and we finally get our bags (and leave our possible companions, Mike and Drew) we go through customs out into a walkway completely surrounded by throngs of Indians of every possible variety. As we make our way up the walkway, I hear shouts of “Scotty! My boy!” Shravan is at the airport waiting for Shanna’s family. My flight had come in a day earlier or hours late, depending on you look at it.
 

My companions, Rebekah and Gompo rent us a taxi to take us the half hour to the Tibetan Refugee community, a community remarkably Tibetan in the outskirts of New Delhi.

We ring a doorbell in a semi-lit alleyway awakening seemingly everyone. Also waiting in the Alley are three Tibetan monks who were on the same flight as us. Men came out of all kinds of doors and disappeared into others – all very surreal. Finally we are directed to enter one of the doors, the only guest house that can apparently accommodate foreigners.
 

We get a little room with two hard little beds; just right. We/I will stay only two nights. I sleep a bit while Rebecca works on a paper. At sunrise we go to the roof and view the most amazing site, hazy sunrise among hanging clothes, peace flags, and terraced buildings overlooking a river with huts on its banks.
 

 

We walk along the alleys we had during the night, but now they were full of merchants selling wares. Gompo gets us bread from a friend that won’t let him pay him. We then walk to the Buddhist temple and watch the morning service. I walk around and take pictures as a man sits in the courtyard singing with women praying behind him.
 

 

I sit now and wait for breakfast. This trip could not have started better. I’m getting to see something I never would have without meeting Rebecca Mailman and Gompokyap.

Hindi Numbers

 
1. Eck
 
2. Do
 
3. Tin
 
4. Char
 
5. Punch
 
6. Chey
 
7. Sath
 
8. Ott
 
9. No
 
10. Das

Sherab Gyamtso and Kalsong are Gompo’s cousins and travel companions around New Delhi.

12/19/07 DEHRADUN SHATABDI Express

   It’s 6:50 AM and I sit on a train waiting to cross the countryside into the mountains and Dehradun. I awake this morning at 4:30 to pack up my things, find a cycle rickshaw and get to the metro. Waking at 4:30 gave me over 10 hours of sleep as I fell asleep at six the night before.
  After breakfast the day before we walk to the Metro, which is a good ten minute cycle rickshaw ride. The streets, the shops, the smells and the noise very much remind me of Uganda.
       

(aside: I may have a new respect for arranged marriages. When I got off the plane Rebecca and Gompo were talking with a man that had a glow about him. He was traveling to his engagement party. He had only ever met the girl once for half an hour, but he was so excited and full of joy that I have not seen from even a couple getting married in the states. On the train next to me is a woman with two sons. I watched as she said goodbye to her husband and there was such love in her eyes. I know this exists elsewhere too, but its amazing to see it where they don’t get to pick their “true love.” They have no closeness with each other until they are married. Every moment of romance, love and passion is within the bounds of marriage. These people do not find their true love, the know they must choose to make this person their true love.)
 

We make it to the metro…How clean it is! How drastic the change from above ground to below. The entry uses a little blue token that you bring near the gate and it opens. You walk down stairs and find a waiting area so clean. The train comes and wow…so nice. It’s quiet, clean, fast, and smooth. The cars are not closed off but continue from the beginning to end of the train, separated only by accordion folds that allow it to turn. This saves much valuable space. Down the center are handles that hand down allowing far more secure standers.
 

Once off the metro we head to the train station. The pure number of people is astounding. So many people standing in lines and just wondering around. We find the tourist office and fill out our reservation forms. My three trains: New Delhi-Dehradun (Shatabdi), Dehradun-New Delhi, and New Delhi-Hyderabad cost me 1400 rps, I think around $30.
 

There, two girls sit next to me and ask what my favorite part of India is. I answer this is my first day, but I tell them where I’m from and ask where they are from. They say Korea and ask if I know where that is. I say, “Yea…its somewhere in Africa.” They look at me completely confused, and then I tell them I’m only joking.
 

Our group leaves the train station and walks through a long marketplace that sells all sorts of wares.

 

I buy an adapter for my electronics. Gompo wants to find a bank because he needs to exchange some money. A young man tells him of a shortcut and we follow him. The man walks with us and talks about random things. He tells me I should buy a traditional Kurtas here, and only in Delhi because of superior quality. I should buy them at the government shops near by. We quickly find out he took us 3x out of our way to get us to these shoppes.

 

Finally, after walking for a good ways we make it to the CitiBank. Only Gomp goes into the huge glass and steel structure. The rest of us stay in the relative quiet of the garden. A guard yells “NO PICTURES!” when I snap a picture of the group.

Gompo comes back and pays me the 2500 rs I loaned him. We start walking out and the guard blows his whistle at us. Rebecca had her camera out to take a picture and completely forgot what had happened five minutes before.
 

We cross the roundabout streets very reminiscent of Kampala and walk through a park where men sleep and couples picnic.

Several of the streets had ‘subways’ that allow you to walk under. Many beggars line the stairs and walls. One leper’s bandaged feet had yellow puss coming out, and she had no fingers on her hands. It’s a strange mix b/t ‘hard to walk by and do nothing’ and ‘easy to turn off all feelings.’ “Surely someone will take care of them. If I give to her all of them will demand something. I don’t have any small change.”
 

We make it back to our metro stop and hire two cycle rickshaws to take us the rest of the way back. At the Tibetan Refugee Community we stop and eat at the Peace House. The food is very good; I eat Beef Thentuk. After the meal I’m very tired and fall asleep around 6pm.
 

I’m feeling so happy to be here and anxious for what is to come. 

I ride in a train car with fixed windows.

I can see the countryside that surrounds me and is covered with beautiful fog. The orange sun glides higher in the sky. I want so much to stop and take pictures (I see so many beautiful shots) but the train won’t stop for me.

The man in the seat next to me sleeps continuously.

Rebecca and Gompo were such a blessing. They guided me and protected me, I am sure they are a gift from God. They asked me to meet up with them in the south at the Tibetan Refugee Colony that they were traveling to.

 

Kalsong was funny. He played he didn’t know English to Rebecca, but spoke to me when she left. Sherab had just arrived from Tibet the day before we go there.

Some Hindi words:

Thank you – dhanyawad
  How are you – aapkaiseho

I’ve been reading John Perkins’ Confessions of An Economic Hitman. I’ve known the US has been involved in a lot of very bad things but this brings my knowledge to such a greater level. I’ve been reading how the US has been very personally involved in the indebting and ruining of so many countries in the name of prosperity for a few. I read about people starving to death and just plain struggling to get by even as I watch such people out of the train window. My heart aches. I am embarrassed to be an American. I am sad that I used to (and so many still do) naively support the powers that continue these policies.
   

The power of ignorance is unquestionable.  I’ve noted before that ignorance   rules our country and people are perfectly content living in ignorance just as long as their needs are met. But my new findings intensify the need for the people to be educated so that change may come. Its time we stop meddling in foreign affairs.

It strikes me that I can watch the slums pass by the train window just as easily as watching TV. I want so badly to write songs expressing what I feel, but all that comes out are tuneless, jumbles rants.

12/20/07 Dehradun, India

 At the train station Mr. Paul arranged for Albert, a local pastor, to meet me. As I arranged my things he came aboard and then led me to his vehicle, a Mahindra SUV. It looks very much like the Toyota Land Cruiser but only Indian made. We drive through Dehradun which is very crowded. Albert says this only happened once Ddun became the capital of the new state, some five years ago. Before it was a quiet town.
           

Dehradun is in a valley completely surrounded by mountains, the Himalayas. Albert says it’s the Jerusalem of India. There are many schools in Dehradun. Children come from all over India to go there.

12/22/07 En route to New Delhi/Hyderabad

   So the last time I wrote I fell asleep. Now it is two days later and I ride the train back to New Delhi.    

I reach the Paul’s home by 2:30pm and am shown my room (my friend Preeti’s room). After a bit, Mrs. Paul comes home to greet me. Even though her school is on holiday she has to meet with parents. Mr. Paul and Preeti’s sister traveled south the same day. I take a hot bucket bath and then Firoz comes to drive us to the market. Mrs. Paul says she couldn’t drive because she wouldn’t know where to turn or what to do when someone cut her off.             

The market is alive at night. People are everywhere and thousands of lights are shining.

Mrs. Paul asks me to help find gifts for the Yoder family. I don’t know what to get them any better than she. I don’t buy anything but I take portraits of people and watch two girls silkscreen and a guy use an offset printing press.

We come home and I eat a light dinner. Mrs. Paul thinks that I do not like the food, but I am still full from the late lunch. She keeps apologizing for the food being so spicy, which it is not. It is very good. I just am not hungry. Why is that so hard to believe?             

I am very tired and slept early, around 8pm. I like Indian beds because they are very firm. I sleep somewhat restlessly, but I don’t wake up until almost 9am. I eat my breakfast of toast and two boiled eggs and Firoz takes me up to Mussoorie, a town built into a mountain. We drive up the mountain road with many switchbacks and constantly pass and are passed by other cars, large trucks, and motorbikes.

Once we enter into Mussoorie we wind around the town on the edge of the mountain on roads barely wide enough for one car, but completely packed with cars going both directions and people walking everywhere. We travel through Mussoorie to the back side of the mountain and see a spectacular view of the Himalayas. I can even see the border of Tibet in the distance.

Firoz then takes me to his aunt’s who lives on a mission. This place is so serene and the views spectacular. We take tea on the lawn and I just take it in. I never want to leave. I would be content sitting there in the calm overlooking the valley below forever.

We head back to Mussoorie and Firoz parks the car and we walk to a Chinese/Tibetan restaurant operated by mostly Tibetans. I order mixed meat Thenthuk and try to show Firoz how to use chopsticks, but he gives up.

We leave the restaurant and keep walking till we reach a gondola. Firoz pays for tickets and the gondola takes us to the top of the mountain. At the top it’s like a mini carnival with BB guns to pop balloons and small children’s rides, and fancy clothes to dress in and get your picture taken. There are many restaurants as well as trinket shops. Looking out many of the restaurant’s windows there are great views of Dehradun and on the other side, the Himalayas.

The gondola operator

After taking the gondola down we search for a Tibetan/Nepalian hat for me and then we travel back to Firoz’s aunt’s place for tea and I take more pictures of the views. There I meet Tanya’s mother, who is Tibetan. Tanya studies at Judson College in Chicago along with Preeti.

Firoz then rushes me to a point where I can watch the sun go down and see what is called the Winter Line, an orange line across the horizon from the sun reflecting off of the fog.

We drive back to Dehradun for supper with Mrs. Paul. This time I eat a lot. Once again I sleep early only after drinking a lot of juice (orange, mango, guava, etc.), but I awake about 2 am with my stomach hurting. I soon find that I am having my first case of the Big D (diarrhea) on this trip. I immediately take Imodium. I awake around 8am and try to get ready amidst running to the bathroom every few minutes. Mrs. Paul then informs that I probably should not have drinken so much juice.
 

Firoz comes around 9 and we drive back up to Mussoorie. This time we travel to a different side and start down the opposite side of the mountain. Firoz asks if I want to go to a waterfall, but it would take another hour of driving and didn’t look to promising for a view so I said no. I’m also not feeling so hot and just want to sit and eat bread and take in the view. I take some pictures and watch young boys far below playing cricket and ate some bread to settle my stomach.

We then travel back to Mussoorie and go to Company Garden, a little “theme park.” It is very…dirty and aged. Everything looks to be in disrepair. There is a Ferris wheel run completely by guys hanging from the chairs to make it turn. There’s a dirty pool for paddleboats and a swan boat. There are several blowup games, an obstacle course and ride the bull. Also there is a greenhouse and garden that are incredibly dirty.

We drive on the backside of the mountain in Mussoorie (camel back road) and take lunch at Kalsong Chinese restaurant again, but I only eat plain noodles with chicken. I take most of it with me because I cannot finish because of my stomach. I want to go back to Firoz’s Aunt’s to meet Tanya, but Firoz cannot reach them on the phone.

We drive down the mountain on a different road that has many hotels including a 5 star resort. Once again this has many great views.

We get most of the way down to Dehradun and Firoz asks me if I would like to go to the zoo and I say, sure. Once again its very dirty and looks to be in disrepair, but the Indians come here as families and couples, a romantic date. The animals cages are dirty and small and the animals look lifeless. There is a leopard that barely moves, an eagle with one leg and missing many feathers, and a beautiful bird that madly paces back forth.

We reach Dehradun and Firoz takes me to a cyber-café and then to his home to meet his two beautiful little boys (7&4) and his wife.

After tea we go back to Mrs. Paul’s. I talk with Mrs. Paul for a while after dinner and then go back to bed. My body seems to shut down at 6pm.
 

Now I’m writing on the train heading for New Delhi. I am supposed to arrive by 2pm, but it looks like I won’t arrive till 4pm. My next train leaves at 5:45. I hope I get there in time.

 

These people have been so hospitable and sacrificial. Mrs. Paul would not allow me to pay for anything. I question would they get the same treatment in America? I can honestly say no, I highly doubt it.

12/23/07 Shatabdi Express Train, Somewhere between New Delhi and Hyderabad

I survived the night, though I could have done without the constant interruptions. I finally fell asleep around midnight but was constantly awakened by snoring and the train stopping and starting. At precisely 6 am the most annoying voices start yelling “Chai, Chai, Chai, Chai!” “Coffee, Coffee, Coffee, Coffee” “Samosai, Samosai, Samosai, Samosai” repeatedly and without stopping. Those vendors walk up and down the aisles expecting the person they’ve passed twenty times before to suddenly decide that that’s exactly what they need. Its bad enough with one doing it repeatedly but at some points multiple vendors would be in the same aisle all yelling, “Chai, chai…”

I On the train from Dehradun to New Delhi I sat next to a very nice family of a grandma, grandpa, mother, father and son. They were very nice and we conversed quite a bit. The father and grandfather were interested in the book I am reading, Confessions of an Economic Hitman. I don't know if they got any information out of it, but they seemed to enjoy reading it. After the train arrived in New Delhi, I had to take an auto from NIZAMUDDIN station to NEW DELHI station. It was a nice quick tour of the city. Once I arrived at New Delhi Station I decided I would try to upgrade my seat from Second Class Sleeper to Second Class AC Sleeper, but the tourist office told me I could no longer make a change in that office. I must request the seat on the train. I sat in the office for about an hour just waisting time. I met an Italian couple, both theatre actors, that was traveling around India. They reminded me a lot of my oldest sister Sarah's theatre friends. 

On the previous train a fat man constantly glared at me. He would be talking to someone else and be staring at me. On this train more people glare at me. I am the only “European” in this car. There was a guy from Korea, but he got off after three hours at Agra.

When I slept my feet hung over the edge of the top bunk in the aisle and people repeatedly hit them. I just get the feeling that some people do not particularly like that I am here. I’ve been shown the most hospitality by a Muslim man from Hyderabad. He is educated and traveled. There’s a Hindu man that acts nice, but sometimes I catch him angrily glaring. (I think we would get to our destination faster if we didn’t stop so much. We just stop and sit for ten minutes.)

I had a thought I just forgot.

I carry my photo bag with me everywhere. I think it would be less conspicuous if I didn’t but I can’t leave it while I go pee. I haven’t taken my camera out because I fear exposing the bag’s contents. One, the windows are open and its very dusty and two, I rather not broadcast the contents. Later on I will, and I will ask to take a portrait of the Muslim man’s mother. I’m not so sure how he’ll respond.

I seem to be the only one who doesn’t understand Hindi.

I like their toe socks. They make it stylish to wear socks and sandals.

Outside the window the ground is very dry. They seem to irrigate because the plants are very green.

These people ruthlessly litter. They just throw trash wherever. Men lean over me to throw their water bottles and whatever other trash out the windows.

I finished Confessions of an Economic Hitman John Perkins came to the same conclusion I have, only he’s said it a bit more eloquently. He looked back at why the American colonies rebelled against England. There were writers that inspired the people and let them know the atrocities of the government. If the writers had not written the people would have continued to suffer quietly. Not everyone that rebelled suffered. Many were affluent businessmen who did fine, but because they were informed they were opposed to how things were running. The key to change is information. The key to change is information. We must educate our kids; we must search out news that is not paid for by the very people we are opposed to; we must spread the news to our friends.

Lets listen to the wisdom of Robin Williams’ character in the movie Man of the Year: we must demand to know where our politicians’ money is coming from. We must demand that our public servants serve the public and not corporations. We the people have to take action and facilitate change. We can no longer just be happy with how things are. We have a responsibility to the world, not to lead in power but in helping others. There’s a common misperception that we MUST be the most powerful nation. Why? What does this prove? What we should rather strive for is to be the greatest nation, one without social inequalities, with a just government and politicians that work for the people, a nation known to help other nations rather than drag them in the dirt. We must break the cycle of ignorance and corruption and replace it with an informed people and an honest government. Nowhere in this does running other countries come in. We do not need a military presence all around the world, we do not need to determine what nations owe us money we tricked and bribed them into borrowing. If we forgave all foreign debt what would happen? The few at the top would suffer for an entire twenty minutes and we would have the world as our friends and terrorism would have no power.

We the people terribly outnumber those benefiting from the current situations. Why do we allow it to continue? Because the people are perfectly happy being blind. We up people and make a difference. Its as simple as talking to your friends and your children.

Quote from the Kalsong Chinese Restaurant on a napkin,
              “Life is short so break the (something illegible)
              Forgive quickly, believe slowly
              Love truly, laugh uncontrollably
              And never forget everything that makes you smile.”
  - Anonymous

I’ve been on a train for almost 36 hours straight, but it hasn’t been unbearable. I’ve met some interesting people. The latest is Qamar, the Muslim man. We talk about many things from cars to cameras, but best of all we talk about Christianity and Islam. We talk about how there is much nominalism in both religions. We talk about similarities and differences. We both ask and answer questions about the other’s religion. He stumped me one point. The Koran was written and has not been changed from its original form. The Bible, as it is now, was taken from many different documents and versions. How is it that there are no errors?
 

I think Qamar looks like Suddam Hussein. He takes good care of his elderly mother. She has coke-bottle glasses. Three men across the aisle have been playing a single card game the entire day. I read the Indian edition of Reader’s Digest. I’m tired of sitting. Only two more hours.

12/24/07 Hyderabad, Andre Pradesh

It is good to be with friends. I finally make it to Hyderabad around 10:20pm, though I was supposed to arrive at 8pm. I say my goodbyes to Qamar and his newly introduced family and head to a parking lot where I was told Shrav, my friend from Bloomington and reason I’m in India, would be waiting. My cell will not call Shrav’s for some reason. I communicate with Shrav through texting Tiffany, my girlfriend, in the U.S. and she calls Shrav and then she texts me back. I wonder around the parking lot and watch it empty except for a few dogs. I sit on the front steps of the station and they turn out the lights. Two policemen come and tell me I cannot sit there; I must wait in the waiting area – a room packed with Indians sleeping on the marble floor.

Finally, at about 11pm, Shrav arrives in his silver Mahindra. He drives me to a club and drops me, but he doesn’t go in. He parks and sleeps in the SUV. In the club Shrav’s brother-in-law had booked the entire second floor. On the first floor is a crowded bar and many very badly dancing Indians. I always thought Indians could dance well. Maybe Bollywood films ruined my perspective. They dance as well as…well, me. I think its called white boy dancing? Except everyone, young and old, male or female, is doing it enthusiastically.

12/25/07 Christmas Day, Hyderabad

 

Once again I stopped writing in the middle.
 

From the dance club, we travel to Shrav and Shanna’s apartment, a decently large place on the third floor tucked away in an alley. Once outside the alley are many small shops and usual street vendors. Down the street is the ugly/beautiful reminder of westernization, a Food World – a western style supermarket, much like the supermarket in Kampala. The other Americans (Shanna’s family and friends) are relieved to step inside there. I feel like they are avoiding the experience and just stepping into what is comfortable.
 

Everyone beds down in separate rooms. I get a day bed with a good firm mattress. I finally sleep around 1am. I awake to the sounds of many people roaming around. They tell me I can check my email and such, which I do, then its time for breakfast, wonderful eggs and toast. After breakfast I take a wonderfully refreshing cold bucket bath and get ready to leave for the day.
 

Nine of us pile into the Mahindra, with three in front, four in the middle and two in the back. Shanna sits on her brother’s lap and leans on me. I, for the most part, just lean out the window and take pictures. After turning around and getting lost, Shrav asks for directions to the Chowmahalla Palace. No one knows where it is. Finally a man says he can lead us on his motorbike. It is maybe a mile from where we were asking people.
  The palace is very large and beautiful and was definitely worth going to. It has only been open to the public around three years and is still being restored. Shrav and I sneak into some parts of the palace that are still under restoration.

After the palace we go to a marketplace where the women can buy pearls. I take off by myself and soon find a shop where I can buy a kurta, the traditional garb. They show me many different colors and prints and I finally decide on one. The guy wrote a receipt for 600 and I tell him that is way too much and after much haggling he lowers it to 500 rs. I leave there and talk to another shop owner and he says 150-250rs. I walk back to the first shop and demand a better price.

12/26/07 Continuing…

 

I have a hard time finishing my journal entries.
 

After much arguing I exchange the printed orange kurta for a simple peach/salmon kurta & he refunds me 125 rs. I continue down the street toward the restaurant Chadub, pronounced Shuttup. As I walk I stop and take portraits of interesting fellows, usually with long beards. I stop at the shop that told me 150 rs and the man I argued with is sitting there. They call me over and he tells me this is his brother. Sharp competitor. 

I finally make it to the restaurant and the family is nowhere to be seen. For a while I am the only European there, though as I exit a couple come in. I go back to the street and take more portraits. I give a coin to a little beggar girl take her portrait.

The family finally shows up we go to take dinner. The meal is specifically Hyderabaddi and Moghul in origin. The Moghuls ruled over Hyderabad for a long time. You can see it in the architecture. The meal is incredibly good. Shrav orders for all of us and we eat the meal in waves.

After we pile back into the Mahindra and leave for home, Shrav gets stuck in an alleyway overcrowded with people, cars, carts, animals, etc and we square off against another vehicle. There’s a stalemate so Shanna, Adam and I decide to walk as Shanna has some things to pick up from a tailor nearby. We go to the shop then take an autorikshaw home.

That night at the apartment we play some games then play Dirty Santa (or White Elephant, whichever you prefer). I bought a blue baby’s dress for my gift from one of the shops on the way to the restaurant. I first pick a Chicago Bears mug, but after Adam stole it (with some persuasion) I ended with 200 rs and Shrav’s haggeling skills.

After a mean game of Pictionary we go to Christmas mass at the largest Catholic Church in Hyderabad. The service is outside in front of the church. The church is quite decorated and around 15,000 people are in attendance. It looks like many more Hindus are in attendance than Christians. I don’t think I saw more than one other European couple. The singing is bad, but the music sounded good. The sermon is very good, about Christ being poor and giving hope to the poor. The church seems to be very evangelical, and it needs to be as Christians are around 2% of the cities population. They called for communion and I take it even though I am protestant and they say only Catholics. Bologna. Sadly, I forgot my camera. I definitely wish I had taken it.

We leave/push our way out directly after communion. Luckily Shrav came back for us; we were going to have to take an auto back. We arrive at the apartment around 1 a.m. and decide to set off firecrackers. Surprisingly, it doesn’t wake up the neighborhood. 

In the morning I’m awakened by, “Brad and Adam just woke up and are on their way to the movie. If you are going to go you need to grab an auto and follow.” Ben and I rush to get ready and grab an auto and arrive at the same time as Brad and Adam. (Shanna gave the auto driver a little extra to get us there quick) We watch I Am Legend on an IMax screen for 150rs – so $4. The complex is amazingly western. There is even a Subway sandwich shop.

 

We come back and watch the girls get henna on their hands and feet before we take off to a bazaar.

  

There is a lot of interesting things, but I had zero desire to buy anything. Finally I decide to buy another Kurta for the wedding. Shrav barters for it and gets it for 300 rs…so $8. 

  

We then go to Shrav’s brother-in-law’s restaurant. It is an open air area with picnic tables and individual huts that hold 4-6 people. The food is immaculate. Superb. The chicken with mint sauce is…soooo good. I would venture to say that it’s the best thing I have ever eaten.

   

We come back to the apartment and play Uno, Euchre and Pictionary. Its an over-all great day. Oh yea, I called home to wish my family and Tiffany a merry Christmas.
 

Today I lazily awake to Shrav turning on a cricket match, India versus Australia. Very boring. People complain about baseball, but compared to cricket baseball seems like a dance party. I cannot understand how one batter can bat as long as he wants until he gets a hit he likes. I watched a guy hit for twenty minutes and NOTHING HAPPENED during that time. Boring.
 

After a breakfast of oatmeal and peanut butter I leave with Joyce and Shanna’s mother to go to the optometrist. I get my eyes read by old fashioned tools and decide that all the new fancy equipment is extravagant. I love the optometrist; he’s a super nice guy with bad teeth. I feel like he got my prescription spot on. It costs 50rs - $1. I take my prescription to another shop to pick out frames. I decide I don’t need new glasses, but I do need prescription sunglasses. I pick out a style of semi-aviators. Frames, lenses and prescription cost 500 rs - $15. I will pick them up tomorrow morning.
 

After Joyce and Shanna’s mother left me I walk around taking many portraits and talking with the locals. I’m walking past a school just as it gets out. I take many pictures of the kids and they invite me to come the next day to a science fair. One guy is here on holiday from Mumbai. I meet up with Melissa, Ben and Adam and helped them look for sunglasses. We go back and take lunch and then nap. I take a bucket bath and get ready for the pre-wedding roof party. Now I wait for Shrav to finish getting ready so we can go to the dance party.

12/28/07 Hyderabad Airport

I’m sitting here with famous Indian Cricket players Piyush and Raina. They signed my journal.
 

I feel a mixture of feelings as I sit on the plane taxing from the Hyderabad airport. I want to much to stay here longer. I do not want this experience to end. It has been so amazing. I feel like neither my pictures or my words are nearly adequate descriptions of what I experienced here. I am glad that I did this alone because I know I would not have met the amazing people I did if I had had a companion, but it also would have been nice to share it with someone. I will say I only felt slightly overwhelmed sometimes being alone.
 

Tonight coming to the airport the auto I took dropped my about ½ - ¾ a mile from the airport. I, confused, follow a helpful stranger’s pointing finger and start walking down this road that did not necessarily look like it led to an airport. About ½ way down the road I flag an auto with only one passenger and he drops me at the door. Still feeling confused and slightly overwhelmed a worker offers to help me through. He gets the premier window to help me and shows me to the security gate. I give him 10 rs for his help – $.25. He looks at me like I’m the biggest asshole.
 

Back to remembering events.

At the party there are many older people there as well as a few people my age. There is a DJ and a big multi light set up and the event is completely catered. On the other side of the roof Shrav and Pamoan set up whiskey and coke so it wouldn’t be seen by the traditional older folk. I take a few pictures of the city from the roof and meet some interesting people. The DJ plays what seems like traditional Indian songs to techno beats, at least even the old people seem to know the songs as well as the dances. Many of the Indians dance in unison and I…well I do my own thing. After a couple whiskey and cokes I feel free enough to let loose and dance. I have no idea what I did, but I have never received so many, “You are a good dancer” compliments in my life.

We leave the party and head back to the apartment amid talks of the guys going out and partying/hanging out more. We end up drinking more whiskey and coke in the drive and talking for a few hours. Its Shrav, Pamoan, Pankaj, several more Indian guys and Ben from Chicago. We get into some very interesting conversations and then decide we’re hungry and jump in two vehicles and drive through the semi-abandoned city at two in the morning. We stop at a few restaurants that look very closed. At a hotel that looks equally closed one of the guys jumps out of the car and disappears then reappears and tells us to come in. We go through a back door into a ‘family dining’ area that looks decently nice then go through a gated door and down into a grungy area and through the kitchen with several grungy guys staring at us. We walk through another door and find ourselves in another seating area that looks just as grungy as the kitchen with equally grungy guys eating huge piles of rice and other things. We take a seat in two booths and they order something for us to eat. It arrives as a huge pile of rice with what seems like an entire chicken buried beneath. Pankaj claims that this is the favorite meal of any Indian, at least in this area. Pamoan repeatedly claims his restaurant makes this meal the best and everyone somewhat reluctantly agrees. I finally make it to bed around 4:30am. This has been one of the best nights of my life. I will never forget.
 

The morning of the wedding (12/27) I awake to the usual rustling about and get out of my bed much earlier than I’d like. I decide to go to the science fair at the local school. I arrive and start taking pictures in a huge courtyard and the kid than invited rushes over to greet me and take me to his booth. A young man comes over and informs me I must talk with the principle. I explain how I was invited and why I am here and that I’m a photographer. The young man excitedly takes me on a tour of the science fair, which takes up many of the classrooms in the large compound. I’m so impressed by the quality of the projects of the students that range from ages 5 to 13. The children are so poised and really know their information. They present their projects to me as if I were a judge to determine them to be the winner. I do not think that American students in this age range would be able to come close to the quality of projects or the poise in presentation of the students at this school.
 

I go back to the apartment and tell Brad he should go since he is a principle in Michigan. I then start to get ready for the wedding.
 

The Wedding

 

We arrive at a building that looks like an old fort, but I’m informed later that it was built only a few years ago as a ‘club for the rich.’ The architecture is quite impressive. There are two weddings going on at once, and to get to ours we have to pass through the others’ courtyard. I enter our courtyard and am impressed by what I find. It’s all set up with a stage, seating for both families as well as a fully catered meal.
 

The wedding starts with chanting from the Hindu priests and many rituals involving the families and the groom. The bride is hidden away till later. Shrav’s mother cannot be involved because her husband died, so Shrav’s uncle and aunt play the part. The smearing of paint on foreheads and feeding of others continues for a while. Finally the bride is brought out amongst much drama. This is supposed to be the first the groom officially meets the bride (or something to that effect). They get to know each other by pouring rice over each other’s heads. Then the families and friends meet in front of the stage a do an elaborate paint smearing session. During the entire ceremony people walk around and socialize and eat. If someone wants to watch the ceremony they just walk over and watch. The entire thing lasted roughly four hours.
 

After the ceremony and family pictures there’s talk of going out again with the friends, but it never materializes. Pramod and I go back to the apartment and finish off the whiskey and coke and stay out in the drive talking until five in the morning. We talk about so many things and learn about each other. He informs me that I must go with them to Goa instead of flying back to New Delhi that day. He would try and figure out a way (it didn’t work, I couldn’t change my flight). He then tells me that I’m coming back to India and I can’t make my own itinerary.

            Review
              The amazing people I’ve met.

 
1. Russian      girl, Holga, on flight from NY – Moscow
 
2. Rebecca      and Gompo – Married couple I met in line in Moscow getting new tickets.      They invited me to go with them to Majnukatilla, the Tibetan Refugee      colony. Once we landed we took a cab to Maj. And stood in an alley at 3      am. Finally we took a room in a guesthouse. I walked with them around New      Delhi and they showed me how to get train tickets. They blessed me so      much. When I was feeling overwhelmed they gave me the companionship and      local know-how I needed.
 
3. Albert,      Dehradun pastor that came to pick me from the train and take me to Mrs.      Paul’s. He told me about the persecution of the church.
 
4. Mrs.      Paul, Preeti’s lovely mother and my mother while in Dehradun. Such an      amazing, God-filled woman. She treated me too well.
 
5. Firoz.      My driver while in Dehradun. He showed me all over Ddun and Mussoorie. He      took the time while he was on holiday as a favor to the Paul family      because Mr. Paul could no be there. Firoz took me to meet his family –      wife and two beautiful sons, 7&4.
 
6. Firoz’s      aunt in Mussoorie. A wonderful host, had tea for me a few times. She lives      on the most peaceful mission on the side of a beautiful mountain.
 
7. The      family on the train ride from Dehradun to New Delhi. Mother, Father,      Grandmother, Grandfather and son. We entertained each other with      conversation, questions and pictures.
 
8. The      Italian couple in the tourist bureau at the New Delhi train station. They      are both actors…and they both look and act like actors I’ve known. Same      humor, actions, characteristics, etc. The guy would have fit right in with      my oldest sister Sarah’s old group of friends. (Aside: I look out the      window across the aisle form me and see a beautiful half moon shining      underneath the plane’s wings. Now we are circling New Delhi)
 
9. Qamar.      The Muslim man in the seat across from me in the sleeper class from New      Delhi to Hyderabad. We had wonderful conversations ranging from Cameras to      our religions. Once again a comfort when I was overwhelmed at Hyderabad      station when Shrav never showed up. He offered much kindness and      introduced me to his entire family.
 
10. Shanna’s      Family. It was great spending time, laughing, etc.
 
11. Shrav’s      Family. Maaji (Shrav’s mother), Reeshi (his nephew), etc…just amazing      people.
 
12. The      beautiful sisters Pinki & Rinki. Rinki studies fine art advertising      and animation and Pinki is getting her masters in business.
 
13. Shrav’s      friends. Close nit group. Pankaj and the others (I can’t remember their      names but they definitely gave me a good time)
 
14. Pramod.      Shrav’s brother-in-law. We talke for 4-5 hours about everything from why      he throws bottles on the grounds (litters) to what I believe about      humanity. I was so incredibly tired but it was great.
 
15. The      school teacher at the Shree Hanuman Uyayam Shala private school. He was      full of youthful idealism and zeal for teaching and the children. He game      a me a personal tour of the science exhibition put on by the children.      They were so incredible.
 
16. Sasha,      A man from Switzerland that was in India to study the culture and      language. He was on quite the journey from India to Pakistan and Iraq and      Turkey, etc. He reminded me so much of Jeremiah Wilson.
 
17. The      Christians at the phone booth I used to call Kaushic Bhaduri. Mark, Mike,      and Raj.
 
18. Piyush      & Raina. Indian Cricket Players       I met at the Hyderabad airport waiting for a flight to New Delhi. I      had no idea who they were, but people sitting around seemed to know them.      I asked if they new all of these people and they explained to me who they      were. They were young and attractive guys, enjoying their fame.
 
19. Kaushic      Bhaduri. A man I met on CouchSurfing.com, an online travel community. He      was such a blessing and came and picked me from the New Delhi airport      (waited for a good 45 minutes stuck in traffic). He game mea a mattress      and we talked till the morning hours.
 
20. Mark,      a world traveler from Chicago. I met him at the Lotus Temple, Bah’ai house      of Worship. He had started traveling in April and had seen everything form      New Zealand to Nepal. He had spent three months in Nepal and had just      arrived in New Delhi the day before.
 
21. An      Irish couple who were returning from a year trip around the world I met at      the New Delhi IGI airport. The woman didn’t want to return home.
 
22. Bruce      Barron, Director of Barron Adventures, He leads adventures and treks      around the world. I also met him and his wife at the Delhi airport. They      had just come from hearing the Dalai Lama speaking for three days. www.barronadventures.com

12/30/07 Enroute to NYC from Moscow

 

I just finished the list of amazing people I’ve met on this trip. It is non-exhaustive, but pretty extensive. I think 25+ amazing people in some 11-12 days is the makings of a great trip.
  Once I arrive in New Delhi, they herd us onto busses and take us to the terminal. I try using my cell phone to call Kaushic, but even though I have full signal the call will not go through. I pick up my bag, go to the restroom then exit looking into a sea of Indian faces, many holding signs of people from international corporations such as Nike. I make it to a phone booth and call Kaushic. The flight had been quite late and he said he had just about given up. He is in a parking lot outside the airport and he says he’ll be there in a few minutes. I brush off several pushy taxi drivers and wait by the curb amongst a chaotic traffic jam. I finally decide to walk opposite the jam and search out Kauschic’s black Chevrolet hatch back. I make it past even the beginnings of the road block before I hear a car honk and see a man waving from the inside. I wade through the cars to Kaushic’s, throw my stuff in the back and jump in and finally meet this man that I had first talked to a month earlier through the online travel community CouchSurfing.com.
 

We immediately hit it off and talk about so much including his years in Seattle, WA. We get to his apartment complex amongst the new urban sprawl of Gurgoan. Many malls and corporate buildings surround the area. His apartment is decently bare since he recently moved here from Seattle. Most of his belongings were still in a shipping crate somewhere at a port. We sit and talk in his living room while he smokes and then he pulls a mattress out from under his and we talk some more before we fall asleep. In the morning his house boy came to clean and cook us breakfast (he later told me the boy was a terrible cook).
 

 

Kaushic convinced me that it would be too much of a stress to get to Agra and back so he dropped me near a place I could catch an auto into New Delhi. The auto said he would take me to Cannought Place for 100rs. We drive for sometime and the auto stops at a gathering place for auto’s and he told me, “I drop you here.” He says I take another auto for 150rs, but says something about paying 400rs. I argue with him for a while and offer him 20rs for how far he took me, but he refuses and jumps in his auto and takes off…I didn’t pay in anything. I have no idea what’s going on. I tried to get another auto for 100rs but no one would look at me for under 150rs. Finally I relent and we take off.
 

On arrival to Cannought Place I realize I had previously been here with Rebecca and Gyompo. After getting out of the auto two men immediately start asking me where I am going and if I’m shopping, what hotel, etc. I repeatedly tell them I’m not shopping and I just need to get my bearings. I trade 500 rs for small bills and then tell one of the men I need an auto to go around the city and he tells me he is an auto driver, convenient. I start bargaining with him and another man comes over and starts talking for the first. He tells me he would drive me for 250rs an hour - $6.75/hr.  I finally give up and say ok. It is a lot, but hey, what would I do with extra roupees?
 

He takes me to several touristy temples then tells me if I would go to a couple of upscale stores for 10 minutes he would reduce the price by 50rs per shop. The shoppes are very high-end materials, clothes, pottery, etc from cottage industries. “Families spend three months on a rug,” they would say. At the first shop I try on some short kurtas…t-shirt length shirts with exquisite detail, made of pashmir cotton and had a silk lining. They looked SO good on me, not going to lie. I could wear them for dress up occasions.  I look at the price tag… rs. 8000! - $210. Its so hard to explain to them I cannot afford that. The salesman tries so hard and twists it so many ways. I cannot believe his final attempt. He gives me the same routine as the beggar children; grabs imaginary food, taking hand from stomach to his mouth. I cannot believe it. This man wearing a tailored suit and wearing designer glasses is trying to convince me to buy something because he’s ‘starving’?
 

I go next to a shop with a lot of silk rugs that are quite exquisite. I look at them and tell the salesman I cannot afford them. He tells me its not a matter of affording them, they are handmade in a household and it took three months. Somehow he thought this changed the fact that I could not afford them. The last store is no problem.
 

The driver takes me to a couple more temples and Hanuman’s Tomb. It cost $5 or 250 rs to get in. It looks very interesting, but I have neither the time nor money to do it. He takes me to a beautiful and large Hindu temple, but its hard to get good photos of it because of different structural and design elements. I finally get to a point that is good and I look over to see the Lotus Temple. I decide I should go back and pay my driver rather than just walking off. He knows my destination is the Lotus Temple and would be waiting for me. (This is not the only reason. I only thought of this reason when I was writing this)
 

I finally reach the Lotus Temple, the Bah’ai House of Worship. It looks quite beautiful, but there are thousands of people milling about. There are Hindus, Sikhs, Muslims, I assume other Christians and literally thousands of Indian Boy Scouts that are in New Delhi for a National Jamboree. We are made to take off our shoes before entering the area surrounding the temple, so I throw mine in my pack. Instead of getting in a huge line to enter the temple I walk around the backside. It is so beautiful and calm and there is no one else around.

I take many pictures then sneak inside through a side door. I stand in the mandatory silence and observe people inside. The temple is one vast room with all lines leading to the center of the ceiling where a circle connects the nine architectural lines. Most people are reverent, but a few do not understand the ‘no talking’ order.
 

I try to exit through another side door but a guardsman tries to tell me I can’t enter but I point and say “I’m going over there.” He looks confused and relents. I sit down to put on my shoes and a security guard tries to shoo me along. I tell him it is ok and I walk away from him. I come up on a westerner trying to take photos with his DSLR and another security guard keeps trying to move him along. We start talking and I find that he is in the middle of a world travel. He started in April from Chicago and has gone everywhere from Fiji, New Zealand, Australia, Korea, Vietnam, Nepal, etc. He just arrived in New Delhi the day before.
 

We escape from the guard and are able to shoot the backside in basic solitude. We walk around and talk for a while then enter the sanctuary and sit until it is almost dark. When we were standing in line to get in we talked about his three months in Nepal and a Bah’ai volunteer from Nepal overheard and they started talking. We walk inside in silence and find a seat and as we sit in the temple I notice that only attractive young women are volunteers.
 

We leave the temple just after they turn on the lights so we could get shots of the lighted temple with multicolored sky in the background. Once again I am constantly fighting the guards telling them its ok, I can be here. They warily let us stay till a point that they’d had enough and refuse to let us stay any longer. We walk a ways out and turn back to get a further away shot and are once again harassed by the guards. I tell them, “Tiki Tiki, its ok” but the guard gets aggressive. It is time to leave.
 

 

Once out of the gate we are accosted by auto drivers. I argue with them for a while because they say the shortest way to where I’m going is trekking 12km back to Connaught Place, even though I only need to go 3km. They keep giving me a bad price, but luckily another Indian man walks up. He talks to the auto drivers in Hindi for a bit then asks where I am from. I tell him USA and asks if I speak Spanish. I say no, but I a speak some French. He starts talking to me in French about what I should do and how much I should pay. I am thoroughly impressed with this guy. He apparently knows Hindi, English, Spanish and French at the least. I finally agree to go to two shops and my ride will be free. Marc, who is traveling 12km pays 20rs has to go to one shop. We exchange info and part ways.
 

The driver takes me to a shop that sells similar wares to the others I had been to. I enter and realize I’m the only westerner. The salesmen lead me to a backroom with a comfortable couch and ask me to sit. They proceed to lay out fine silk carpets in front of me and ask which one I like the most. I tell the man and he says he would give it to me for $125. I tell him I would pay 125rs -$5ish. He laughs and tells me to be serious. I realize we have an audience. We exchange back and forth for a while until I go through a diatribe about how I have zero need for the carpet and I purchase out of need. If I needed the rug I would gladly pay the $125 for it, for it’s an incredible piece of art, but since I have zero need for it I cannot conceive of paying over 125rs for it.
 

During this time they brought me Kashmir tea. Holy crap, that stuff is amazing.
 

While the salesman continues to try and sell the rug to me I keep interrupting him complimenting him on the tea. After all this the guy seems to give up and I start to leave. One of the men in the ‘audience’ comes up to me says, “I like you, you’re a good guy.”
 

Once back in the lobby the original salesman calls me over to a counter with many clothes on it. After showing me “fine scarves” I finally decide that it’s not a horrible price to pay for a very nice gift for Tiffany. I eventually make it back to the auto driver and we take off to where I’ll meet my ‘bus.’ As we draw near he says, “Only one more shop.” I look through the three floors and leave without harassment. The driver then takes me to an intersection and takes off walking telling me to follow. He tells me to stand at this bus stop and wait for a taxi, and it should cost around 10rs. This turns out to be very valuable information. I wait for a while as busses pass and taxis come and go saying they’re not going to Gurgoan.
 

Finally a taxi comes and the man standing next to me tells me to get in. I am the fourth man in the back of four-door sedan with my photo bag and backpack. It is quite cramped. After two of the men disembark, the man in the front passenger seat turns to talk to me. He’s a policeman from Hyderabad. I tell him about my time there. Eventually I am the only one left in the taxi, and he takes me to the gate of Kaushic’s apartment. He asks for 500rs! Argue with him for a while telling him that I should only pay him 10rs, but I would pay him 50rs now and 50rs later if he waits for me to get my things and then takes me to the airport. He just had to wait ten minutes so I could pack. I retrieve a key from the guard post to Kaushic’s apartment and find my way to the 19th floor, pack my bags and leave Kaushic a note expressing my gratitude. I hurry back to the give the key back to the guard and a black car rolls into the compound. I don’t really pay much attention to it until it honks and Kaushic yells, “Hey Scott!” Such great timing.
 

I look for the taxi, but it was nowhere to be found. I guess he didn’t really understand English. It was great that I didn’t have to deal with the taxi again and Kaushic could take me to the airport. He drives past the international terminal unconsciously taking me to the domestic terminal. When we get to the international terminal we try to get someone to take a picture of us, but the guards won’t let him leave his vehicle and rush me away. We quickly part ways. So long, you were a good friend.
 

   

I get into line to enter the building behind an Irish couple that is just finishing a one year world tour. I then wait inline to check my baggage and get my tickets and make my way to the money exchange. I a couple get in line behind me that is from L.A. They had just been in Dar Salaam listening to the Dalai Lama speak. The man is Bruce Barron and he runs an adventure trekking service, http://barronadventures.homestead.com.
  I eat at Subway inside the airport, getting chicken meatball marinara and then go to my gate. This is way to early.  I don’t want to be leaving. Its finally time to head home. I sleep most of the flight and arrive in Moscow at something like 4:30am.
 

I walk around the airport for sometime and look in the many identical little shops selling identical merchandise then find a nice patch of cold tile to sleep on for the next five hours. I wake up incredibly hungry so I go to one of the few restaurants and the one playing the movie Madagascar on the TV. I order the cheapest thing on the menu which is chicken noodle soup, and a water for a total of 360 rubles, something like $14. I finally find a bookstore and hang out in there till its time to leave. Of course the flight is delayed for some two hours for no apparent reason.
 

Ten hours later I am in New York City looking for my sister’s friend’s apartment in upper Brooklyn. I finally find it and we watch the colts purposefully lose the NFL East championship and then play Scrabble till 1am.
 

This concludes my India adventure.

If you made it this far, congratulations and thank you for reading. You can find this journal at my website http://www.scottclarkphotography.net/main/portfolio/personal/india/visual%20journal/india1.html

Breathe it in, the crisp air.
I’ll never be here again; well, it won’t be the same.
In this familiar place but foreign world.

I rest in the mist and wish the sun
would stay still for just this one day;
Never bringing me back to reality,
Never ruining this unreal scene.

But like my world
the sun rejects my plea for serenity,
And the mist cannot fight the light.
And like that...every thing is gone,
Like it never existed from the start.

www.scottclarkphotography.net