Coupling

I feel like this should have it's own website.

American couples do cute things, sure, such as talking in baby voices to one another and putting their hands in each other's back pockets, but they have nothing on this overwhelmingly, jaw-droppingly cute thing Chinese couples do:

Eww, gross. Gag me with their matching polos.

Bumble bee mating dances. Nasty.

Their shirts should say "The Original Desirables"

"Oh we have much fun, dahleeng"

"Lovers!?" Sick! Vomit!!!!!

Home

Michigan!

It's been over a month now. Nuts. I've already adjusted. There were definitely some awkward moments, especially talking to people. But it's coming together. I am realizing that there are always awkward moments between me and People.

For those of you still in Thailand and abroad, it's a funny thing to go home. Driving is probably one of the coolest/most stressful things upon return. Those first few weeks, driving my car: I drove Thai style and completely cut someone off. I was in a parking lot behind a car waiting to takeover a parking spot. The current possessor was in reverse and began to pull away. I spun the wheel left, pulled forward, spun the wheel right, overcame the car, spun hard left again, and was in the space before the other car could move. My stepmom, in the car, reminded me that's not "what we do" in America. We stayed in the car and ducked until the overcome car drove by.

Still, even now, I say "khao jai leaw" to people when things make sense and "zhun de ma?" when I am surprised by things.

I find myself staring at people too much. I found out that I am normal... no more do people stare at me and stop me for pictures. And, as no one stares at me for looking so weird (interpreted by me as great), I cannot stare back. I think they find it creepy.

Everything here is green. Vibrant, amazing green. I think with the rainy season that has changed for all of you still in Thailand. I bet that's amazing.

When I taught my first Princeton Review class last month, I realized that I had forgotten how much I love small classes and people who come to class with the intention of knowledge acquisition. I have an enormous amount of fun with them and feel like I am really doing something other than downloading television shows in the school office.

I miss Thai happiness. I miss being able to talk to anyone at anytime and feel mutual interest in one another. I miss being able to buy meals for ten people for the same cost as my burrito from Chipotle with carnitas and guacamole.

My biggest culture shocks:

1. Stress -- Americans live, eat, and breath stress. I was overcome by it those first two weeks. I hyperventilated in the car.
2. Unhealthy people -- There is this weird look people here have about them. It's like they're missing something. And I think it's a healthy glow.
3. Confidence -- It's hard to go from having everyone struggle just to talk to you to no one talking to you even though they can.

What I brought back from Thailand:

1. This weird, seemingly everlasting happiness.

The Adventures of Wukong

My Chinese friends gave me a Chinese name, after a character in a famous Chinese story. It's Wukong, if you didn't figure that one out. He's been described as a "crazy monkey" numerous times, and he can change into 72 different things--animals, objects, etc.--although I am not sure why 72 is the number. I've managed to find an English synopsis of my character. Everyone in China to whom I tell my name laughs at it (but in a positive way). Wukong is a part of a huge Chinese epic, The Journey West, one retold long before it was ever written down. And as the story is huge, I will present to you here one brief synopsis. "What the Chinese think of me"/Wukong:

http://www.monkeykinglives.com/MonkeyKing.jpg

Birth and early life

Sun Wukong was born from a mythical stone formed from the primal forces of chaos, located on the Huāguǒ-shān (Chinese: 花果山；mountain of flowers and fruit). After joining a clan of monkeys, he earned their respect by discovering the Shuǐlián-dòng (Chinese: 水帘洞；water-curtain cave) behind a large waterfall; the clan made it their new home. The other monkeys honored him as their king, and he called himself Měi Hóuwáng (handsome monkey king). He soon realized that despite his power over the monkeys, he was not beyond mortality. Determined to find immortality, he traveled on a raft to civilized lands, where he found and became the disciple of a Buddhist/Taoist Patriarch Bodhi. He was able to acquire human speech and manners through his travels.

Bodhi was initially reluctant to take him because he was not human; but the monkey's determination and perseverance impressed the patriarch. It was from him that the monkey received his official name Sun Wukong ("Sun" implies his origin as a monkey, and "Wukong" means aware of emptiness). Soon, his eagerness and intelligence made him one of the favorite disciples of the patriarch, whose guidance and training taught the monkey a number of magic arts. He acquired the powers of shapeshifting known as the "72 transformations", supposedly the more versatile and difficult set of skills that allows him to transform into every possible form of existence, including people and objects. He also learned about cloud-traveling, including a technique called the Jīndǒuyún (cloud-somersault), which covers 108,000 li (54,000 km) in a single flip. Finally, he could transform each of the 84,000 hairs on his body into inanimate objects and living beings, or even clones of himself. Sun Wukong became proud of his abilities, and began boasting to the other disciples. Bodhi was not happy with this, and cast him out of his temple. Before they parted, Bodhi ordered that Sun Wukong promise never to tell anyone how he acquired his powers.

At Huāguǒ-shān, Sun Wukong established himself as one of the most powerful and influential demons in the world. In search of a weapon worthy of himself, Sun Wukong traveled into the oceans, where he searched for a proper weapon from the "dragon king of the eastern seas. Finding that most of the weapons owned by the dragon king were too light, he decied to acquire the Golden-banded fighting staff Ruyi Jingu Bang (also known as Lork bong Jin Jan in Khmer), which could change its size, multiply itself, and fight according to the whim of its master. It was originally used by Dà-Yǔ to measure ocean depth and later became the "Pillar that pacifies the oceans", a treasure of Ao Guang, the "dragon-king of the Eastern Seas". It weighed 13,500 jin (8.1 tons). Upon Sun Wukong's approach, the pillar started to glow, signifying that it had found its true master. Its versatility meant that Sun Wukong could wield it as a staff and keep it inside his ear as a sewing needle. This drove fear into the magical beings of the sea and threw the sea itself into confusion, since nothing but the pillar could control the ebb and flow of the ocean's tides. In addition to taking the magical staff, Wukong also defeated the dragons of the four seas in battle and forced them to give him golden chain mail (鎖子黃金甲), a phoenix-feather cap (鳳翅紫金冠 Fèngchìzǐjinguān), and cloud-walking boots (藕絲步雲履 Ǒusībùyúnlǚ). Sun Wukong then defied Hell's attempt to collect his soul. Instead of reincarnating like all other living beings, he wiped his name out of the "Book of Life and Death" and with it the names of all other monkeys known to him. The Dragon Kings and the Kings of Hell then decided to report him to the Jade Emperor of Heaven.

Havoc in the Heavenly Kingdom

Hoping that a promotion and a rank amongst the gods would make him more manageable, the Jade Emperor invited Sun Wukong to Heaven, where the monkey believed he would receive an honorable place as one of the gods. Instead, he was made the Protector of the Horses to watch over the stables, which was the lowest job in heaven. When he discovered this, Sun Wukong rebelled and proclaimed himself the "Great Sage, Equal of Heaven", and allied with some of the most powerful demons on earth. The Heavens' initial attempt at subduing the Monkey King was unsuccessful, and they were forced to recognize his title; however, they tried again to put him off as the guardian of Heavenly Garden. When he found that he was excluded from a royal banquet that included every other important god and goddess, Sun Wukong's indignation again turned to open defiance. After stealing Xi Wangmu's "peaches of immortality", Lao Tzu's "pills of longevity", and the Jade Emperor's royal wine, he escaped back to his kingdom in preparation for his rebellion.

Sun Wukong later defeated the Army of Heaven's 100,000 celestial warriors - each fight an equivalent of a cosmic embodiment, including all 28 constellations, four heavenly kings, and Nezha - and proved himself equal to the best of Heaven's generals, Erlang Shen. Eventually, through the teamwork of Taoist and Buddhist forces, including the efforts from some of the greatest deities, Sun Wukong was captured. After several failed attempts at execution, Sun Wukong was locked into Lao Tzu's eight-way trigram cauldron to be distilled into an elixir by the most sacred and the most severe samadhi fires. After 49 days, the cauldron was opened and Sun Wukong jumped out, stronger than ever. He now had the ability to recognize evil in any form through his huǒyǎn-jīnjīng (火眼金睛) (lit. "fiery-eyes golden-gaze"), an eye condition that also gave him a weakness to smoke.

Imprisonment

With all of their options exhausted, the Jade Emperor and the authorities of Heaven appealed to the Buddha, who arrived from his temple in the West. The Buddha made a bet with Sun Wukong that he (Sun Wukong) could not escape from his (Buddha's) palm. Sun Wukong, knowing that he could cover 108,000 li in one leap, smugly agreed. He took a great leap and then flew to the end of the world in seconds. Nothing was visible except for five pillars, and Wukong surmised that he had reached the ends of Heaven. To prove his trail, he marked the pillars with a phrase declaring himself "the great sage equal to heaven" (and in other versions, urinated on the pillar he signed on). Afterward, he leaped back and landed in the Buddha's palm. There, he was surprised to find that the five "pillars" he had found were in fact the five fingers of the Buddha's hand. When Wukong tried to escape, the Buddha turned his hand into a mountain. Before Wukong could shrug it off, the Buddha sealed him there using a paper talisman on which was written the mantra Om Mani Padme Hum in gold letters, wherein Sun Wukong remained imprisoned for five centuries.[1]

Disciple to Xuanzang

Five centuries later, the Bodhisattva Guanyin went out in search for disciples that could protect a pilgrim from the East to journey to India to retrieve the Buddhist sutras. In hearing this, Sun Wukong offered to serve this pilgrim, by name Xuanzang, a monk of the Tang Dynasty Empire, in exchange for his freedom. Guanyin understood that the monkey would be hard to control, and therefore gave Xuanzang a gift from the Buddha: a magical headband which, once Sun Wukong was tricked into putting it on, could never be removed. With a special chant, the band would tighten and cause unbearable pain to the monkey's head. To be fair, she also gave Sun Wukong three special hairs, which could be used in dire emergencies. Under Xuanzang's supervision, Sun Wukong was allowed to journey to the West.

Throughout the epic Journey to the West, Sun Wukong faithfully helped Xuanzang on his journey to India. They were joined by "Pigsy" (猪八戒 Zhu Bajie) and "Sandy" (沙悟浄 Sha Wujing), both of whom offered to accompany the priest in order to atone for their previous crimes. It was later revealed that the priest's horse was in fact a dragon prince. Xuanzang's safety was constantly under threat from demons and other supernatural beings who believed that his flesh, once consumed, would bring them longevity, as well as bandits, wherefore Sun Wukong often acted as his bodyguard and given free access to the powers of Heaven to combat these threats. The group encountered a series of eighty-one tribulations before accomplishing their mission and returning safely to China. There, Sun Wukong was granted Buddhahood for his service and strength.

The previous was taken from the Wukong Wikipedia post--2010-05-08.

Mushroom Houses and Dancing Little People

I preface this post by saying that the information which follows may be wrong, as it was told to me by a fellow Tall Person, but I do believe it to be true.

A strange first China post... yes. But did you know that some business man had the brilliant idea to get a bunch of Little People (LPs) together and make a village for them? And did you know that he built for them amazing little mushroom houses that they could live in? AND did you know that when you visit this mushroom village you can watch the LPs in costume sing and dance for you? It's AMAZING.

Okay, truthfully, I didn't go to this village. But it does exist outside a nice little city called Kunming in Yunnan province. It was created to be a sort of Disneyland-esque attraction, and in the fashion of a Disney production, the Little People aren't really allowed to leave, or at least not often. But before you start calling the discrimination police, hear me out. It turns out the LPs don't have to sing and dance, if they don't want to. Many of them work in the village restaurants, making food or waiting tables, or perhaps they are put in Tone Deaf Dungeon. Truly, I have to think that they are strongly encouraged to hum a little tune and tap a foot when they go about their business. What would be the point of a singing and dancing Little People vilage if they did not? I heard that they are compensated very well, by both the wages paid by their "owners"--the businessman and his friends--and by the visitors to their village. In addition to monetary benefits, there must be some mental gains from living in this sort of village. If you think about it, it might be nice to live in a place surrounded by people who share a similar phenotype. A child at the school would laugh at you for your pepperoni face and not your stature or your pene pequeno.

Seriously. Mushroom houses.

I have also heard tell of a little (heh heh) feud with a neighboring village, one where Tall People live. I can only imagine how this fight began. Maybe one of the Talls poked one of the Littles just a few too many times. Or maybe one of the Talls talked badly about the Littles' king (getting to this). Or maybe the TPs came and tickled the LPs with feathers while sitting on them. Whatever the cause, anamosity rages between the villages. It is rumored that the little people are ferocious. I am really not calling them animals here, but all I can think of is the small dog syndrome and of Mini Me from Austin Powers.

There exists a social hierarchy in the village, and the Little People have a king. I am not sure what kind of power the king actually holds. He may be able to wage wars with the neighboring realms, or he may be glutton who has his people build large (hahaha) statures of him around the village. What I do know is his Highness (...) is selected because he is the shortest person in the village. Of how this whole social structure was established I am not sure. He may be the result of divine intervention, or he may just have been selected by the businessman, apparently wise beyond comprehension.

To me, this village is the highlight of China, representing China's new ingenuity and care for social welfare. I deem it a must see, though I myself didn't get a chance to see it.

Profile of an Indian Man, Age 20-26 (part 1)

This is a generalization about Indian guys gathered from first-hand experience and the stories of other travelers in India. It is meant as a humorous examination of similar aged men from another culture.



Who is he:

• Usually clean cut
• Height around 5' 10"
• Typically still in school, studying law with a business focus or going for an MBA
• Likes to party -- drinks liquor like a champ and smokes hashish like he grows the shit
• Hates to party -- it's below him and his "caste" (although no Indian will admit that caste system still exists in its own way)
• Very forward -- gets to the points, asks pertinent questions, says what's on his mind
• Understands the guest-host relationship a little too well
• Seems to be entering puberty, mentally, though he is physically an adult

Interests:

• Hookers, and their cost -- Westerners, he rationalizes, only have sex because they can pay for it, as that is the only way. I was asked more than once, "How much do hookers cost?" "Five-fifty, fool! And if yer lucky, four!"
• Cricket -- there is no game which can match its importance
• Blow jobs -- "Do westerners really give blow jobs?" This came up every time the conversation had time to move toward sexuality. Indian guys are amazed by/salivate over the exotic oral encounter. They even count "suck" on the same plane of profane as "fuck" and "bitch"
• Your comfort -- you as a guest cannot be comfortable enough; there is no way. Indian men will pester you until you are paranoid of seeming uncomfortable
• Denial of the caste system -- "It has been abolished!" "...But why can't you marry that girl who you think is pretty and nice?" "Well, because she is in a lower caste, of course"
• Marriage and what "Life is all about" -- "Life is all about" the sex you can have when you are married, as was made clear by many
• Being a puppy! Well, they sometimes act like puppies. They were often seen squirming around, cuddling, and acting fidgety.
• Enrique Iglesias -- You cannot fathom their love for this man. He. Is. God.

Hey Brother!

It's your birthday! Happy Birthday!
(I don't think he even reads this...)

For those of you who do, Happy Cinco de Mayo! Go drink tequila, party, have fun, and wear a sombrero in my honor. China is great, by the way. Still having a super good time--here's to hoping that's true. I'll be on a plane in three days. I leave Shanghai May 8 at 4:10 pm and I will arrive in Chicago May 8 at 4:40 pm. Half hour flight! Woot.

Man behind the Bookcase

As a foreign teacher, your complete and utter lack of control over the foreign language speaking children becomes in-your-face apparent at times. In Mathayom One EP (US grade seven), whose constituents are very small, barely pubescent children, this issue became very clear to me.

For the first few weeks of class, I only saw the fat kid once. He really was the fat kid; he could easily rival the obese children in any US school. He had a very pleasant look to him, though, always happy and lacking the fat rolls which often plague those kids. I called his name at attendance every period, but rarely would he answer the call. As I became more comfortable with the class, remembering faces and names to a certain degree, I began to question where the fat kid was (his name was Man). A week before, I had seen him laying on the floor, when I had asked him to get up and to do his work. He responded with a grunt, and he sort of rolled a little bit on the ground like a helpless turtle on its back. I gave up as he gave no indication of standing up. On other occasions, I would ask his fellow students, "Where is Man?" They would always respond with a point and "Sleeping," "Nawn," "Lazy" and the like. Where they pointed turned out to be a curious little spot. He had created a fort in the classroom, behind the bookcase. In his den were numerous pillows, a shade for the sun, and wrappers of numerous, different (I hope) snacking sessions.

One of the funnier moments with Man was experienced by the Science Teacher, Foua. She refused to let him sleep one day, poking him into consciousness and making him participate in the science experiment. So he followed her around the room. At each station, he would groan and collapse onto the floor, half-listening to the demonstration. Upon completing a station, Foua would force him again to get up, groaning all the while, and move to the next desk, where he would be on the floor again in a matter of seconds. The other kids just stood around him, like normal children.

Behind the bookcase, his favorite classroom spot did not vary, and in every class, I knew where to find him. I would always try to coax him out with candy or other goodies. Sometimes it worked, but most of the time he just slept through the period. I began asking around. Other teachers seemed to have the same problem. Man was always asleep behind the bookcase. He never completed work. He only came out to eat or go to the bathroom. Occasionally he would talk and play games with the other kids, but his dominant position was horizontal on the floor with his eyes closed. My fellow teachers and I, hoping that the Thais might have more influence, collectively informed the administration, who did nothing to change his behavior. On and on this went throughout the semester.

I am beginning to wonder if he has a Thyroid problem.

China Is (Might Be) Amazing!

Gee whiz, China is great! I am having loads of fun visiting the fellow teachers from my school. It's a super dooper good time! I have seen pretty landscapes, gawked at some cultural oddities, and stuck out like a non-sore thumb in the Far East. And don't worry, gang, I will be home so very soon. Only nine more days! Shucks, I am excited!

(For those of you who are questioning my sanity, remember this: China blocks Blogger. I could be dead for all you know.)

(That was a really bad joke, friends and family, and it's an easy one to make from a comfortable internet cafe in Laos before any travels have begun. Here's to posting blog posts ahead of time!)

Boo!

Thais are abnormally afraid of ghosts. To ask a Thai, "Do you believe in ghosts?" is like asking an American, "Do you believe the Mississippi River has water in it?" Ghosts are real, and that's that.

In every house, business, and building, on most roadways and even in the wilderness, Thais have erected ghost houses to appease the spirits. These are actual houses, albeit mini, and sometimes they are pretty damn fancy. Thais will leave offerings at these houses to placate the ghosts, so they will cause no trouble for the home, business, etc. The offerings are sometimes funny, at least to me, a Westerner. You can find anything from action figures to bottles of water with a straw in it to pieces of fruit to milk in a juice box. The ghosts love it all.

For example, a teacher at my school refuses to be home by herself, especially at night, because of the ghost which haunts her home. And this is a grown, eductaed, sane woman. She refuses to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. She refuses to go to the bathroom in the morning until her boyfriend goes, even if it means she must wait for hours. How her boyfriend scares the ghost and clears the way befuddles even me.

Ghosts are real. Fear the ghosts of Thailand. Enough said.

Farewell Thailand, I've Entered the Big Leagues

I am off to China, land of the many and the land without facebook or google or blogger. As such I will be unreacheable by normal means. It's time for the old email throwback:

Email: bemagtitas04@aol.com



Until May 8, this is where you can reach me. After May 8, my American phone number should be reactivated (I hope this is right).

Wish me luck!

(You may still see some blog posts appear, but do not be fooled. I have pre-posted them here is Laos. And did you know that 1 dollar gets you 8500 Lao Kip? ...It's insane--ly worthless, even Thailand, Laos's neighbor, won't exchange the Kip)

Water Water Everywhere

Songkran!

Basic Definition: The Thai New Year

Semi Detailed Definition: Big water fight with lots of people and uninhibited happiness.

More Detailed Definition: A huge multi-day party where water is thrown, drinking is had, and one forgets that fun has an alternative.

And...
Happy Birthday, Dad!

Did you know that Brian is passive aggressive?

First: It is great to be back in Thailand. This place = good.

Back when I was in India, I rode a little public bus into the mountains. The roads in India, even when not careening along a mountain road, are subpar at best. Potholes, rocks, sporadic one lane sections, unpaved sections with that characteristic dirt rumble strip that somehow develops--basically not good. That is exposition piece number one. Number two: men in India (not unlike Thailand), are very touchy feely with other men, mostly because women are taboo. Men will cuddle, hold hands, and generally maintain a proximity which vehemently destroys the personal bubbles of Westerners.

I am on a twelve hour--bump--bus. We are just entering the mountains and the road begins--bump--somehow to become more tumultuous. An Indian man boards the bus and opts to sit next to this curious-looking white dude with the hair the color of an old man's, though there are plenty of empty rows. (Personal space breech.) We chat a conversation--bump--with limited depth, and shortly thereafter I resume an attempted tolerance for the heat and road which silence and spaced-out staring can only provide. I lean forward and rest my head on my arms, giving my back a little break. I sit up straight--ah, oh, oh god, there's an arm there--and I lean forward again. I think I should be able to sit back in my seat--ugh, these bumps--because it is my seat. I'll just lean back on his arm and he'll move. I lean back, now uncomfortably resting on his arm. He practically whistles for lack of care.

My annoyance builds. It is not the time or place to feel like dealing with this. For whatever reason, it seems absurd to ask him to move his arm, probably because no Indian would mind having this man's arm uncomfortably behind him. A minute or two pass with growing frustration. Although I may not stick up for myself (asking him to move), I am decidedly clever at times. Oh yeah, bump bump bump bump, ah, bump. I get an idea and implement it. Using the bus's propensity to seek out bumps to my advantage, I aim to cut off circulation in his arm. My right shoulder is located near his axillary artery, where the blood enters the arm in the shoulder. Now every bump is a slight but opportunistic increase in pressure on the artery, by jamming my shoulder into his. Bump--jam! Ha ha ha. I grin despite my discomfort. Bump bump--jam! A few minutes of this later there is significant pressure on his arm. He cannot be comfortable. And it's the waiting game. I hum a little tune.

Hummm Hmm Hmm Ba ba boopy. Hmmm.

There's some movement. Yes. An arm lifts, and a blonde traveler sits back comfortably in his seat. The man to the right shakes out his arm, as oxygen returns to the limb. The blond traveler returns to his silent staring, a little more pleased for the time being. The man doesn't say goodbye when he departs the bus later.

When you have too much money...

Sometimes you reach that point in travelling, especially when you have been very frugal, which I have, when you spend just a little too much on something. Inspired by previous town friend/hiking companion, Jake, my growing desire to fly finally overcame me. I splurged. I figure: it's not too often one is in the Himalayas, and 1500 Rupees really is too much when you do the conversion, about $34 or so. And think of the safety $34 of paragliding promises, especially over the rocky, tree-lined slopes of the southern edge of the largest mountain chain in the world. Oodles.

(This is Manali, by the way.)

Looks exciting, because it was. Fly, human, fly.

My Hats Off to You, Mr. Dalai Lama

Dharamsala (truly McLeod Ganj), my favorite place in India to date. I have been here now for seven days, and I am forcing myself to leave tonight, simply because I feel determined to see a bit more of India before I return to Thailand in six days. This city is a trap, but not in a bad way. It's an easy-to-access escape from crowds, heat, flatness, and the general pushy unfriendliness that is found in the rest of the tourist destinations in India. The people here are exceptionally nice and friendly, likely because of the influence of the towering mountains and the ever peaceful Tibetan inhabitants, among whom is the Dalai Lama.

I call these days my eight days of winter. I actually had to buy a coat and hat to cope with the temperature, and in my hands and under my feet were the occasional compacted snow flakes. After a 9 km hike above the village, I stayed one night on the ridge of a mountain, a measly 2,900 meters above sea level compared to the 5,000+ meter peaks which rose above me. Fellow hiker, Jake--professional golfer from Hawaii, and I spent a raucous night on the mountain with a group of boisterous Indian fellows who welcomed us rather seriously--they actually stopped the conversation to discuss with the group the terms of our admittance--into their friendship circle.

Once in, we were given food and intoxicants and participated in friendship circle dances of joviality. They regaled us with songs and local customs, such as throwing water bottles off the side of the mountain. Though promises of homestays and joint hikes up the mountain were given--very seriously, I might add--for the following day, our new friends left the in the morning before Jake or I had stepped out from our cliffside tent. Oh well.

Tonight I travel onward to Manali, hoping for another perfect mountain town, but my expectations remain low so as to buffer any disappointment. Thailand is starting to sound good again. And as I count down the days to my return, I begin the intense mental preparation for the water fight of my life, Songkran.

When a camel spits, it farts

This is a throwback to over a week ago, to a time when I still occupied a desert terrain.

Danielle, fellow Michigander, and I took a nice camel safari into the Indian dessert, where we spent the night on a sand dune looking up into space.

Camels, as it turns out, are a bit less comfortable to ride than horses, but the addition of a pair of stirrups may change the results of that competition.

And to settle the long, drawn-out debates: a camel actually farts more than it spits, and it is an unpleasant sound when it grinds its teeth.

Toot Your Horn for Urinating on Rubbish Piles

Three of the more common uncouth Indian engagements:

1. Trash Everywhere -- It is actually unbelievable how much trash is scattered around the streets (not to mention the foothills of the Himalayas). Like Thailand, it is impossible to find a trash receptacle in this country; however, unlike Thailand it is impossible to not see garbage everywhere.
2. Public Urination -- Men will pee everywhere, I mean EVERYWHERE, in this country. On every wall, on every building, on vehicles, on trash piles, on the rail lines, on the wall of the bathrooms, on the streets, there is pee. It is not limited to certain times of day or to types of crowds or by the number of people in the vicinity. Day or night, among women or children or men, with thousands of people around or none, there will be a man peeing nearby.
3. Incessant Honking of the Horn -- The horns never end. It drives me a little crazy. If there is a person off to the side of the road, not in the path of a car, the horn will be pressed. If there is a traffic jam, and no one is moving, every horn will be pressed. If your vehicle is a bus, press the horn the entire duration of travel so that every person may know where you are. Instead of side view mirrors, the Indians opt for horns. Maybe effective, but terribly grating to my poor little ears.
   

The Day I Went to Pakistan

PHOTO UPDATE:
Some (about half) of my missing photos have been recovered at a data recovery center, and I am putting them into the previous blog posts now.

First off, two days ago was treated as a legitimate religious pilgrim. Ok, maybe not completely legit, but I did meet some real, nice friends at the holiest place of the Sikh religion, The Golden Temple in Amritsar. My new friends first greeted me by laughing at me and the makeshift scarf I had wrapped around my head, and after a bit of chatting and the usual "look who I saw at the temple today, Mom" photos, I was on my way toward acceptance. After the initial laughter had mostly subsided, they decided it was prudent to rewrap my headdress. With me looking more strange than ever, we went to the pilgrim dining area (FREE FOOD!) where we sat in a huge hall on the floor. Servers--people with giant pots and ladles--walked along the lines and rapidly served us all, spilling the delicious slop on the floor only a little, after which we speedily ate and cleared our plates to make room for the next 250 or so pilgrims waiting outside. A little more chatting here, a little barefoot underground temple exploration there, and I departed my new friends.

The next thing I knew I was in a crowded van heading to the Pakistan border (this was a planned trip by me, contrary to the misleading transition sentence). What awaited me was actually a popular event, for both tourists, Pakistanis, and Indians alike. I approached the border crossing at Attari, India from the Indian side with a mob of Indian natives. At times I was running down the street toward the border (to secure a good vantage point) and at others I was squeezing (pushing, shoving, moshing) through small passages with too many people. The destination was a concrete bandstand in sight of the Pakistani gates and the Pakistani bandstands on the side opposite. The crowds filled in the stands on both sides, as the sun approached the horizon over Pakistan.


The events which unfolded before me were strange, unusual, bizarre, funny, adjective, adjective, adjective. The border patrols, soldiers of each respected country, gathered together before an audience of their countries' natives to hold competitions of a "choose an adjective above" nature. Maybe they were ceremonious as opposed to competitive, but each country's people tried to outdo the other's.

Competition One: Flag Run

• Women, run toward the gate carrying your country's flag
• Then, run back the other way

Competition Two: Dance Contest

• Play music on loudspeakers to drown out the music on the other side of the border
• People, dance like you're at a club
• More fun means better country
  

Competition Three: Yelling Contest

• Soldier, yell as long and as loud as you can into a microphone
• Try to yell better than the yelling person in the other country
• Audience, yell louder than the other audience, "Long live Hindustan!!!"
  

Competition Four: High Kick Contest

• Soldier, march to the border using very spastic, highly (barely) controlled movements
• High kick while facing the other country's soldiers; hit your face if you can
• Grunt like you mean it

Then they lowered the flags and everyone went home. I am very happy to see that the India-Pakistan conflict has come to this, coordinating an over the top, campy border closing show, where people with big guns show off to other people with big guns.

Danielle vs. The Streets

Friend Phone call update:
They are still calling me.
Today: 3 missed calls.

Danielle, my temporary India travel companion, had a funny encounter the other day. The streets of India are sometimes congested. Cows, bicycles, poop, fires, people, rickshaws, giant buses, goats, footless children, puddles to avoid, garbage, dogs, cracks, footless cows, you name it, they have it. An Udaipur causeway, walking along, humming a tune, a bull standing in our path. No biggie, twelfth time today, and we continue on our malleable trajectory. Danielle passes first with a light but sure swipe from the bull at her side, a kind of "Hey, watch where your moo walking, pal." Danielle jumps, hops, scampers, sidesteps, flails into the street. Of course I giggle. And of course the middle aged Indian woman next to me giggles.

Then here comes Mr. Big Bad Unforgiving of Path Autorickshaw. Danielle, still looking back with arms in that frozen flail state, hears a "Watch out" from the ever considerate giggling middle aged Indian woman. Thinking the autorickshaw was another bull, Danielle repeats her elegant dosey doe the other direction straight into the ever considerate giggling middle aged Indian woman's friend, jamming her breast with her outreached flailing hands.

Boy, do the Indian woman and I laugh! Danielle apologetic and frazzled and the friend scowling and small, oh, a sight to behold.


UPDATE 4/6/2010:
Photos Added--Udaipur

The Rooftop Danceoff

I went to the roof and these guys waved from a nearby roof and did a little dance. So I repeated. They apparently liked the way my booty bounced, and they did another couple of moves. It escalated into a full out danceoff, mostly Indian style, during which my moves received both cheers and applauses. Clear winner = me. [insert photos].

That was how this blog post was setup until I got the photos off my camera. I finally found a place to upload the photos to my backup drive today. When I plugged it in, lo and behold, the computer deleted all my photos. No more India photos. The Taj Mahal, the camel safari, the desert mountains, all gone. Use your imgaination folks. The competitors in the danceoff were really adorable little kids. About 10 of them vs. me.

UPDATE 4/5/2010:
Photos Added

But new friends can be nice (I think)

I met another set of two similarly-aged Indian fellows in Delhi, but these ones were all nice (although they did try to sell me a trip to Kashmer, a dangerous town, especially for foreigners, due to the fact that the middle of the town is split by the Pakistan-India border). I visited their sister's home where she served me Chai tea (and then the brother-in-law/husband came home and yelled ferociously at the two and kicked us out. I apologized modestly, and he said slightly less angrily that it's okay but I need to leave immediately). Then we went to their home where they cooked me food and shared hookah with me (they showed me Kashmer photos and told me their houseboat in Kashmer was nice). We were going to meet the next day to exchange phone numbers (not after last time, but thank you for your hospitality). They told me that they had seen their brother-in-law kill someone before (...).

It's tough to judge my new friends

Quick Updates:

• Danielle has arrived, and we made it to Agra, home of the Taj Mahal
• The Taj Mahal is amazing. I think we sat there for about five hours
• We are now in Udaipur, home of a lake in the middle of the desert
• It was 102 degrees Fahrenheit the other day... can't wait for the cold Michigan summer
• I saw Windows Millenium Edition on a computer yesterday
• As such, uploading pictures may be difficult because SD readers didn't exist in computers back then

Delhi Belly, as they call it, is not fun. I am through my first round of Cipro (antibiotic) and feeling better again, but "hells bells," it was awful. According to my wishes in my first India post, I did manage to feel well until the third day, and following my course, the third day has brought a rumbly tummy to Danielle. But I've gotta say, I feel damn jovial.

I alluded to this in the last post, but I did manage to make some Indian friends while alone in Delhi. They showed me around, bought me a Chai tea, we had some laughs and exchanged some cultural tidbits--they were mostly intrigued with sex and Westerners (me) having had it and how to talk to girls and the ping pong shows of Thailand [And actually, other Indians who have travelled to Thailand all seem to visit Pathaya, Phuket, and Patpong of Bangkok... repressed sexuality]. Back to it, these guys were nice, albeit awkward in a confused teenage boy sort of way, and so we exchanged numbers with the idea of meeting up the next night for a drink.

Pleased with myself, I headed back to my room to rest after the exhausting day. Within minutes, I get my first phone call from Shan (the one with the phone).

S: Hey, where do you want to meet in the morning?

B: Uh, what do you mean, we are meeting tomorrow night?

S: I know, but where is your hotel so we can pick you up in the morning?

B: The plan is to meet tomorrow night, I want to do my own thing during the day.

S: I understand what you mean, but when do you want to meet in the morning? We can pick you up.

B: Ok, I don't want to meet tomorrow morning. I will just call you tomorrow at five in the afternoon, and we will make plans then.

S: I think we should make plans now, where are you staying?

B: I will call you tomorrow at five o'clock.

(End)

I get a text from another number moments later (the other friend), saying that we should meet in the morning and asking where I am staying. I don't respond. They proceed to call me again and again. That night: 7 missed calls. I decide that we shouldn't meet. The next day: 13 missed calls. The next day: 7 missed calls. The next day: 3 missed calls (not bad). The next day: 8 missed calls (shit). Today: 5 missed calls. I am in my second city since Delhi. Be wary of new friends, as nice as they may seem.

Until next time.

UPDATE 4/6/2010:
Photos Added--Agra and Delhi

India, meet your bitch: Thailand

If I ever thought Thailand was crazy, then India is just a whole other beast. I arrived last night and was driven to my hotel from the airport. I was too scared to leave my room after walking down the twisting, pee-smelling alleys to reach my hostel. So I didn't. And that was after dodging poop and coconuts and stray goats and cows on the main road before we got out of the car and into the alley. And there are people everywhere. They are all so nice and want to be your friend... then they take you to their friend's shop or restaurant twenty minutes out of the way from where you thought you were actually going. Then you have a hard time shaking them because the conversation was so polite and enjoyable until you realized it was a con. I cannot wait to leave the city. Danielle, mi travel compadre, hurry up and get here and we'll head to the beautiful rural areas I've been dreaming of. Not that this isn't at least a bit fun and exciting, don't y'all get the wrong impression.

Anyway, goodbye, Thailand. Miss you, baby. I'll see you in three and a half weeks for Songkran--huge festival, should be fun. In case you didn't know, the last two weeks in Thailand were spent ol' Brett and Denise Magnuson. They dipped their toes in Thailand's proverbial waters, and its actual waters for that matter. They places we visited were repeats for me, but I was smart enough to save the expensive activities for them. Among the cooler ones, we went ziplining in the jungle canopy and hit up the infamous banana bar on Koh Phi Phi. As most of the photos are on my father's camera (why use two when one is better), I do not have too many to share with you. Nonetheless, the last (maybe) of the Thailand photos. Hopefully these blog post things won't be as rare as they've been.

Here's to at least two days without diarrhea (please please please).