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.

About Town: Udaipur

I have been home for a week and am just now beginning to once again feel like my usual bubbly self. (What's that? You would use any adjective other than bubbly to describe me? How dare you?) Over the last seven days, I have been working hard on the following three objectives:

1. Regaining the thirty pounds that I left in Asia, primarily through an aggressive reintroduction of cheeseburgers, chocolate chip cookies, and Bagel Bites into my dietary regimen. I would prefer not to put on all of the weight, but I also don't want to be forced to buy new pants; I'm unemployed, remember? (Note to self: lose less weight on next trip to Asia.)

2. Plowing (with reckless abandon) through the fifth season of Lost, which I missed in its entirety while I was away. (The finale challenged Kala Pattar for the title of "Experience Posing Greatest Threat to My Head Staying in One Piece." For the record, KP is still number one.)

3. Procrastinating in finishing up my trip reports. (Funny how I can't write about Indian drug dealers, er, I mean rickshaw drivers, while watching ridiculous time travel sequences on the aforementioned television show. I should have watched The Hills instead; I would have finished the blog in record time.)

But enough with the mind-numbing tidbits on my life back in America. (I apologize for the brief interlude of boredom.) Back to India we go (via my couch) for an inside look into my life in Udaipur. A hot (duh), bustling metropolis nicknamed "The City of Lakes" (see first two pictures at the top of this post), Udaipur was founded in 1559 by Maharana Udal Singh (but you already knew that). Considered one of the most romantic locales in all of India, naturally an attractive quality in my eyes (har, har, har), the city also served as the backdrop for many scenes in Octopussy, the 1983 installment in the James Bond series. (A byproduct of this brush with Hollywood is the proliferation of rooftop restaurants that show the Roger Moore film every night. So if you're ever stranded in Udaipur and want to get dinner and a movie for the price of one; there is always Octopussy.) Anyway, below are a few shots from around the city for your viewing pleasure.


During my three weeks in Udaipur, I laid my head inside two very different residences. One was a Communist-era, barracks-style apartment complex; the other was a clean, professionally constructed house that (indirectly) aided in preparing me for a return to my pampered American lifestyle. The former had cockroaches, fans with limited ability to, you know, move air, and running water for only one hour in the evening (when you filled your allotted buckets so you would be able to flush the toilet and "wash" yourself). The latter had marble bathrooms with 24-hour running water, ubiquitous high-speed ceiling fans, and a rooftop terrace. Here's a game kids: see if you can figure out which is which in the pictures below!


Although the new house offered far more "luxurious" (read: basic) amenities, both places offered similar views of the surrounding neighborhood. Highlighted by the requisite menagerie of livestock (cows, goats, donkeys), our front yard was essentially a parched, dusty garbage pit (not going to sugarcoat this one), but we did manage to find a clearing to get in an occasional game of cricket (see third picture down). For those concerned, I definitely do not have a future in that silly, silly game.

In order to get around town, we would squeeze ourselves into an auto rickshaw (pictured above). As you've witnessed over the last few months, the Ramblings has evolved into a sleek, high-tech site, and today that cutting edge technology is presented in the form of the high-definition video below. (Ha. Actually, it's just another grainy clip that I shot with my trusty little Canon. However, it does offer a glimpse of the narrow lanes and animal roadblocks that we encountered while traveling through the streets of Udaipur via auto rickshaw.)



This ride was devoid of "interesting" conversation with the driver, which was usually not the case when we piled into these rickety vehicles. More often than not, we were offered a veritable tasting menu of illegal narcotics from our friendly rented chauffeurs. ("What you need...mareeejuana, cocaine, opium, heroin, ecstasy, hashish, ibuprofen?" Okay, I made that last one up.)

This was all well and good; being hassled to purchase drugs was pretty much par for the course after being in Asia for four months. However, I had a far more unsettling experience during a ride home from a group dinner one evening (unfortunately, I did not have my camera with me at the time). As we rumbled down the unpaved road, our driver started telling us that he felt "good." Check that, he felt "very good." Oh really, I wonder why. Did you happen to have some good luck recently? A job promotion? A new addition to the family? A winning lottery ticket?

Not surprisingly, our overly friendly escort was on cloud nine for none of the reasons bandied about inside my head. Rather, it was his lassi. For those unfamiliar with the beverage, a lassi is a popular and traditional South Asian drink made by blending yogurt with water, salt, pepper, ice, and spices until frothy. This is the conventional recipe; needless to say, our driver was an unconventional man when it came to his lassi preferences. He informed us that he always opted for one containing bhang, a liquid derivative of cannabis. In fact, he made sure to have at least one every day, usually before he ventured out into the night to ferry around unsuspecting Westerners in his rickshaw. Fantastic.

As we sped down the highway towards our apartment, our new friend behind the wheel (well, oversized joystick is probably a more accurate description) began serenading us with Hindi love songs. Naturally, his singing lacked any coherent rhythm or pitch, but he did belt out the verses with admirable vigor. Oh, and he repeatedly looked deep into our eyes, undoubtedly in an effort to convey the emotional depth of the lyrics he was wailing. (Actually, I think he was just really stoned.)

"How," you might ask, "did he manage to look at you while singing and keep his eyes on the road so that you didn't impale a cow on your way home?" The answer is simple: he stopped looking at the road. Seriously. Apparently keeping one's eyes on the road while operating a motor vehicle is optional in India. Although I was persistent in offering "friendly" (read: panicked) reminders for him to turn around to ensure that our chariot avoided a high-speed encounter with the watermelon stand, he paid little attention to me. Thankfully, all members of our shuttle group emerged from the taxi in one piece as our high as a kite driver somehow managed to steer the rickshaw back to the apartment without crashing into anything. (We did not get a discount for enduring a lengthy, perilous drive through the dark streets of Udaipur with a giddily stoned driver at the helm. What a country.)


Moving on. The following pictures have no stories behind them, but I threw them on here in order to document my sightseeing trips around Udaipur. Since I am pressed for time (not really; I'm just lazy and have no interesting anecdotes from the visits), I will simply identify the places of interest in the photos below.

The famed Jain temple in Ranakpur.

Kumbhalgarh Fort, a Mewar fortress in the Rajsamand district.

The Monsoon Palace, located on a hilltop overlooking Udaipur.

The last Udaipur experience that I will share with you is near and dear to my heart. As you all know, I love a good dance show, mainly because they can result in a good story (see "The Camel and the Cross-Dresser). One evening, we attended a song and dance shindig at a place called Dharohar at Bagore Haveli Ganguar Ghat (I'm pretty sure all that is Hindi for "cultural center"). As we took our seats on the floor, I was hoping to see something new. Of course, I was not disappointed. The show featured a live band, highlighted by a two-dance infusion of a massive horn/trumpet instrument played by a gentleman who looked like he might pass out. The production also featured a woman in an elaborate peacock costume and two other women toting around fireballs on top of their heads (separate acts so as not to risk lighting the peacock's feathers on fire). The whole thing was absurd; things were looking good. (See the red-faced horn player, the peacock lady, and one of the fire hazards below.)


As excited (mildly interested?) as you are after scanning those photos, I have saved the best for last. The final few dances "inspired" me to flip the switch on my camera to "video" so that I might capture the full essence of the show's finale. First up: a puppeteer unlike any I'd seen in my childhood days. I don't think Punch and Judy or Sesame Street ever featured bosom shaking or decapitation. Take a gander at the video clips below to see for yourself.





The adult puppet show was a tough act to follow, but the final performer was certainly not intimidated. Well, maybe she was, but that didn't stop her from piling six pots on top of her head and doing a jig on a pile of broken glass.



So there you have it: the Udaipur virtual experience. Water shortages, stoned cab drivers, semi-lewd puppet shows, women with unparalleled ability to stack common household objects on top of their heads; what more could you ask for! (If anybody from the Udaipur tourism office is reading this, feel free to use the preceding sentence for a promotional brochure.)

NB: I know that I committed to finishing the blog this weekend; obviously, that didn't happen (for the reasons outlined at the beginning of this post, among others). Anyway, one more entry is in the pipeline (tigers and the Taj Mahal; try to control your excitement) and will be completed next week. The reason for the extended delay is that I am taking a trip this weekend; yet another first-time journey to a searingly hot foreign land where people talk funny. Yep, I'm going to...(wait for it, wait for it)...

Texas. (Ohhh; thank you, thank you, I'll be here all week. Tip your waiter and try the veal.) Apparently I didn't get enough exposure to strange diseases during my time in Asia, so I'm flying down to El Paso (conveniently located near the U.S.-Mexico border) to see what this swine flu hoopla is all about. Oh, I'm also attending my buddy Jeb's wedding. Wish me luck.

To tide you over until next week, I offer the picture below. Located near our places of residence in Udaipur, I found this advertisement amusing because it offers a class in "personality development." Obviously this is geared towards people learning English so that they understand the meaning of words and phrases commonly used in conversational situations, but I laughed when I saw it. I mean, somebody will teach you how to develop a personality? What if you get a bad teacher? More importantly, can I be a teacher?

I might be overestimating the comic value of this photo (hardly a rare occurrence). Oh well, enjoy a laugh or shake your head at my misguided attempt at humor.

Molding Young Minds

Before I regale you with stories of the teaching clinic that I recently conducted in Udaipur, I want to extend a belated thank you to Brett Konner. Konner, a buddy of mine from college, has been a fan of my musings from the beginning, and has also been a valuable source of advice for enhancing my blog from one of the bare-bones variety to the gleaming web page currently sitting before you. He recently took his love for my little travelogue to the next level when he posted a link on his site, brettkonner.com. (Apparently he is not as creative as me in the website naming department. However, his site is far more impressive in all other respects. Thanks for letting me win one, Konner.) Anyway, thanks to Brett for the shout-out and be sure to check out his site for a few laughs.


In Thailand, I taught middle-aged women and had to be, you know, mature. In Nepal, I taught sparingly and mostly served as an athletic advisor to a collection of rambunctious adolescent boys. In India, a middle ground was found as I was able to indulge my lingering juvenile instincts (see above picture) while my charges, in the words of Mr. Eric Cartman, still had to "respect my authoritah." (Standard South Park reference.) Assigned to tutor a group of ten fourth graders, I was in my element. To clarify, the kids were old enough to not be incessantly annoying (as opposed to the really little ones, with whom my patience wanes), yet weren't old enough to possibly make me nervous. Furthermore, I could pick up any of them in order to physically remove them from the classroom if necessary. Thankfully, I didn't have to resort to such measures, but my height was instrumental in maintaining an iron fist over the coloring sessions and memory games. (Like I said, respect my authoritah.)

My place of educational excellence, namely the Sonariya local school, is a salmon-colored structure that, despite the wear and tear of many years of use, is kept in remarkably good condition, especially considering the harsh environmental and economic climates of the district it lies within. Situated on a bumpy dirt road, the school educates children of a wide range of academic abilities and attendance records, luring them with the promise of a free meal and the sage wisdom of yours truly. (I think most of them came for the meal.) The building is simple, but provided me with all that I needed to work my magic (there was a blackboard and some chalk). Pictured below are a few shots of the Sonariya school, including the "water fountain," and one of the surrounding area.


Over the course of my teaching placement, I covered the fundamental topic areas of colors, animals, vegetables, fruits, and the riotously funny body parts unit. (Even in rural India, 10-year-olds know the word "booby." Debaucherous, I know.) The students' abilities ranged significantly, but all of them cooperated (for the most part) in keeping the disruptive shenanigans to a minimum, which I appreciated.


One of my personal favorites, as well as the unofficial class Casanova, was Mangilal, who is pictured above with his slightly creepy teacher. Mangilal found speaking to me in Hindi hilarious and he often delighted his classmates with his antics. Did I get mad? No, I simply embraced his comedic wit and began offering English responses to his Hindi questions (which I obviously didn't understand). An example:

Mangilal : Yammering in Hindi...

Alex : "Um, no I didn't see Indian Idol last night."

Mangilal : More Hindi...

Alex : "Yes, I agree that Kapil should have won."

The rest of my kids also provided many funny, endearing, and occasionally irksome moments over the three weeks that I spent schooling them. Teaching alone (most of the classes had two volunteers) was exhausting, but extremely rewarding. The heat was a major factor as I found myself drained of energy while standing at the front of the room on more than one occasion. In fact, I nearly passed out a few times, but valiantly shook off the dizziness and stayed upright. (I'll take a bow now.) Anyway, the pictures below were taken on my last day in Udaipur. (The low attendance was due to a wedding in the community - a fairly routine occurrence - and not my poor teaching. At least that's what the kids told me; maybe they were just being nice.)

L to R: Sita, Mangilal, Meena, and Jamnalal

L to R: Sita, Bhawana, Meena, Tara

Jamnalal and yours truly (shouldn't be a need for a "L to R" helper, but let me know if you're confused as to who's who)

In addition to our teaching duties at the government primary school, we also taught at a local orphanage in the late afternoon. As one of the tallest volunteers (I think "most muscular" was mentioned as well), the staff thought that my pedagogical/disciplinary skills were most needed in the fifth grade class, to which I was assigned along with one other volunteer. The all-boys facility was a bit of a madhouse at times, but our kids were great fun and managed to stay focused on the lessons (most of the time). I can't remember many specifics of the teaching sessions (it was kind of a blur), but I do recall laughing when covering the "transport" unit. Although we were intending to introduce only basic vehicles like cars and boats, the poster we were using as a lesson guide displayed all sorts of obscure (and somewhat ridiculous) modes of transport, such as a hovercraft, a concrete mixer, and a cable car. And, of course, the kids wanted to know all of them. So as I sat on the floor of an Udaipur orphanage trying to get a bunch of fifth graders to pronounce "hovercraft," I couldn't help chuckling at the absurdity of the situation. (To be sure, it was merely a slight chuckle; I needed to maintain my authoritah.)

After an hour of informal teaching, the various classes would convene outside in the dusty yard to attempt to play some sort of communal game. I write "attempt" because our efforts at organizing "Duck, Duck, Goose" or something else of that ilk usually devolved into a chaotic mess of typical schoolyard wrestling, shadow boxing, jumping competitions, etc. (Oh well, at least they were having fun.) The one activity for which the boys would maintain order was jumping rope. More accurately, they love jumping rope. As with most athletic activities involving pubescent boys, these sessions inevitably turned into a competition (albeit a friendly one), which kept the easily distracted students fully focused on clearing the rope. So, if you ever find yourself having to entertain a bunch of Indian boys, make sure you pack a jump rope.

For your viewing pleasure, photos of the orphanage building, my students, and our jump rope bonanza can be seen below.


NB: I returned home on Wednesday after nearly 20 consecutive hours of being in an airplane, airport, or airport bathroom. (For the record, I didn't particularly enjoy being in any of them.) I thought that I would have some difficulty finishing up the blog reports because of the bevy of females who would be demanding my time when I returned to the States. Since said bevy apparently does not exist (at least my parents and dog seem happy to see me), I am buckling down in an effort to wrap up the Ramblings this weekend with some final reports and thoughts. Admittedly, it's a tad strange to be writing about living in India while sitting on my couch, but I will find a way to make the stories as authentic as possible. (I'm just that good.)