Dharamshala- You gotta know what a crumpet is to understand cricket.

Well, unlike Raphael, the sarcastic Ninja Turtle, I can now say that I understand cricket, a sport I have been totally confused by as long as I've been aware of its existence.  Here's how it happened.

I found out that the 5th and final India Vs. England cricket match was being played in Dharamshala on the bus ride up there from an Indian sports writer and this shit's a big deal in India.  So I bought a ticket online the next day which cost about $23 which seemed kinda steep, but this is, as I said, a big deal and sorta like the world series which is mighty pricey to attend. So I guess the price was right.

The next morning I went to a nearby guesthouse with good food to have breakfast early as the game started at 9am.  I met a thoughtful cricket-playing British guy, Sam, in his early 20s who asked if I was going and I said yes and I joined him.  We finished our porridge and took a tuktuk down to lower Dharamshala from Mcleod Ganj (which I would say is like the Portland of India minus the bikes).  Our driver could only get us about a mile from the grounds (that's what they call a stadium!) so we walked and talked and Sam explained some of the rules of cricket to me, supplementing what I'd learned from my Indian soccer coach pal on the bus ride from Udaipur to Jodhpur.  We found the line for the gate that we had tickets for which turned out to be about half a Km long.  We stood in line for about a half hour as India batted being offered orange, white, and green facepaint for our un-affiliated cheeks.   Finally we went in and found our seats which were near a group of 4 young English guys who painted the red and white English symbol on their cheeks to counter the Indian flag on the Indians' cheeks. The grounds are supposedly the most beautiful in the world with the mountains rising steeply in the background, but the stadium itself didn't really seem that nice.  Kinda like a minor league baseball park, fortunately without the stupid between-inning antics of some Kevin James-like schmuck with a microphone and a musical towels game with 3 blond american college girls and two towels.  But I digress.

Sam explained as much as I asked and slowly the game made more and more sense, but still seemed super boring and slow, much like I imagine baseball seems to most people who aren't enthusiasts.  I kept this in mind as I watched.  Like baseball, cricket has a million little rules each one making the game more complex.

The aisles were lined with police and army guys much more focused on the game than on doing any sort of job, which only involved repeatedly checking tickets at the top of the stairs to the seats.  They also didn't carry any guns or handcuffs or anything you'd expect a cop to carry.  Maybe they were really just there to check tickets and watch the game.

India batted for about 3.5 hours then they had their tea break.  They scored 226 runs via a couple of sixes (homers), a bunch of fours (the ball rolling to the perimeter), and lots of ones and twos.  Tea break over, England came up to bat and took their sweet time, batting for ones and twos and not even trying for the big runs, slowly chipping away at the 226 run deficit.  The British guys to our left took this opportunity to get the cheering done and cheered loudly among the mostly silent crowd.  The Indians in our section all turned around and gave them a good-hearted hard time.  India had already won 3 of 4 games in this series of 50 over cricket (1 over is 6 bowls, or "pitches," so each team gets 300 pitches to do with what they can, unless the make 10 wickets (or "outs") before they complete all 50 overs) so there wasn't much riding on this game.  When England finally won with 5 overs to go with 3 wickets with some big sixes and no one really seemed upset or happy or anything.  The game kinda just...ended and that was it.  8 hours and no grumbling.  We took some pics with some Indians and headed out, walking a mile or two to a taxi to take us back up to McCleod Ganj.  On the way, there was a Coca-Cola endorsed sign that said, "Divorce your speed, not wife." Been there!

Put that in Casey Jones' SkullBong and smoke it.

New Delhi to Dharamshala

I arrived in New Delhi for a second time from Bikaner and headed to Hotel Amax Inn which was located in a long strip of tourist hotels and travel booking agencies.  I noticed immediately how much more comfortable I was this time in the capital and how I felt like an old pro traveler, wise to the ways of India.  True or not, this is how I felt, possibly because this was a much more accommodating area of town, unlike the place I'd stayed last time.  After checking into my hotel, I immediately went to a travel place to book a bus ticket for the next evening to Dharamshala where the Dali Lama does his thing and lots of Tibetan refugees live.

The next day I went to Connaught Place, which is a huge circular section of town with a bunch of blocks named A block, B block, C block, etc.  The outer ring and inner ring are all fancy with white classical facades, but the middle ring is composed of crumbling brick buildings.  I went there specifically to buy a couple of Michael Crichton books which, after reading Prey, found that I can bust through one of his books with almost no effort and be completely oblivious to the 8 hours of train-bound tedium in which I float.  I quickly found a dude selling hundreds of used paperbacks all stacked neatly on the sidewalk.  He actually had a Michael Crichton stack out of which I scored two amusing books for the long bus ride.  A middle aged fellow approached me as I handed over the money to the bookseller and asked where I was from and I noticed he had a cotton tipped metal pick sticking out from under his hat and another metal pick stuck there as well.  He whipped out a little notebook filled with reviews in different languages, each dated, extolling the virtues of this guy's ear cleaning services.  "Ahh, so you clean ears, huh?" I said and he said yes.  Then he whipped out yet another notebook for my inspection and all the reviews were positive and I considered letting him scrape my ears for a brief second when I decided that I didn't want to chance permanent eardrum damage, despite dude's credentials and his 30 years of skill and service.  He implored me to have a "real Indian experience" and to not be afraid, but I thanked him for the opportunity and walked away, ears a little waxy.  I think my ear plugs have been keeping my ears pretty clean, at least they have such an appearance.

The sun was out, the fog/smog from the beginning of the month was gone giving New Delhi a less doom-tinged appearance   I walked around for a while and found the entrance to the park in the center of the ring where two security guards manned a metal detector and a booth.  They were inspecting people and their bags with their backs turned to me and I walked right in with my backpack full of popular fiction and water like it wasn't no thaang.  Lots of urbanites lay in the grass with their pals and chaste lovers surrounded by an unusual lack of trash.

On the way back to the hotel, with 4 hours to burn, I caught the newest Russell Crowe and Marky Mark movie which was thoroughly entertaining.  They played the same anti tobacco ads at the beginning of the film that I saw before Dabangg 2, and having stuck around for the second half after the intermission, I found they replayed the same ads again.  I wasn't convinced that smoking or dipping was "injurious to your health"  before, but now I can say that I'm certain that it is.

I headed back to the hotel to collect my plastic Mercadona bag from Sevilla that contained my travel food and books then took a cycle rickshaw to the bus stop where I boarded my expensive deluxe AC Volvo semi-sleeper bus with nice seats and a good suspension.  My seat mate was an American guy from Connecticut who had been living in Delhi for the last 6 months working at some NGO that helps poorer kids study for their entrance exams into university.  He dressed in sport coat, shirt with cufflinks, and fancy leather shoes.  He carried with him a Truman Capote book and for a second I was embarassed by my Crichton, but then decided that I didn't give a shit because I'm an adult and I can read whatever I want, lowbrow as it may be.  He was friendly and told me to email him when I'm back in Delhi if I want to hang out.  Apparently AC means they keep the AC on regardless of outside temperature, 32 degrees or not.

It seemed like we were going over 100 mph at points, but I couldn't be sure if it was just because I'd been traveling relatively slowly for the last 2 months.  Either way, it seemed dangerously fast.  I was unable to read on the bus due to the bumpiness and unable to sleep due to the swerving, so I stared out the window into the moonlight, which at one point towards the end of the trip, I could see out into an immense river valley and mountains in their hazy blue blue glow.  I looked around and I think I was one of the only people awake to see it.

We arrived in McLeod Ganj at 5am before any of the hotels opened so the American guy and I walked until we found one of the places in my guidebook where my opening the metal gate summoned the guy who ran the place who set me up with a nice cheap room where I collapsed.

Put that in your wax-free SkullBong and smoke it.

Bikaner and the Zoologist

On the way out of Rajasthan towards New Delhi, I stopped for a couple of nights in Bikaner, a desert town and less touristy choice for a camel safari than the famed Jaisalmer, which, more or less, borders Pakistan.  I arrived in town and was whisked away from the station in a rickshaw driven by Bhanu, a middle aged handsome and slick fellow who after telling him I wanted to go to Vinayak guest house suggested his friend's (which is totally typical and to be expected)  I said, fine, let's check out your pal's place and if it's not to my liking we'll go to Vinayak.  The place he took me to was actually really nice and very clean, but had no common area, or other travellers for that matter, which is a top priority for me, as a large part of the reason I like travelling is meeting nice people!  Anyhow, I told him to take me to Vinayak and found it to be slightly more expensive and not as nice, but with common area and it's listed in the guidebook which means, higher likelihood of other travelers! All very interesting, I know, but I'm explaining this all for a reason, soon to be revealed.

The host of the guest house was a nice lady about my age who told me that her husband, who would be home later, was getting his PhD in zoology and the she has a master's in chemistry.  Genuine Indian Scientists!  Cool, I said.  If I have any chemical questions you will be the first to know.  I was served my dinner by the husband, Jitu who drew me a diagram of tomorrow's events (first we go here, then we go here, then we do this, etc.) with the 2 Dutch gals who were also staying there which included a desert plant walk (!), desert animal "safari" (!) and camel ride (eh).  I told him I was totes down for the first two and that I'd go back to town with him in his little hatchback after the first 2 events.  This was all for the low low price of $14.  Not bad, eh?

The next morning I went out for my breakfast to find the 2 Dutch gals at the table.  Turns out they were in the hotel room right next to mine in Udaipur and had been real friendly there.  They, again, were real friendly and we got on swimmingly.  We hopped in the car with Jitu, who referred to me as sir and the gals as madam which I thought was quite unnecessary.  We drove out to the desert and he asked if any of us were English to which we replied we were not and JItu explained that all the acacia that we saw blanketing the desert was an invasive plant brought by the British which was ruining the local ecosystem.  He said it was useless for humans, but I'm pretty sure it's got all types of uses (medicinal, food, gum arabic, etc.) but perhaps this one is another species that is in fact useless.  He then explained that if we were British, he's have avoided the topic so as not to offend us and possibly impact his struggling business.

As he drove, Jitu also explained to us how the hotel and safari racket worked in Bikaner.  Being from the caste just above the untouchables -- highest being Brahmin, second highest Rajput, Jitu's caste which was broken into 4 groups of merchants, tradesmen, farmers, and gardeners (he was from the {lowest} gardener's caste, but was still able to get a PhD), then Untouchables who clean sewers, streets, whatever- Jitu's guest house was constantly being screwed over by the Rajput owned guesthouses who would write bad reviews on the web and bribe the camel keepers to bar him from obtaining camels for his guests, thusly making it extremely difficult to promise a profitable camel safari.  He said castism was rampant in 2K13.  He told me that the Rajput guesthouses paid the rickshaw drivers a commission to bring people to their guesthouses and talk shit about his. The place the driver took me to was a new Rajput owned guesthouse.  He didn't want to get into the commission-paying game because it had so hurt him. I guess I did the charitable thing staying at Vinayak.

He said he couldn't get his dream job of forest ranger because his last name betrayed him and informed the Rajput or Brahmin who was in charge of hiring that he was from the lowly gardener caste, regardless of qualification.  He also couldn't leave town and move to a bigger city with more jobs because he was the only son and had to stay home and take care of his aging parents, grandparents, and the family guest house, which he never imagined himself running (implying that he was too good for such work). Instead of Chemistrying it up, his highly educated wife was stuck making chipattis.  His sister was a medical doctor who taught at the medical school in town.  She studied what was lucrative, he studied what he loved, he said.

 We pulled to the side of the road and hopped out to check out a bunch of other plants then got back into the car and were whisked off to the animal safari part of the tour.  We'd stop periodically to look through Jitu's binoculars at birds maxxing on the road side.  We drove into the desert towards a camel march of a hundred or so camels. We got out and took pictures and looked at birds of prey and scavengers circling high above.  We were sirred and madammed back into the car were off to the big desert field where, it was explained to us, that the cattle that you see in the city, when dead, are dragged off to this site where the Untouchables who lived here would skin the corpses and let them get picked clean by the hundreds and hundreds of vultures, kites, eagles, condors, buzzards, etc, all of which were fucking massive and awe inspiring.  He pointed out plastic mounds that were left alongside the bone heaps which were the impacted and cumulative plastic that the cattle had eaten during their, I can only assume, miserable lives.  Then the bones were collected by the Untouchables and taken to a factory where they were ground into industrial powder for all occasions.  We took photos from the safety of the car for the many dogs that roamed around were made aggressive by all the meat consumption and we had nary a weapon betwixt the 4 of us.  Jitu constantly reminded us to write a good review for him so "maybe I get a job," as working on a camel farm and giving tours to the few tourists who came through his guest house wasn't enough to support his clan.

Then we drove to the village where lived the camels the gals would ride for the afternoon where we got a little tour led by Jitu who explained how these "primitive" people lived in their dung and mud homes that stayed cool in the summer and warm in the winter.  It was awkward being the whities touring real people's lives as they lived them.  Then the gals got up on their camles which were led by a father and his son and Jitu went off to pay the camel chief for the rides.  I was left with the young men of the clan and we leaned on an empty water tank and I did my best to make halting small talk which consisted of the usual, what is your name, where are you from, do you like camels.  Then Jitu returned and we drove back to Bikaner stopping on the way at a recently-built Hindu temple for the entire family of gigantic colorful cartoonish statues of Hanuman, Shiva, and more which was free to enter.  He said it was built to get the children involved and interested in Hinduism which reminded me of the conversation the Swami has over tea with a British priest in the movie "Help!" which I assume you have seen, or if you have not, will do so immediately following this reading:

"Clang: Oh, goodness me. Sex is creeping in. It’s being thrown at youth. They see it everywhere, in the bazaars, in the market places, in the temple, even. Can you wonder they turn up their noses at a mystical impulse? We are taking up fox hunting so the young people can be involved in their own sacrifices, and will understand the deep significance of blood well shed. Of course, I don’t expect you to see eye to eye with me, but I’m sure we can agree to differ."

Maybe I'm reaching. 

Back in Bikaner, I headed out to the fort, which is the only attraction in town, which was like most other forts.  As I left I was followed into a small street by a guy in his 20s who greeted me and 2 friends of his on motocycle (one of whom complimented me n my beard) and another guy on foot.  Ahh, the ol' follow the westerner into the alley and compliment his beard trick.  Immediately I turned around and started walking out back to the main road as the guy who approached me asked where I was from and where I was going to which I replied,

"Don't worry about it."  

Where are you staying?  

"Don't worry about it!" Then I asked him if he had a hotel or restaurant to which he replied, 

"no, I have a drawing shop and I just want to talk with an American.  I'm on holiday."  

"So you have nothing to sell me?"  and he got kinda offended and I was all, 

"well, have a great day. I gotta jet."  

"But where are you going my friend?"

"Dude, seriously, don't worry about it!"  

"Go to hell," he cursed then he walked away, back to his friends who had followed us out onto the main road.  I was really surprised that he got pissed off since I didn't actually tell him to fuck off and besides, it's par for the course to annoy the hell out of tourists until they walk away quickly.    

I could have been totally off base and maybe the dude really just wanted to hang out, but I was thinking I should have said to him, "Hey.  Imagine you're in my country and you turn into a small street and 4 American dudes follow you, speaking good Hindi, and want to know where you're going and what you're doing, you're gonna get the fuck out of there.   Change your approach pal and tell your homie not to mention my fucking beard.  It sounds really weird."   Cultural diffs, perhaps.  India will test your boundaries.    

Put that in your overqualified SkullBong and smoke it.  

Jaipur to Pushkar

On the third day in Jaipur I checked out the Amber fort which was pretty amazing with some great views.  The next day I hopped a bus to Ajmer, which is next to Pushkar, the hippie haven.  I realized that travelling by bus is not my favorite mode of transport in India, as the same rules of the road that apply to taxis, rickshaws, and motos apply to buses, in that there are no rules and you can pass people within inches like it ain't no thang.  Being seated in the second row of the bus I had an excellent understanding of just how close we were coming to killing ourselves and the other poor bastards who shared the road with us.  I was unable to relax and realized that the driver was honking quite a bit.  In an attempt to entertain myself I counted the number of honks he blasted every minute for 10 minutes which averaged out to 4.7 per minute, which, on a 2.5 hour bus ride is 705 honks.  This includes long stretches of no honking and all honks, not matter how long or short were counted as one honk.  Fuuuuuuuck.  Honking here is used to express the following:
1. I am here
2. I am passing
3. Get out of my way
4. Hello
5. Holy fuck, get out of my way!
Often times, honking like a champ did absolutely nothing to encourage the quickly approaching giant truck or hatchback full of family members to get into their fucking lane instead of straddling two (for absolutely no reason).  Additionally, instead of slowing down so as not to rear end a car or truck in front of us, our driver would swerve the giant bus around them.  Many a close call were had by all.
After a couple of hours we stopped at a public bathroom on the side of the road to take whizzes.  The urinals looked like regular urinals, but below them was a pool of urine that sat on the floor on a marble slab that slanted towards the wall, away from my feet.  I realized as I pissed that the urinals drained directly onto the wall behind them and down onto the floor, hence the pool.  I was doing my part, yes I was.

I arrived in Ajmer at teh bus station hungry and on edge from the bus ride.  I asked for the Pushkar bus and was directed to the very last ticket window where I waited for the bus with a bunch of locals when I was approached by an English speaking guy in his 20 who asked...I'll be you can't guess, "Where are you from?" We had a nice little conversation. Eventually he got to the point which was if I had a hotel and if I'd like to stay at his family's hotel.  It wasn't well known, but it was very nice, blah blah blah. This place (touristy Rajasthan) makes you a liar, makes you wiggle your way out of conversations, out of perceived business deals, makes you want to tell people to go fuck themselves.  But you don't.  You thank them and say no thank you repeatedly.  More on this later.

Finally the bus came and I crammed in with the 80 locals on their way to Pushkar.  There was a 10 year old kid with big jewel-encrusted heart-shaped earrings sitting on his late 20's uncle, friend, older brother's lap looking at me and smiling and joking with his uncle-pal for the entire bus ride.  I hope I made him feel good.  

Put that in your SkullBong and hit it 4.7 times per minute.

Jaipur II - Dabangg 2, curse of the little mustache

During my travels in Europe, I found that people eat "digestives" which are mildly sweet cookies that are supposedly good for you despite their white flour and invert sugar syrup content.  Anyhow, I've started buying them in this part of the world for my sugar and white flour fix.  I prefer McVittie's Whole Meal Digestives.  They cost 15 rupees ($.30) per lil pack, taste like graham crackers, and are quite nice.

Anyhow, my second day in Jaipur consisted of a trying to rest my tweaky foot (before realizing later in the day that ibuprofen is a fantastic pain reliever) so I went to the Raj Mandir movie house where they play one Bollywood flick at a time.  The joint is elaborately decorated inside and out with chandeliers and unlimited whimsy!  The way it works is you buy a ticket beforehand ($2 for good seats) in one of 3 differently priced sections, Emerald, Ruby, or Diamond (I think) and you get an assigned seat.  Then you go have some lunch and come back for the flick where you hang out in the lobby and local kids have their friends take camera phone pics of them with you, the westerner, then you go in, find your seat, watch the pigeon that lives in the theater fly around and try to roost semi-successfully on the screen, watch a bunch of adverts about the dangers of smoking and tobacco use and then finally the movie begins.  And the crowd goes wild.

Dabangg 2 is, I assume, the second installment in the Dabangg eries about a macho cop who is a total badass who kills and beats the shit out of bad guys whithout breaking a sweat.  His badassness is indicated by his deep voice, a little mustache, fair skin, shaved armpits, and a cute fair-skinned girlfriend who he tries make happy, but peeves every once in a while, only to win back her affection by song and dance number involving the entire town.  I was pleased to see that his love interest was a "full figured" woman, one who would be assigned to ranks of "love interest's sorta chubby (by Hollywood standards) bff" in a Hollywood film. When our hero did anything macho, badass, or sexual in nature, the young men in the row behind me (and throughout the theater) would whoop, scream, and yell their approval at the screen, getting their kicks vicariously through #1 Indian man who I've since seen in lots of undershit and cologne ads.

In one scene at the beginning of the film, a bad guy was enjoying a cigarette.  In each shot of smoke or smoking there was a bit of text at the bottom of the screen saying, "smoking is injurious to your health".  Strange to see such government oversight in this instance where there is seemingly none in other areas where it would be of great use, such as...sanitation!  After about an hour the intermission commenced and I, weighing the pros and cons of staying and watching the thrilling conclusion (badass cop effortlessly defeats bad guys who want to do bad things to innocent people and gets the girl then does a nice song and dance number) decided to leave and go to the Hawa Mahal palace in the old city where I hoped there would be less screaming. On the way, I saw my pal Ram chilling, seemingly waiting for a bus or something.  In true Portland fashion, I avoided eye contact with him. 

Hawa Mahal is a palace from the 1700s that's old, neat, beautiful, decrepit, and gives a great view of the chaos down below in the streets and back alleys of downtown Jaipur.  I obligingly posed for a couple pics with kids and their friends.  I also checked out some giant astronomical observatory right next door called Jantar Mantar that was built by some king to make sure he knew what time it was and when the next big eclipse would take place.  Lots of sundials. 

Then I wandered the streets jam packed with shops of all different sorts, but arranged by district, i.e. the cooking utensil district, the bicycle districts, etc. where every shop sells the exact same thing.  Each bike shop sold the exact same crappy English single speeds and travesty MTBs.  I don't know how they all stay in business being right next to each other selling the exact same thing.  Maybe they each provide a different level of customer service that changes the price and customers can choose how they want to be treated and pay accordingly.  Just a theory.

I walked back to my hood and ate one of the best meals of my life of dal and aloo gobi with chipatti for about $3 and went to bed happy only to wake up in the middle of the night not feeling quite right.  I spent the first half of the next day chilling on the roof of my hotel, reading and getting a tan and felt like normal soon enough.  It was worth it.  I think.

Put that in your emerald, ruby, and diamond SkullBong and smoke it.