14 hours later

Bored out of my mind, when I find out that my flight had been canceled I booked a "deluxe" bus trip from Dharamasala to Delhi. I want to stay in a hotel, watch television and stay somewhere with central heating and a bathtub. The places I have been staying in are nice, but have been spartan, no television, small space heaters and with the weather verging on 30 degrees, in Dharamshala, 50 degrees in Delhi I have been very cold for a while. I think about it and and book a nice business hotel in central Delhi and board the bus. It was raining on an off for hours in Mcleodganj and our "deluxe" bus is leaking at all windows. Our bus driver sits in a glass partition of about 3 feet where a bench suspends itself against the entire width of the bus. Three other drivers take turns sitting on the benches as the driver drives. The ride is twelve hours long and eventually we get out of the rainy area to realize that all the windows leak air and although the seats are clean, with the damp air running around the area I am really cold. Around 2am our sparesly populated bus is crammed full with Indian workers with their canvas cloths and dusty looks shoving past my seat and filling up the back seats. The bus now smells of urine and body order and something really bad.

I sit next to a British man who has renounced his regular life in London to become a teacher in meditation in the mountains and I learn that Mcleodganj, the home of the Dalai Lama isn't so safe as I guessed it might be. As Tibetan refugees arrive regularly there are welfare offices and several volunteer services that work to assist the refugees. Some of the refugees have walked on foot over the Himalayas and into India-sometimes waiting for days in the mountains for the Chinese troops to move. As a result of waiting, many people lose their limbs and fingers to frost bite. When these refugees arrive to either India or Nepal, all are treated in hospitals but many are returned to China/Tibet. With China's might growing daily, I hate to say that their case seems quite hopeless to me. Without the Dalai Lama to congregate around, I don't see how they can continue their fight and he is already in his 70s. The stories are heartbreaking but the lives they build afterwards and where they will go in the next few decades remains to be seen.

With much western assistance and their higher standards in cleanliness and order the Tibetans in Mcleodganj are quite prosperous. I personally know I was overcharged for many taxi rides and my hotel was expensive by Indian standards at less than $40/night. Despite this I lost all interest in fighting or getting angry because at this point, their services are much nicer and they are sweet, they can use all the help they can get, and really I spend $40 dollars on dinner sometimes. The Indians in the area feel that it is a shame but there is also tension between the Tibetans, and the Indian Kashmiri refugees in the area who are also trying to sell their services and goods to the same foreign market. The Tibetans are much better at making money and it irritates and creates Jealousy for the local Indians. The locally born Indians also have different intentions and beliefs from their refugee parents which also adds another dimension to the tension. Mcleodganj and the neighboring areas are popular foreigner vacation spots and particularly Israelis have summer homes in the mountains. With the help of celebrities like Richard Gere and other prominent Buddhists, Mcleodganj has many westerners who come for the Dalai Lama and his teaching and to help the Tibetans.

While this portion of the story I could tell from visiting-the second portion I learned from my British guru adds a twist. In the mountain town of Manali, Mariuana and other drugs are easy to obtain and many foreigners act as mules between Manali and the Dharamasala area. My Tibetan cooking teacher informed me that the Israelis party hard in the mountains and many of them die from either the drugs or by getting into trouble with the local drug markets. Yearly dozens of foreigners disappear into the mountains. My British guru informs me that not only is there lots of drugs but many foreigners disappear, are killed or raped in the area on a regular basis. There are many "nature" trails in the mountains and its quite easy to get lost in the area. Some people accidentally die in the mountains and when locals discover their bodies, they sometimes simply rob and dispose of them. For three weeks my British friend had a dead foreign body floating in his drinking water with the face hacked. The local bar apparently has a full bottle of rophynol available for single women tourists--this was discovered when a male tourist asked for a bottle of water and the bottle of rophynol was accidentally placed in front of him instead. In other shocking news a visiting prostitute was once delivered to the hotel without her head and a long-term foreign volunteer was also stoned to death in one of the remote villages.

So after a twelve hour bus ride of hearing such stories-the majestic Himalayas got quite a bit of grit on them and lets just say that I'm glad that I cut my night activities down to cooking classes with Tibetans and another foreign couple. The people I met in the hotel, classes and restaurants were nice and we had many good conversations so I did actually have a good experience there--but the bus ride and the stories on the way back made me quite glad to check into my hotel this morning and walk in civilized (sort of) Delhi, shopping and hanging out in daylight near my hotel. I guess you can take the girl out of the city but you can't take the city out of the girl. I feel most comfortable in cosmopolitan areas where I feel like I have more control of where I can go-by foot with maps on grids. Tomorrow I return to my friend's house and I keep in mind that stories and news like this can and probably do happen everywhere--I probably just sat next to a person who liked sharing this particular info. I do think that beyond the safety issues-that I am ready to go back home and will spend my last few days shopping and looking at crafts in Delhi.

After being on the road since the 19th of December, I have been to close to nine cities/locations in the interim and I am missing my bed in Chicago. Although it is -4 degrees Fahrenheit there.

I don't know how I managed 74 days traveling the last time.

Travel note to self and those who read this. If the weather is good, fly to Dharamsala, don't go anywhere off the beaten path alone and be careful of what people give you to drink/eat. Otherwise the people are friendly and kind and the Tibetans really are a peaceful and easy going people. Oh and DO NOT TAKE THE DELUXE OVERNIGHT BUS unless you really really have to.

Scardey Tourist

"Bihar is backwards, they are the second poorest state in the country and people get regularly mugged in the trains there. I would go anywhere in the country alone but not Bihar. Why do you want to go to Bhodgaya?" Ummm, because I'm supposed to be a Buddhist? "How about Dharamsala?"

Bhodgaya is located in the eastern plains of India where the Bhudda obtained enlightenment. That area along with several cities in the area is a place of interest for me--but I am a scardey tourist. The news of backwards states with maoist rebels regularly holding up people in the trains and the cars has me worried. "And you're a girl! traveling alone!" When I was doing research for India it was always an understanding on my part that I would not have as easy of a time traveling around as I have in other parts of the world. First off, they have no side walks, I can't walk anywhere really. The roads are not set up for pedestrian mobility. Second, there is a culture clash going on in India between the poorer regions and the more urban ones. In the suburbs of Noida in Delhi--while I have been here I have heard of two girls getting gang raped. One of them was traveling with her boyfriend when ten men with bats pulled them over, beat up the boyfriend while raping the girl. Another girl was abducted, raped and abandoned in the park. Their crime was simply being out and about. This news, along with reports of acid throwings and regular situations where you never see women traveling out and about alone says measures to me about how careful I need to be. The news does comment that in the end, the people who abuse and are arrest show no remorse and are barely punished and that's what scares me most.

After carefully considering my options I chose to come to Dharamsala, the Dalai Lama's original place of residence which is near the base of the Himalayas to the North. Mixed in with international tourists, a Tibetan colony and many many single female travelers-I blend in well and am relieved to be here-albeit quite bored. The major problem right now, bad weather is preventing my leaving and I hope that the weather clears up soon or I will be taking a 14 hour train to Delhi tomorrow night in order to get back to the States.

Photos:
at one of the monasteries where the Tibetan government is in exile.

In Mcleodganj, many foreign travelers visit and volunteer to assist Tibetan refugees make the transition to their new city. The Norbulinka institute in Kanga valley is a school dedicated to Tibetan crafts and have helped original craftsmen set up studios to teach a new generation of craftsmen traditional art. Here a master craftsmen shows me his sketches and how he puts bronze sculptures together.

The prayer wheels located throughout the city and near temples. Turning each one clockwise acts as a means of prayer.

When I arrived the sky was clear and I could see the Himalayas against a blue sky. I didn't take a picture and have been ccursed with heavy rain every day since. Tibetan stupa built at the base of a dirt path that I slipped my way down towards.

Village in Ranthambore

From our open top jeep in Ranthambore. We have spent close to 40 hours in the car travelling. This video is just a snippet of some of the things we saw on the road. 

For shits and giggles and social good

Oh look there's a toilet museum. "Where?" My friend Ankit and his younger sister have met up with me in Delhi and we are perusing through my lonely planet guidebook to research where to go. Ankit's uncle had hired a car for the day and we wanted to take advantage of our mobility to peruse the city and check out some harder to reach places. After visiting the India gate, Connaught Square, A Himalayan temple and another sundial we get lunch and notice the museum in the book. With trouble finding something all three of us hadn't seen we decide to go to the Toilet museum. After getting lost in various streets around the Delhi airport, asking 6 passerbys who gave us funny looks. Our driver who was both grumpy and thought we were nuts pulled up to the Sulabh public toilet facilities. The entire area smells of rotten eggs and next to the public toilets is a gated area that leads to lush fields and gardens of marigolds and other plants. A gentleman who was seated in the far end of the corner comes running to us and we realize he is our guide.  He leads us through some concrete area with several boxes standing next to pits. We realize we are in the village toilet section of the Museum. 

Each stand has a sign of how much money it costs to build. How long it takes to fill up one tank per person and how long the facilities will last. Sulabh is an entire sanitation movement that works on bring environmental, hygenic and affordable toilets to India. 

Each exhibit was a little different in engineering, materials and efficacy. This model is one I personally might not want to use. 
Our guide jovially pointed out the luxury model versus the basic model. 
And we looked at several models through out the area. Apparantly as close of 5 years ago smaller villages in the poorer areas had no bathrooms or outhouse facilities and Sulabh came in and installed some of these units in order to improve hygene in these areas. As many of these units do not use a septic tank but bricks and earth, the water and waste is collected, dehydrated naturally to be used for fertilizer in the poorer villages. In more public areas the company has established public toilet areas where for 1 rupee one can wee and the collected waste is turned into biofuel, methane and filtered water that can be used for heat, electricity, cooking gas and water for crops. 

Within the building we were shown to a tongue in cheeck gallery of the history of bathrooms and models of toilets that doubled as side tables or thrones. 
Our guide very seriously and sweetly showed us toys based around toilet humor brought by visitors-mostly foreign. As he played this toy, the battery was low and we listened to a rather humorous passage in slow motion as our guide eagerly showed it to us. 
The gallery of models and photo passages and information about the history of toilets.
A heated model from the US that our guide switched on for us.
Sulabh has been increasing their facilities and has recently installed five of their toilet facilities in Afgahnistan. Our guide tells us how scared he was because of the Taliban but found the people in Afgahnistan to be both very greatful and kind to them as they installed the buildings in their village areas. Installing these areas helps create natural energy and filtered water--an excellent use of waste. 
Open view of the sample table/toilet.
Filter system for the waste. The water that comes out of it is clean and filtered but sourced by the local villager's Sulabh toilet center. 

A french designer sent the two dolls Pee & Poo to commemorate the creation of the museum. 
The front view of the public toilet. There is a waterless urinal that can be used for free and a very clean toilet system in the pay toilet area that charges one rupee per person. Truck drivers, villagers and the homeless use the system often and Sulabh systems have been installed in many part of India. 
Methane gas can be pulled into public kitchens where community kitchens prepare meals for 10 or more people within the village saving both food and gas costs for the poorer villages. 

The methane generator also can run very loudly to run both a CFL lightbulb and a room fan. The less methane and biofuel, the less watts. Apparantly depending the diets of the area the methane levels vary. Places like afgahnistan has more meat in their diets so their waste is very fertile while city dwellers in India and delhi have poorer waste compared to their counterparts in the rural area. Much of the gas could also be used to light very strong lamps for the streets and apparantly it takes the waste of five people a day to light one street lamp. The efficiency, calculations and thoughtfulness of the company was incredible as from our visit to India we can now tell that power shuts off quite often and most places cannot afford street lamps even in major cities. Combining human waste power capabilities and solar power and other sources can indeed help out in building an alternative and new infrastructure that is quite creative from ours in the west. 

With a complete straight face and very eager eyes our guide showed us the labs, the testing, data and plants that help to filter the waste. As Ankit is an engineer at heart, his sister is into biochemistry and I am just weird-we asked many questions and looked very interested in his project. Although we went in to the museum looking for the laugh we came out amazed by the company and charmed by our sweet guide who very passionately told us about the project. 

Slowing down

When traveling with my parents we took a package tour that woke us up every morning at 6:30am grabbed our luggage, checked out of hotels, boarded a van with our guide, spent two hours at a famous location and then drove to another city. As a result I have now seen the highlights of India. Now that I am staying with my friend, time has considerably slown down. We get late lunches at 3pm, dinner at 10pm. We sit around in rooms talking to each other for hours and enjoy light delicious home cooked meals. We stroll through gardens and take a look at knots in the trees and the intricate carvings of crumbling tombs. 

My friend Shivani from graduate school is an extremely smart and sociable person. When we met at Chicago, she would be one of the regulars at my dinner parties and she in turn would drag me out to go dancing (quite willingly) Once arriving at her place, I meet up with another classmate from school--an Israeli student, Tal and her mother. Tal and I nod in understanding now as we visit Shivani's home that is covered in artwork and some of the most interesting collection of books. We meet Shivani's mother, a half west indian/canadian who is an artist, writer, musician and Phd linguist in french, spanish, english and hindi. We meet her father who is a professor of biomedical physics at India Institute of Technology (India's MIT) and a public policy wonk who is currently working on changing the lanes in India to block off certain lanes for busses and emergency vehicles to improve traffic safety. I am introduced to her uncle who is head of the federal reserve bank in India, the entire family is extremely high powered, very well educated and very interesting. We are taken to lunch at the ICI center where government officials, diplomats and key intellectuals meet up--apparantly Shivani has spent her entire childhood going to lectures and listening in on her parents conversations at ICI. 

No wonder she's so smart. 

Upon hearing more about life in Delhi vs Mumbai it becomes clear to me that Delhi truly is Washington DC versus Mumbai being Manhattan. As we prepare for school to start up again Shivani had some trouble at the bank, unable to transfer her funds. After five or six different queues, locations, 3 hours and one explosion later; she ends up calling her uncle who calls the deputy of the reserve bank who calls the head of all the branches to settle the matter. This morning a head of her branch showed up personally to bring and collect her paperwork to her house. Delhi is about family connections-of which Shivani is incredibly lucky. Mumbai is where people go to make it big and it doesn't matter who you know or are. In those aspects I think back to NYC and what draws them there--different city same mentality. Apparantly thousands descend upon Mumbai with dreams of making it big and even if its not official-to many Indians when you hear that you are goin to Mumbai expectations rise-this person might be the next great thing. 

I think my background is now somwhere in between Shivani's life and that of the Mumbai strivers. WIth three sisters and three degrees myself I'm not entirely unconnected--but my family did not always the family connections to help us get ahead. I look at Shivani's parents and wonder how different the lives of my neice and nephew will be in coming years. 

From Varanasi

Main streets of Varanasi, one of the oldest cities in the world dating back to Babylon times. Street foods, whipped milk products. The milk is very good in this country. Cows are considered sacred in India as their milk is used for butter, yogurt and milk. Their dung is shaped into disks and used for fire. Their urine is used as medicine or paint. And their labor is used to till the farms.
Pilgrims on the way to temple from the ghat (stairs to the river)
Ghats or stairs to the river.
Holyman blesses my mother on the street.

Independence

without public transportation and a regular city lifestyle I am forced to realize that my independence has severely been cut off since coming to India. If I venture out on my own, family and friends are concerned for my safety and I realize that there are very few women out and about on their own regularly in India. It was similar in Istanbul but there I stayed in hostels and met other westerners. Here I am having trouble even finding the right bus.

Am currently in South Delhi staying with a friend and using her computer. Am planning out the rest of my trip and missing my f reedom to wander about where ever I please. I am missing order and chaos and am torn between the desire to plan the rest of my trip and the apprehension towards safety concerns which makes me want to consider a booked tour.

Never the less for the next four days I will be living the middle class Delhi life with invites to dinners and weddings, while hanging out with locals.

Where the other three meet

Getting off the airplane at Varanasi we walk into a pool of Arabic women and men. "they are returning from Mecca" our driver informs us as we get into the car. We drive through the city and look at the scenary--Varanasi is the Hindu Mecca and pilgrims visit the city to soak in the river ganges as their final resting place. On this visit we happen to be visiting this city when the Dalai Lama is visiting and we walk through the original preaching areas where the Bhudda taught as thousands of tibetan monks do their pilgrimage to the city. We are in awe as three religions mesh and merge in this city. Jeresulum melds Islam, Judaism and Christianity. Here in Varansi-the other three meet.

The Taj

Mama wait! We cry out through the crowds as my mother is now unstoppable weaving through hundreds of tourists heading over to the Taj. No time to wait, she's been waiting for a very long time to take a look and you can't stop a Japanese tourist from their mission. After our pleas she slows down and waits for my father to get through security in which they open all of our pockets and go through a mild groping by a female security guard. (They are not taking chances--there a guns, armed security and metal detectors in every hotel that we have gone to now.) When we woke up this morning the fog was so dense that we could not see more than 20 feet ahead of us. We gulped in worry as we changed our itinerary around in order to ensure we could see the Taj. Luckily by lunch time the weather is significantly warmer and the fog has burned off.

My father begs me to take a photo of him alone with the Taj. Sibling rivalry never ends--he plans on sending it to my uncle to show off.

It truly is a thing of white elegant beauty, synmetrical, intricate marble carvings with prescious inlaid stones. They say that the Taj is for lovers and that women appreciate it the most because its a symbol of love where a king fulfills his promise to his queen. 22 years and 20,000 laborers later, the emeperor, Shaha Zan built the monument for his wife Muntaj Mahal. It seems that she was pretty and a good advisor too and bore the emperor 14 children. 8 survived, she died in child birth of the 14th, and he never remarried as a vow to her. (Although he had two other wives and probably an entire harem as he was a muslim/mughal emperor) When I started to take photos, one of the guards started taking me around several areas telling me to sit, squat, lean and shoot in several areas where some of the most elegant photos could be taken. I imagine there could be worse jobs than spending every day of your life for decades admiring the Taj mahal. His recommendations were in some of the most random places but made for some gorgeous photos.

As my stomach gently weeps

My mother is down with a cold and refuses to eat anything other than Nan. My stomach likes to remind me once in a while that I am not meant to eat Indian food everyday by gently weeping and then screeching once in a while. My father surprisingly eats everything, complains that he might get heartburn but is actually completely fine. I lands on me that despite his tendency to forget, lose and ask the same questions 8 times--he is probably the most well suited to be the international business man that he is. Despite this, we are moving along, sleeping where we can and are about to see the Taj Mahal tomorrow.

Our schedule has been insane and getting access to fast or any internet access has been hard the last few days due to our schedule. I can't get photos and videos to load as I am rarely in one place for more than 30 minutes and nothing loads fast enough. In the last three days we have gone from Delhi to Jaipur to look at the Amber Fort, Palace of the Winds and The observatory where ancient Indian maharaja built and entire park to calculate everything from time, stars, cosmic directions and horoscope predictions using nothing but geometry, math, sunlight and really cool looking architecture. After decimating a handicrafts store, Mughal jewelry& fine art store, we hopped into a car and head out to Ranthambore National park.

The fort at Ranthambore houses the Maharaja's former hunting grounds that covers an entire area that seems to be the size of Yosemite. 35 (maybe 15) Royal Bengal Tigers roam around the jungle supporting the local economy of thousands of people in the area as tourists from India and international areas mount jeeps and long range lenses trying to capture glimpses of the tigers.

The chance to see tigers is about 60%, we were in the unlucky 40%. Waking up at 6:30am, we climbed aboard open air jeeps and drove through very chilly forest and watched wild birds, monkeys, deer, antelope & a mangoose or two wander around a jungle that looks like it came from the pages of the jungle book. Ruins of the old Ranthambore fort looms high above a cliff and pagodas, tombs and massive stone gates dot the landscape and we sat. Waiting. For 30 minutes at a time. Staring in the foreground, background, under the brush, into the bushes, into the trees hoping to see the tigers from our open top jeeps. I now have 200 pictures of everything but. After two days, we hopped aboard another car on our way towards to Agra.

Agra is infamous for having some pretty terrible slums. After driving through many backroads from Jaipur to Ranthambore and Ranthambore to Agra we had gotten used to watching the changing landscape. When we arrived into the city center of Agra, it looked like every little hamlet we had visited had clumped five times on top of each other. A city supported by tourists, the Mughal empire's gloss is long gone and it looks chaotic and black in areas with random monkeys climbing up and down fences. I predict there will be trouble with them monkeys.

Security in Agra is very tight. A car accident has higher possibilities in India and must say, spending the last week not reading the news has been refreshing. Ignorance really is bliss. Hope our stomachs settle soon.

First Stop Delhi

With 4 hours sleep under my belt in the last 48 hours, I arrive in Delhi, meet up with my parents and get on a train towards Jaipur. The "express" train to Jaipur leaves from the Old Delhi Station and my parents, expecting first class luxury car are surprised to realize we have second class sleeper seats in a train that seems to be running 50 cars in a row. The old Delhi train station is extremely colorful and I'm jumping head first in a hard core Indian scene when we get off our car and carry our luggage down the platform for a long 15 minute long platfor. "You are in car A1! We must keep walking." My parents heave and ho as we warily look at the third class cars and see that the cars having been labeled S for the last 10 cars. Wondering if this is going in logical and alphabetical order I stare down the train tracks and wonder... are there a hundred cars to this train? After the 14th car the car numbers inexplicably change to B, then A and we look down the platform and see at least another 10 cars continuing onto the horizon. Never found out how long the train really was.

Two balding monkeys frolick and give a slightly menacing look as they climb up and down the entrance and if we stay still for 3 minutes we are surrounded by 15 Indians all staring at us in wonder. When we finally board the train my parents laugh out loud "what happened to the palace on wheels?" They were booked. "Oh so we're taking the servants car on wheels?" This is the highest class they had, its just like european trains, just without the glass partitions and a little rustier and the windows are yellowed. "You young people take such interesting trips, isn't this funny Papa? Even China has better first class cars now " Hush.

Through the yellowed and dirty windows I watch the scene change from Delhi city to country side houses and fields. Last semester in graduate school I had spent time doing research in the Chicago projects and Emerging markets and how design could play an important role. When I had visited the Chicago projects I remember being flabbergasted by corruption, the quality of the housing and the lives of the people fighting to get out of the projects. While I was doing that research project-I had also done extensive research into emerging markets and how companies could create projects that would help people in the bottom of the pyramid-those who live on one dollar or less a day. Watching the scenary through the trains I see women cooking outside, trash lined streets, buildings, waterways and fields. The buildings probably do not have running water and its exactly what I had seen in photos of my research. Its just weirder to see it in real life, albeit from the safety of my "first class" train window. My Indian classmate has commented that yes, the Chicago projects were bad--but Americans do not know real poverty. Looking out from the safety of my dirty yellow window I have to agree. It also makes you realize--we don't NEED alot to survive and humans are actually very resiliant and smart when it comes to figure out how to survive. But we all want to live comfortably. A small minority of the world has access to the opportunities to make the effort to improving their standing and living more comfortably. But so many people in the world probably closer to 75% or more probably have little to no chances of changing their lives.

In studying the "emerging markets" I had extensively about microfinance, read article after article about leapfrogging technology, sustainability. The power of good public policy is undeniable in its importance but many companies both multinational congolomorates and local corporations have taken it upon themselves to conduct corporate social responsibility to try to help those at the bottom of the pyramid. Only thing about work for the BOP is the headaches with regard to actual making income from individuals who have so little money to begin with, while considering so many other factors.

In addition there is the issues of working with non-governmental organizations, political issues and the issue of sustainability towards the environment. P&G had figured out that people cannot afford to buy a bottole of shampoo but can afford the few coins required to buy sample size plastic packets of shampoo. While this is great for personal hygene the streets and sewers are clogged with more rubbish that cannot be recycled. Although there is more trash on the grounds in delhi, India traditionally has their "untouchable" class who automatically sorts through trash and recycles anything that can be recycled. Sometimes the most environmental living happens through poverty and in all honesty if these people started living like American middle class families the planet would collapse in a month. Environmentally sustainable business products and services, while being socially conscious to financially improve others lives sounds like business strategy's impossible dream. Looking out the window I can only wonder where/how the world may or may not change in my lifetime.

Five hours later on the train ride and two wary bathroom breaks over a metal hole bathroom that opens to the train tracks below we arrive in Jaipur and my parents good naturedly laugh about the experience. Onto enjoying a tourist experience.