Final Week

Well, this is it: the final installment of the Ramblings. (Please don't cry; it really will be okay.) Having procrastinated far too much with this concluding post, I doubt many people will be reading it (but that hasn't stopped me before!), and will therefore keep my remarks brief and the pictures plentiful.

My final five days were spent trekking back to Delhi (via cramped overnight train and overly aggressive speeding bus, of course) with stops at Ranthambore National Park, the home of thirty tigers, and Agra, the home of the one and only Taj Mahal. After leaving Udaipur, we hunkered down for the six-hour train journey to Ranthambore, arriving around midnight. The ride was mostly uneventful, save for the requisite moment where I was rather embarrassingly reminded of how absentminded I can be. The exchange in question took place when I was forced to use our car's latrine. While simultaneously trying to hold my breath and stay upright, I apparently forgot to lock the bathroom door.

Well, what do you think happened? Of course, an elderly Indian woman attempted to barge into my stall while I was in the middle of a rather prolonged urination session. Wonderful. As if I hadn't been getting stared at enough because of my non-Indianess, I was now the talk of the train as my uninvited guest recounted the story to her seatmates with a look of horror on her face. Needless to say, I counted the minutes until our late night exit from the rails.

But there was no time to wallow in my forgetfulness with regard to Indian train bathroom locks; we had tigers to seek out. Our first (and only successful, as far as tiger sightings are concerned) "safari" was an afternoon jaunt into the parched depths of Ranthambore National Park, the largest tiger preserve in India. I wish I had a really sweet story about how I saved a small child from the clutches of a ferocious tiger, but alas, I do not. However, we did see a tiger, albeit from a distance (the guide said something about how they would eat us) and I managed to take a few pictures. Not going to be getting a call from National Geographic, but you can definitely tell it's a tiger (except for the third one; they are apparently called "tiger food").

After a few days in Ranthambore, it was time to take a deep breath and get back on the train (station can be seen above). In a shocking turn of events, it was half an hour late and we did not leave until after midnight for our seven-hour trip to Agra. Upon boarding, we were forced to tiptoe over several sleeping bodies in the aisle and then kindly request that the people in our sleeping compartments move elsewhere. My bunk was being filled (literally and figuratively) by a heavyset gentleman in a shirt three sizes too small. He seemed a tad miffed that we would have the gall to ask for the seats for which we paid (go figure). Once we secured our "beds," we tried to get some sleep (like that was happening). The aforementioned overweight fellow moved to a compartment across the narrow aisle and promptly resumed his routine of car-rattling snores and overly forceful sighs. Since I couldn't sleep anyway, I took a brief video of his snoring (the clip doesn't do the noise justice) and my cramped overnight train surroundings. Enjoy!

Obviously, I was not well-rested when we pulled into Agra. But this was the Taj Mahal! Much like Everest, this was a big one. We dropped our bags at a local hotel that was either under renovation or was a safe house for some low-level narcotics dealers. (Just my kind of place.) Threading our way through the touts offering everything from Taj Mahal key chains to whips (the latter of which was awfully tempting; I didn't think I could explain it to airport security, though), we enlisted a guide and set about exploring the magnificent structure and surrounding grounds. Since it's the Taj Mahal, I think I'll let the photos do the talking...the last one is for all the ladies (if you're out there).


After hitting up the Taj, we headed back to Delhi. Luckily, I was able to enjoy another two nights at the International Youth Hostel (see "Entering India"), in addition to exploring a bit more of Delhi. However, after bidding farewell to my travel companions, I was more than happy to proceed to the Radisson out by the airport to bask in the luxury of an American chain hotel. I went from sleeping next to snoring Indian men to sleeping next to...


Ha, I wish! But I did get upgraded to a "business" suite, although the reception clerk did so rather apprehensively (not surprising given my slovenly dress, overstuffed backpack, and untamed semi-mullet). Ignoring her disapproving glances, I proceeded up to my room and set about conducting lots of important "business" (you know, just to prove her wrong). Actually, I just watched some more cricket and then headed down to the pool, where I spent a lovely day lounging about and working on my backstroke. My room, the pool, and my feigned expression of surprise at Marisa Miller not being poolside at the Delhi Airport Radisson can all be seen below.


All that was left to do was board my Delhi to Newark direct flight. Easy enough right? Of course not. After waiting in the "Vistor's Lounge" of the Delhi airport for four hours (because the man with the large machine gun said I could not enter the terminal until three hours before my 11 P.M. flight; I have general rule about not disobeying men with firearms bigger than my head), I boarded the jumbo jet for the fifteen-hour journey. As I settled into my aisle seat, I quickly realized that the seat back was broken and thus swung back and forth with even the slightest twitch of my skinny frame. The flight attendant quickly saw this and informed me that I should move so the crew could attempt to fix the seat. Of course, they could not. She then told me that she would try to upgrade me to business or first class, which gave me temporary hope. Naturally, the flight was full, save for a few choice middle seats. As I trudged toward the back to scout out the "best" middle seat, I found an unoccupied window seat. Well, you don't have to tell me twice; I jumped into that seat and hoped nobody would claim it. And lo and behold, not only was I not kicked out, but nobody filled the middle seat to my right.

After settling in, I learned that the flight attendants felt so bad for removing me from my precious aisle seat that they were going to give me all the beer I wanted. Under normal circumstances, this would be cause for a loud cheer, a few fist pumps, and maybe even a cartwheel or two. However, my tolerance for alcohol was pretty much non-existent after being ill in Nepal and rarely drinking in India. When my request for one beer was filled with three beverages, I began the tall task of consuming the brewskies while watching Marley and Me. The result was quite a sight: yours truly sitting in a darkened airplane, semi-drunk, fighting off tears while watching a mediocre movie about a yellow Labrador. Yikes. It was clearly time to go home.

Although I had a brief panic-stricken sprint back through the deserted terminal after forgetting my passport and wallet on the plane (my brain was thoroughly fried), I finally arrived back home. And not a moment too soon.

I guess this is the part where I am supposed to offer some deep, introspective thoughts on my Asian experience. But come on, that's not why you read this blog. I aim to make people chuckle a bit (mostly through tales of my misfortune) and I'm not going to stray from that style in this final entry. However, I will offer some parting thoughts. (Bear with me.)

My experiences, particularly those on the teaching circuit, forced me to realize how fortunate I am. To be sure, I've worked hard to achieve some of my success (well, as much success as an unemployed ex-paralegal living at his parents' house can claim to have), but most of my good fortune in life came about through none of my doing. Ultimately, I was extremely lucky to have been born into a loving family in a wealthy country.

I know that it's trite, but my travels have continually forced me to realize that, on a global scale, I live in what is truly a rarefied world. Don't get me wrong; I'm happy and don't want to switch places with anyone on that side of the globe (except perhaps the king of Thailand; he seems to have a pretty sweet gig). However, if you ever hear me complaining about something in my life (most likely trivial), feel free to remind me of the struggles of my students and neighbors a world away. (Please do this instead of punching me in the face. If I ignore you, feel free to tee off on me.)

Anyway, since the point of this blog was to give people both a taste of the cultures I experienced and a few laughs along the way, I leave you with the clip below. In between the cricket matches, cricket highlight shows and cricket fan call-in shows, there was an instructional dance program. Hosted by a geriatric, gyrating guru, I think it gives a fairly accurate picture of the ridiculousness that is Indian television. You're welcome. (Oh, and thanks for reading.)



NB: The India photo album has been linked in the upper right. I'll leave these photos up for a while so get 'em while they're hot.