My Journey to India and Nepal

December 31, 1996 - Flight to India

New Years Eve. I was flying Air India from JFK to Delhi, and was in my judgement, over Afghanistan. Looking out the window, I saw sparse lighting in the barren land. Suddenly, I could see the illuminated traces of whizzing bullets below from around 35,000 feet, and thought to myself, "I have truly left the United States. Fantastic!"

It wasn't anything against the U.S.; in fact I love my country, but I needed to experience something different. Intense. Extreme. Real. Authentic. In addition, I have a great fondness for the Indian culture, and befriended many deshis while in college. Some of the nicest, and most interesting people I have every known.

Later, after landing in Delhi sometime around midnight (New Years - 1997), I met my contact who arranged for me to be taken via Ambassador taxi to my hotel in Connaught Place.

Now, Indians are very festive people, and they can put Carnival in Rio de Janeiro to shame. The streets were mobbed with people celebrating the New Year, causing my Sikh driver to invent his own path in order not to run over anybody.

As we approached the hotel, it became so wild that the taxi had to come to a complete stop due to partiers dancing on the cab. Instead of being freaked out, I was thoroughly amused and delighted. It was absolute chaos, and I loved every moment of it!

Finally, after negotiating through the human jungle, I was dropped at my hotel, and settled down for five hours of insomnia before I had to be up the next morning to experience my first day in India.


January 1, 1997 - First Day in Delhi

Early in the hotel lobby, I met with my tour group of about eight people, which to my dismay, consisted of mostly elderly women. I thought, "This was unexpected, but I'll live with it."

We boarded our tour coach and were off to see Delhi. We had one tour guide and two Sikh drivers, who were very cool.

It was a cool and crisp New Years Day, and the city was bustling like always. The traffic was absolute chaos. I didn't see too many traffic lights, and instead of following a lane, vehicles (cars, buses, trucks, rickshaws, ox carts, etc.) just weave around each other.

Our first stop was the Qutub Minar. A minar is a minaret, which is the tower that's used to for the Islamic call to prayer. Anyway, it was full of tourists and locals, alike. This was actually the location of the first mosque in India, which was built on top of the ruins of a Hindu temple. Evidence of Islamic conquest is seen in small Hindu deity statues that have had their faces cut off.

The Qutub Minar rivals some New York skyscrapers in height, and though it's around 400 to 500 years old, it's totally intact and stable.

Anyway, I did quite a bit of people watching while there, and noticed something that I found very odd. Many of the men walked either arm-and-arm, or they held hands. To the Western eye, it seems strange, but I can assure you that there's no homosexuality in that behavior, whatsoever. It's just a way of showing friendship. Paradoxically, men and women will not hold hands in public, even if the couple is married.

We left and arrived at the Birla Temple about a half-hour later. I felt that I had entered Heaven. First, everyone had to remove their shoes and ascend the steps to a cool marble patio, which thus led to the temple's entrance. Wow!

In the cool air, the smell of incense and marigold garlands wafted into my nose, with the combination of sitar music emanating in the background sent me into another dimension. It was serene bliss. I separated from my tour group and wandered the temple complex. People were praying, chanting, and just calmly strolling.

I wandered into a small chamber where an old man was guarding a shrine. The wall in front of me was mirrored, as were the walls to my left and right. He bid me to approach, and as he only spoke in Hindi, I could not understand him, but I went to him anyway. Then, he did the strangest thing.

The old man gently bent my neck forwards, and turned my head from left to right, several times. All the while, he was chanting something in Hindi. Of course, the double reflection showed an infinite image of myself. After a few more head turns, he urged my head back up, placed a garland of marigolds around my neck and then asked for a tip. Befuddled, but intrigued, I gave him one.

Later on, we went to the largest mosque in India, known as the Jama Masjid, or "great mosque". It was in the middle of Old Delhi, which is more crowded, and narrow than New Delhi. Therefore, trying to bring a tourist coach into Chandni Chowk was like trying to fit an elephant into a two man tent.

Having to remove our shoes, which became a common action on the tour, we ascended the steps into the mosque, which was more like a gigantic courtyard, with a few water tanks. The typical "onion shaped" domes and minarets were to one side of the mosque.

Again, there were people praying and just hanging out. While our guide was giving us a history of the mosque, two guys in their early 20's joined our tour group. They were dressed in the traditional kurta-pyjama, which I love. Anyway, they followed the tour and acted as if they understood everything the guide was saying. I found it amusing, because I don't think they spoke English. Sometimes they would just stare at you, right in the eyes, but without expression. It seemed a little odd at first, but in India, staring is very common, and not meant as anything wrong, or malicious. It's just plain curiosity.

After about ten minutes, the guys grew bored, and wandered off, without a word to the guide, whatsoever. What I also found interesting is that the guide didn't seem to notice them, even though they stood in the middle of our small group.

Towards the end of the day, we went on to India Gate, which is near the governmental section of Delhi. It looks very much like the arch in Paris. Well, nearby was a snake charmer, who had three cobras and some other snakes. I was extremely excited. I love, but also fear snakes. So, I approached him, but not too close to the baskets, and took a few photos of him playing in his been flute as one of his cobras swayed to its motion. Another cobra struck at him, but missed. Of course, I gave him a tip.

Suddenly, he was up with another snake in his hands, trying to put it on my shoulders. I noticed that the snake had two protrusions in the front of its mouth. I was sure if they were covering fangs, or not. However, I wasn't relishing being snake bitten on my first day in India.

He then took my camera to take a picture of me, and left me with the snake on my shoulders. I began to argue that I didn't want it, but he was insisting. Still, I held my ground, and he finally took the snake from my shoulders and handed me back my camera, without snapping a shot.

The odd thing was that he wanted a tip for "almost" taking my photo of his snake on my shoulders. When I refused to pay him, he grew very angry and tried unsuccessfully to prevent me from getting back on the bus. I was both angered, but at the same time amused at his audacity.


January 2, 1997 - Jaipur and Mefloquine - Pt. 1

Well, I felt that one day in Delhi was just not enough, but we had to move on to Jaipur, otherwise known as the "Pink City", due to many of its buildings being painted in a pale pink. Located in Rajastan, Jaipur acts as the capital. The size of a small state, Rajastan has more forts and palaces than all of Europe.

The trip towards Jaipur was generally uneventful, except that the terrain became more desert-like. What was cool was that I began seeing an older India emerge. Most of what I saw from the bus were villages where camels are still used for domestic means.

Anyway, it took us about a good eight hours to reach Jaipur. The air was dry and dusty. I took a gander ahead of our bus and saw an elephant being used for transportation right on the main road. I thought to myself, "What America is missing are animals of all sorts roaming the streets." In Jaipur, there we of course the sacred cows (actually, through all of India), camels, elephants here and there, dogs and monkeys, which I found to be very rude.

After checking into the hotel, our tour group went to a dinner and traditional Indian puppet show at the Rambaugh Palace Hotel, which was an actual palace at one time. It was there that I began to feel weird. It was like being slightly dizzy, jittery and then flushing (flashes of heat, and then cold). I didn't have a fever, and my appetite became voracious. I thought that maybe I was just catching something.

I returned to the hotel, settled into bed and went to sleep. About four hours later, at around 3 a.m., I awoke to severe tachycardia, which is the excessive speed of the heart. I'm talking like 120 to 150 beats per minute. I had know idea why. It didn't make any sense for the heart to race after lying in bed, especially when I wasn't worried about anything. Now, I was worried. My heart was beating so fact that I could hardly breathe. The flushing had grown to such intensity that it was absolutely agonizing. I thought I was having a heart attack.

At that point, I rushed to lobby and had them phone a doctor. I waited in the lobby for the doctor to come, and then we went to my room. He checked me out, and by that time, my heart had slowed down. He said that I was having an anxiety attack and gave me some valiums. I felt like a complete fool.

I finally turned in and went to sleep. I had to be up early to see the sights in Jaipur. I didn't have any idea this was related to malaria prevention. The next day, I awoke to the beginning of a physical nightmare.


January 3, 1997 - Jaipur and Mefloquine - Pt. 2

The next morning, I woke up absolutely exhausted, but felt a little better. One thing that was cool was that the first thing I saw out of my window was an elephant tromping down the street. That's what we were going to do that day: ride an elephant up to the Amber Fort.

I had a breakfast of aloo bhaji, sambar and rice, and was ready for the day.

Along with the group, we boarded the motor coach and made our first stop at the Hawa Mahal, or "Palace of Winds". This is the famous facade, colored a salmon pink that decorates the front of a a more standard edifice. It was used to allow women of ages past to view the world while remaining hidden.

As I got out to take photographs, I was swarmed with beggars. Actually, I had expected this, so it didn't disturb me. Most were not in bad condition, but some of them are in very bad health. One man I noticed had no legs, but he still got around by using a makeshift cart on wheels and small sticks to propel his movements.

The old saying goes that, 'Giving to beggars perpetuates begging.' The tour guide informed us that there are organizations that help the impoverished. Plus, I didn't want to be mobbed if anyone saw me extracting a wad of rupees from my passport pouch. However, I had a respect for them because they didn't seem to be moping and complaining.

After getting back on the coach, we arrived at the Jantar Mantar, an 18th Century observatory that looks more like a series of modern art sculptures. What I found interesting was that Indian astronomers still use it to this day for astronomical calculations.

Taking a break for lunch, we went to another palace that had been converted into a hotel. It was here that I began to feel the persistent dizziness, flushing and heart racing of the night before, though not to the same extent. It was all in all, unpleasant.

After lunch, I was trying to breathe slowly and calm my body down so I could enjoy more of the day. After all, I was about to ride a painted Indian elephant.

Arriving a the bottom of the small mountain in which the Amber Fort sat at its top, we waited on top of a wall where an elephant with a 'driver' positioned the animal laterally to us so we could sit in a basket, two by two. So, a total of four passengers and one 'driver'.

We were off. Because I was seated near the elephant's shoulder, my body seemed to rise up, and down with each step. It was at that point that we left the standard chaos of Indian life down below, and slowly ascended the mountain road. It became very quiet, except the slight whoosh of a breeze over my ears, and the jingle of small bells around the elephant's feet. The flushing and dizziness gradually subsided. During the ride, he tried to sell me an assortment of decorative daggers, which I would have loved to have purchased. I tried to explain that I couldn't take them back to my country, but he didn't seem to understand. Instead, he tried to sell me another knife.

After reaching the top, we got off from our elephants an explored the Amber Fort, which was made mainly of sandstone and marble in order to keep cool during the intense Indian summer. It's actually a group of small fortresses, alcoves and patios made for the enjoyment of the maharaja and his maharani.

But, what caught my attention were the numerous monkeys present. They were interesting because they kept to themselves, and seemed very used to people. Though, I was warned to stay clear of monkeys due to their being fond of stealing, biting and scratching. Plus, a good many of them carry rabies.

One such monkey kept his back to everyone as he sat on a wall. It was amusing because he seemed very rude. Every once in a while, he would turn to look at us, but seemed to be filled with disgust.

After the Amber Fort, we returned to the motor coach, but the dizziness, palpatations and flushing arose again. I wanted to get away from it so badly, but was trapped with these feelings whose source I didn't understand. The fact that I didn't understand them was scary.

In the coach, I began to feel all these emotional surges that didn't have any rhyme, or reason. It was mainly the overwhelming urge to weep. I felt like a woman in the midst of menopause.

I got back to the hotel, wept for no reason, and went to sleep. During the evening, I awoke to another bout of tachycardia, blood shot eyes, flushing, dizziness and sweat. I was now becoming very concerned, but what could I do? The next day we were heading to Agra, city of the Taj Mahal.

January 4, 1997 - Journey to Agra

Departing from Jaipur, we made our way out of Rajastan, and into Uttar Pradesh. There were still the occasional camels along the road, but more vegetation was appearing, being that we were leaving the desert region.

The day was actually pretty uneventful, so I took the time to rest some. The strange effects were subsiding, and I was generally feeling better.

Basically, we made two stops on the way to Agra. The first being a village, which I was very happy to visit. The tour guide told us that if we wanted to give anything to the villagers, that small bars of soap and bottles of shampoo from our hotels would be perfect. Plus, for the kids, ball point pens are the craze. This is because education is valued greatly.

Upon arrival, we got out and began handing these items to the people, but it was slightly surprising at first how it was like unleashing kids in a candy store. Many of my companions thought them to be selfish and rude, but I didn't see it that way. To me, these people have an extremely meager existence, and things like soap, shampoo, combs and pens are treasured for their use. So, one cannot judge from rich, Western standards. These people are just trying to survive.

While we were there, I thought it'd be cool to give away some light refraction "eye glasse". These are the cheap ones that are passed out at fireworks displays and laser shows so as to see a multiplied, and more colorful image. So, I gave mine to this girl, who wasn't quite sure what they were for, at first. I bid her to put them on, and she seemed to get a delight. I don't know if she showed the others, but I'm sure she, or anyone in that village for that matter had ever looked through those before.

After we departed, I decided to take another nap to save my energy. After all, I still did not know what the cause of my weird symptoms were. At least, not as of yet.

About two hours later, we made a small detour to another village, but did not get out. The main reason we did not get out was because this village was dedicated to the most ancient profession in the world: prostitution.

Basically, the bus stopped in the middle of a dirt road around which the village straddled. The young women there, I have to say, were adorned very elaborately, and were quite attractive. There was one especially who caught my eye, as she was adorned in a bright red salwar kameez, with gold trim. Our guide told us that she had been featured on a BBC documentary about the subject. Appearently, prostitution is passed down from mother to daughter in this village, and there's even a "prostitution deity" worshiped there.

On the other side of the bus, others were approaching. Another elaborately dressed woman appeared, and began cursing at the bus. I can only assume because we were Westerners who had wandered into their territory, but were not "paying customers". She became so enraged that she spit on one of the bus' windows.

I have to say that these women we're very appealing to the male eye, and lusty appetite. However, being that AIDS is a big problem in many Asian countries, and being that it's morally wrong, I pretty much kicked the fantasy from my mind.

After a few more minutes, we were on our way. A few hours later, we reached our hotel in Agra. For my part, I was starved. I had a large plate of dal with rice, and made a quick call home. I had spoken to my parents of the weird symptom episodes, and they did some quick research to learn that the anti-malaria drug I was taking, mefloquine-hydroxide, or Lariam, as it's commonly known, can cause all those symptoms.

Great! The very thing that was causing all the problems was also what I needed just in case an infected mosquito decided to dine on my blood.

At least, I slept well that night, only waking up once with tachycardia and bloodshot eyes. The next day: the Taj Mahal.

January 5, 1997 - The Taj Mahal and the Agra Fort

Early Sunday morning, awoke to meet my group in the hotel resturaunt. After a delicious meal of sambar and aloo bhaji, we were taken via coach to a dirt road about half a mile from the famous tomb where we had to walk the rest of the way due to fuel exhaust restrictions regarding the ancient monument.

It was on that road that I could barely see the distant Taj Mahal through the morning mist. While walking, I saw some very interesting, yet stark realities from which the United States seems to insulate us. As stated before, all was quite hazy, so it was difficult to make out certain details.

One of the first sites that loomed in front of me was a sign written both in Hindi and English describing what lay behind its attached wall was a leper colony. I'd never seen one before. Though I didn't see any lepers (as of that date), I was a bit surprised that a disease regarded as being of ancient times is still prevalent in some corners of the world.

On the other side of the road, I saw some boys playing cricket in a pit of sand. They were a bit far away, but it seemed as if they were in some post-nuclear holocaust world, enjoying a game.

The last stark reality I saw mirrored that I witness in Old Delhi. There was a beggar who was so crippled that he walked on all fours, using shoes not only for his feet, but also for his hands. I had been warned not to give beggars baksheesh, or alms, but I couldn't just turn my back on this guy. Being that I didn't want to get mobbed by other passersby for displaying any money, I inconspicuously walked past the man and dropped the money on the ground for him to retrieve.

After the surreal walk, I noticed these large, clay red walls with that I had to pass through. As I ascended the steps, on my right was a cleaner wall with a Mogul archway in the middle. Making my way to the arch, I peered through the vignette and saw one of the seven wonders of the ancient world.

Through the thick, but cool humidity, the Taj Mahal rose pretty high and took up several acres of land. It's as gargantuan as one would anticipate.

Approaching the marbled structure with stone inlays scripted in Arabic, I, along with my group, made it to a doorway in the lower platform on which the Taj Mahal rests. Like most sacred sites in India, we were required to remove our shoes.

After a a flight of marble steps, I was under the monstrous shadow of the architectural feat. For about half an hour, I wondered the base and gazed at the perfect symmetry of Shah Jehan's obsession that single-handedly collapsed the Mogul Empire.

Then, as a group we were allowed to enter the great rotunda where two tombs are located: that of Shah Jehan and his beloved Mumtaz Mahal. Although the tombs are only facades (the actual tombs are way below), they represent the only asymmetrical aspect of the Taj Mahal, being that Shah Jehan's is slightly larger and they are not precisely centered.

People were parading around the marble filigree partition which blocked us from the tombs in a sacred fashion and throwing marigold flowers into the center. At that point, an old man made a horn-like sound by blowing into his hand. Even most of the visitors were Hindus and Sikhs, they still treated the Muslim site with grand respect.

After leaving the Taj Mahal, we ventured to the other side of the Yamuna River to visit the Agra Fort. It was here that Shah Jehan's son had his father imprisoned in an effort to quell the Empire's bankrupting. To his dying day, Shah Jehan stayed imprisoned here with only a view of the grand architectural marvel that was his brainchild.

The Agra Fort was cool, but what really made my day was when these Indian girls (early 20's) mobbed me so their companions could take their picture with me. First, these ladies were very attractive and seemed very friendly. Secondly, I felt like a star. I thought to myself, I have never experienced that with the cynical women of the West. Needless to say, my head was floating.

Well, after a nice day in Agra, the next day I was to take my first train journey on the Shatabdi Express to Jhansi, which would then lead us on a five hour Ambassador cab ride to Khajuraho.

January 6, 1997 - The Shatabdi Express and Ride to Khajuraho

Wow! I was going to finally ride a train in India. Unfortunately, this would not be one of the old steam locomotives with a hoard of people riding on top. It was a more modern train, but still Indian enough.

The Agra train depot was more of an outdoor platform with people hurriedly trying to get to their destinations. There is a lot of shoving and blocking, but it's not out of rudeness. In India, if you don't, you'll miss out on whatever is being offered.

One of the first things I noticed were the porters in red coats. It seemed more like a throwback to the Britsh Raj. Some of them were carrying super large urns and yelling, "Chai! Chai!" That's the Indian spiced tea.

Anyway, after shoving my way onto the train, along with my tour group, we went to our 2nd Class seats, which were okay with me and got ready to ride through the countryside of Uttar and Madhya Pradesh. Only problem was that the windows were dirty, preventing a clear view.

While riding on the "express", which wasn't very fast, I had to use the bathroom, which was at the end of the next car. What was cool about it was that you could choose either a "Western" or "Indian" toilet. Well, I wanted the entire experience.

The Indian toilet is just two elevate foot rests that sit on either side of a hole, which in this case, led to the railroad track. So, I watched my urine make leave descend onto the moving track below me. Cool!

After about 1 1/2 hours, we reached the town of Jhansi, where I could see the tantric temples of Orccha in the distance. As we disembarked, two Ambassador taxis were waiting for us.

Now, the mefloquine was still giving me intense side effects, so I was starved because my heart rate was constantly around 120 bpm. So, I grabbed a quick candy bar and got into the back one of the taxis. As soon as I sat in the taxi, street hawkers were tapping on the windows trying to sell any matter of trinkets. What I found interesting was that the taxi drivers didn't try to chase them away. It's just normal life in India.

First, it was tight and the ceiling was low. I had two old women on either side of me while I held my duffle bag on my lap. Second, the roads in India are bumpy to the extreme. So, for 5 1/2 hours, even though I enjoyed seeing the countryside of India's village life, the top of my head was aching from the repeated banging into the ceiling.

After arriving in Khajuraho with a jarred spine and aching head, I reached the Hotel Chandela, had a meal of dhal and rice, and went to bed.

The next day, I would go visit the erotic temples that make Khajuraho famous.


January 7, 1997 - The Temples of Khajuraho

Upon arriving at the Western group the Chandela Dynasty temples, I was overcome how intricate the architecture was. It almost had the appearance of a miniature Angkor Wat. Beyond an iron fence that kept the Kama Sutra statue hawkers out of the temple complex (there were plenty), it felt as if one had traveled back in time to an ancient civilization.

What makes these temples famous are the erotic carvings around their outer walls. Nothing is left to the imagination. On the lower level of carvings, people (and animals) are depicted having all sorts of sexual activity with each other. In fact, it's a favorite honeymoon spot for many newly married Indian couples.

However, there are other levels of carvings that are not sexual. One level depicts ordinary life, such as work and family; whereas the top level depicts Hindu gods and goddesses.

It was explained that if one lives to gratify the flesh, then they will remain at the lowest levels, spiritually. Rising above sexual idolatry is the way to spiritual perfection.

It was also explained that the architecture of the temples are not carved from just one stone for each temple. The temples are constructed using an interlocking method rendering them very ornate and complex.

After visiting the Western temple group, we went to the Eastern temple group which is not as famous and quite a bit smaller. As before, hawkers were all over the place trying to sell erotic statues like those at the Western temple group. Sitting in my Ambassador taxi while waiting to go back to the hotel, I remember two hawkers who just stood at my window for about ten minutes, after I had declined to purchase their goods. Some of the old women found it annoying, but I found it amusing and had the give the hawkers respect for being so persistent.

The next day would be a flight and mini-tour of Varanasi, the holiest Hindu site in the world.


January 8, 1997 - Khajuraho to Varanasi

The day began nice enough in the quiet town of erotic temples as we arrived at the airport for our flight on Indian Airlines to Varanasi. We were to arrive in the early afternoon so as to tour the streets and bazaars of the second oldest living city in the world (the oldest is Damascus).

Being that this was India, a word synonymous with the subcontinent is delay, and that happened at the Khajuraho airport. Actually, our plane was just not there. So, for about three hours, we waited for the plane to arrive. Many of the old women were complaining and saying that this was not for what they paid. However, delays are part of the Indian experience, so I just sat back and chalked it up as part of my journey.

Finally, the plane (leaving a little to be desired) arrived. Due to an underlying terrorist threat, there wer guards with rifle stationed around the plane. This is mainly due to constant tensions between Hindus and Muslims, even though Khajuraho is mainly a Hindu town.

We arrived in Varanasi about about 5:00pm, which left us very little time to see anything. SO, our guide met us at the airport and boarded us on a coach to go through the northern part of the city, which is crowded, narrow and very dirty, to visit the site of Siddhartha Guatama's, or Bhudda's, first sermon: Sarnath.

Sarnath is more of a small offshoot of Varanasi and is home to ancient stupas, cylindrical monoliths that Bhuddists traverse around while praying. While being led through the moderately hilly area, I saw two European hippie girls standing on a mound, stretching out their arms and singing to the stupa. India attracts all types. Although, I envied them because they were not encumbered with these old, cantankerous women.

Anyway, we returned to the hotel that night, which was in a state of renovation causing the elevators to be out of service. That was okay with me, but you can imagine how some of the old women reacted.

After a nice staple meal of dhal, rice and other things, I settled down early because the next day was a dawn trip on the Ganges River.


January 9, 1997 - Varanasi

As it goes, I was still in the throes of the mefloquine hydroxide nightmare, and had been ever since my first night in Jaipur. Yet, I was pressing on, and this day could not be missed. The holiest site in all of India.

Waking up at dawn, I met my elderly cohorts in the lobby, only to be confronted by one of them complaining that the hotel was horrible because there was no facial tissue. What?!? Here we were in an impoverished land and all should could do was complain. Anyway, I was not about to allow this old biddy to ruin my time.

We boarded the motorcoach and were taken down to a crowded street (barely one lane) and told we had to walk the rest of the way to the ghats, or steps along the Ganges River. It was still very dark outside, so the scene was rather surreal.

I saw all types of people, rich and poor, young and old, healthy and sick venturing to the Ganges. While walking, it was dark, but I believe I saw a very sick woman urinating in the street. There were plenty of cows standing around, eating whatever trash they could find.

The air was hazy, but cool. At the ghats, we were sold deepas, small bowls of oil and a wick, so as to place them in the water. We boarding a small rowing boat and began venturing down the famed holy river.

What I noticed was people performing their morning ablutions right next to ancient temples that sat on the riverbank. Though, most of the temples were in ruins. It was explained to us that to be cremated, the traditional Hindu funeral, on the Ganges' bank is considered very auspicious. There is one area that had two large pyres with cremations occurring as we rowed down the river. It's just a common part of life in the ancient city.

Not only were there pyres, but sections where cakes of manure were set out in rows upon rows to dry in the sun. This is good for fuel and fertilizer. In another section, clothing was spread out along the slanted stone banks as dhobi wallahs, or laundry workers, washed clothing in the river.

At one point, we were told to light our deepas and set them into the Ganges. This was like an offering to the goddess, Ganga, from which comes the name "Ganges". Even if you don't believe in Hinduism, it's still a very spiritual place.

Now, one thing the Ganges is know for is the major pollution, filth and disease that infests its water. When a body is cremated, not only the ashes are thrown in the river. Incompletely cremated bodies are known to float down the Ganges, too. Now I didn't see that, but I did notice how dirty the water seemed. Yet, I saw plenty of people immersing their entire bodies in the putrid water. Away from the banks, there were some guys swimming under the morning sun. Either they are immune, or their faith is strong.

After returning to the ghats, we ventured up and I have never seen so many sick people in one place. I'm talking about people with missing limbs. People coughing like crazy. Lepers with missing fingers, begging for alms. We were told that many people are brought to the Ganges in order to die while touching its water. The belief is that one can break the cycle of reincarnation and achieve moksha, or Heaven in this manner. Hence, all the sick people.

I remember seeing a lot of men who looked as if they had blood coming from their mouths. I thought these guys must have TB. Then, I noticed that quite a bit of them were spitting. I realized that it wasn't TB, but then were chewing paan, a combination of betel nuts and raw spices wrapped in a leaf. It's like chewing tobacco in that it causes major salivation, but the color is red. Therefore, it looks like blood.

It was at this point in which I decided I was going to take a close up of a cow standing on the ghats. Well, I got a little too close and a bull standing to my side began growling at me. I thought, "Oh, shit. I'm going to be mauled by a bull in India. What a way to go." I managed to get the shot, but backed up very slowly until I was far enough away to turn around and head back up the street.

Our next venture was to a temple I'm going to simply call Monkey Temple. The temple is actually a within a series of narrow alleys that were crowded with worshipers. The reason for the monkey title is that there are plenty of monkeys that sit on the walls that run along the alleys. We were told not to bring anything shiny or made of plastic. They associate that with food and items to steal. Plus, they are known to bite, scratch and carry rabies. So, while passing under the monkeys, and there were plenty, I kept my eyes on the ground so as to not make eye contact and kept my movements minimal.

After arriving at the temple, I went into an outdoor courtyard where I was met by a little girl who couldn't have been more than six. She anointed my forehead with a yellowish paste as tip, mainly seen as the red dot in the middle of the forehead. Then, she wanted a donation.

Being that there were multitudes of people about, I wasn't about to open my wallet; hence, I would've attracted a hoard. I tried to ignore her and take photographs, but she silently followed me with an open hand for about fifteen minutes. She was not begging, but sort of confidently expecting it. Actually, she had an annoyed look on her face that said, "Well?!?" Finally, she grew tired of waiting and returned to her post.

Since we were departing that day, we had to return to the hotel, get our belongings and head back to the airport. This was to be my last day of sightseeing in India, for that afternoon, we would arrive in Kathmandu, Nepal.


January 9, 1997 - Varanasi to Kathmandu

Well, I was pretty disappointed to be leaving India, but was curious about what I would see in Nepal. Our arrival at the Varanasi airport was chaotic because it was an international flight. Therefore, we had to first pay departure taxes and have our luggage more thoroughly examined. Promising to take a long time, one of the women had an idea for our group to collectively bribe the security personnel in order to get to the plane faster. We all gave a few hundred rupees each, and voila! We passed right through the gate. Nothing like Third World business practices.

As we boarded our flight through Royal Nepal Airlines, I was amused that our mode of air travel was to be an old jet from the Czech Republic. Even the entryway into the jet was through a stairway in the back, kind of like a pull down attic ladder.

I must say, the flight over left a lot to be desired. We were only given some nuts and flavorless chai. Although, I was very interested in viewing the peaks of the Himalayas in the distance, and they were at our same altitude. Man, those are tall mountains! Needless to say, the ride was bumpy, and I do not like being bumped around at such a height. It's just air between us and the ground.

Well, we landed and I noticed immediately that Nepal was not as "Eastern" as India; though, it still was not the West. After we met our guide, who wore a suit and a type of hat that looks similar to a military officer's casual cap that is creased in both the front and back.

While we ventured into the hilly Nepalese valley capital of Kathmandu, I noticed that the air was more polluted than in Delhi. It's the same phenomenon as in Mexico City in which high pressure holds pollution in the local air. I recall seeing a banana plant with brown leaves, not from lack of care or dehydration, but from a layer of soot resting on its leaves.

In the early evening, we were taken to our hotel to rest up for the next day's venture through Kathmandu and Bhadgaon. I decided that I was going to try a thali, which is a meal served in individual tins on a very large plate. It was interesting to see, but due to a lack of salt, tasted like nothing. Oh well.


January 10, 1997 - Kathmandu

Having taken my third dose of mefloquine hydroxide, I was feeling really weird, like I was in a dream, but an unpleasant one. Every night so far, I had waken up out of deep sleep in a state of tachycardia and hot flashed. I had lost weight because my heart was constantly beating quickly. I felt exhausted, yet I needed to see more of my journey.

This time, we met our guide in a mini-van who was to take us around Kathmandu to see Durbar Square, Bhadgaon and the famous stupa with the painted eyes, Swayambhunath.

I'm thinking that some of the old ladies were tired of each other. In fact we were all tired of the woman who complained about every little thing. Actually, on our way out, one of the other women got into a fight with the pessimist because she had just about had it with her. The tour guide was rather confused as to why they were fighting and had to break them up as a parent would two siblings.

Anyway, we went on to Durbar Square which is home to a multitude of both Hindu and Tibetan Bhuddist temples. The architecture is quite different from Indian temples; however, the typical North Indian style is present. Also, many of the people had more of a Chinese look, even though Nepal is a Hindu kingdom.

One of the first people I saw was a sadhu, a Hindu aesetic who denies himself the world for moksha. As soon as he saw me with a camera, he posed. I took his picture, but then he wanted a tip. Not very aesetic. A guy standing nearby actually admonished me for doing it.

Anyway, as we went along, I notice many of the temples outer steps were blood stained. This is because sacrifices of animals are performed there on a regular basis (save cows). Durbar Square was a very busy place with people coming and going, vendors setting out their trinkets, barbers giving men shaves on the street, etc.

In going to on Bhuddist temple, I noticed rows of metallic drums that were could be spun. They were incribed with Tibetan characters. These were prayer wheels that have a prayer written on a piece of paper within. The belief is that when one is spun, the prayer's spiritual aspect "spins" up into Heaven.

At this point, I began feeling really woozy and my vision was gaining a yellowish tint. Thank you mefloquine.

Walking out of the temple, we ventured next to a concrete tank of water where Hindus were praying and performing ablutions. Along the tank, a corpse wrapped in white shrouds was being carried in a procession for cremation. Along with the temple blood stains, it seemed that death is not hidden like it is in the West. It's around for all to see.

We were taken to a courtyard and told to look up at a window. The window opened and there stood a little girl in traditional Nepalese costume. We were told that she was the Living Goddess, who is retired from her status upon reaching puberty.

After seeing Durbar Square, we boarded the mini-van and were taken above the Kathmandu Valley to a hill that had many stupas, including the famed Swayambhunath. It was nice to be away from the crowds.

Upon arriving, I noticed that the area was full of monkeys, who like all the other monkeys I had seen, were rude. I followed the same rule of no eye contact, or elaborate movements. Anyway, Swayambhunath is a rather large stupa around which monks in saffron robes were processing. They were praying while holding a string of beads. Even though I didn't experience the same wonder that I had in India, it made for some nice photographs.

We left and went to a town outside of Kathmandu called Bhadgaon. Like Durbar Square, it's an old city that is mainly filled with temples and stupas. I took a few photos, but by this time, all I wanted to do was go back to the hotel and sleep. The malaria medication was oozing out all of my energy, and I was very hungry.

Upon return to the hotel, I took a nap. Upon awakening, I had an early dinner at the restaurant and went to bed. Up until this time, I had not had any stomach/intestinal distress; however, the next morning would prove to be the beginning of the most severe digestive illness I have ever had.


January 11-12, 1997 - Sick in Kathmandu

The next morning, I awoke to a distended abdomen and pain. It was the day to take an airplane ride to see Mt. Everest. As I lay in bed, suddenly I had the urge to vomit. I ran to the toilet, and out it came. Returning to bed, I began to feel worse. I decided not to see the Himalayan peak and just rest. The mefloquine had put my body through the ringer, so I though a day of just staying put would be good.

Deciding to get up, I went for a shower. It was then another urge came at me, but to my lower digestive regions. I though to myself that I had finally gotten sick, though I did not know by how much.

After getting off of the toilet, I had to vomit, again. It was beginning to get tiring. Deciding to stay in the room, I ordered some plain toast and rice for breakfast to have along with my bottled water. When the food was delivered, I didn't even want to eat that. Instead, I needed to go and vomit a third time.

Upon the leaving the bathroom, the diarrhea struck again, and again, and again.

Throughout the day, I continued venturing back and forth to the toilet. I had bottled water in the room, and continued to drink, but to no avail. I just lied in bed the entire day.

Finally, in the late afternoon, I called the hotel doctor. As he was examining my abdomen, I had to run to vomit a sixth, or seventh time. He called a hotel bellman to run to a pharmacy and pick up a two day supply of ciprofloxin and an electrolyte drink mix. He told me that it was probably dysentery or maybe even cholera. Even though I had a vaccination for cholera, it's only 50% effective. The doctor concluded I probably pick up the bacteria in Varanasi.

So, having another liter of bottled water, I mixed the electrolyte solution, took my antibiotic and began sipping the drink for the next twelve hours. By this time, the vomiting was only dry heaves.

What surprised me was that I didn't have for an entire day-an-a-half. I was so dehydrated.

The next morning, I woke up and was still feeling like I had been hit by a truck, but I was getting better. Finishing off the ciprofloxin (and that stuff works wonders), I showered and ordered some more toast and tea for breakfast. I really didn't want to eat, but I took a few bites.

The furthest I went that day was to the outdoor back area of the hotel, which was like a garden/patio. I happened to run into the complaining woman and we talked for a while. Then, I closed my eyes and took a nap in the cool air.

Upon waking up, I saw she was gone. I went back to my room, ordered some rice for dinner and went to bed. I had to rest for the flight back to Delhi.


January 13, 1997 - Kathmandu to Delhi

Well, my adventure was almost over. The rest of it would be a blur. After checking out of the hotel in Kathmandu, we boarded the minivan in order to go the the airport. My body was aching as if I had just gotten over a very bad flu. From all what my body went through, I guess my muscles and joints were exhausted.

As a group, we were quiet and pensive. There was no chatter, save for the old woman who constantly complained.

After a bumpy ride over the Himalayas, we arrived in Delhi at about 9:00 pm and were driven to a special tourist hostel. Immediately, I helped myself to the buffet, for I had become hungry, again. Having a meal of dhal and pappadum, I quickly retired to my bungalow to sleep for four hours. Even though our flight was for 7:00 am, we had to be at the airport at 3:00 am to check in, or we'd be bumped.


January 14, 1997 - Delhi to the United States

Upon arriving at the airport, I was thoroughly surprised to see that it's super crowded at all hours. I was so beat that instead of carrying my luggage, I checked it in and then waited for a good four hours before boarding our flight back to New York.

What was really weird is that we waited to board the plane as a group, but after boarding, we went our separate ways. I could see a few of my fellow "old women", even though I was a 25 year old male, in other parts of the plane, but it was as if we didn't know each other anymore.

When the plane took off, I was relieved to be returning home just so I could rest, but was also disappointed. It wasn't India that disappointed me, it was myself. I went thinking that I would conquer the subcontinent and just jump right into the culture. I was so wrong. It wasn't that the people didn't accept me. Most people I met were quite congenial. However, I felt there was a divide. I was me, and they were themselves. No matter how much I tried, I knew I could never be a deshi, even though my Indian and Bangladeshi friends in college labeled me "honorary."

The ride back was generally uneventful. I had some good food, listened to some Indian music from the airline seat audio system and tried to rest, but couldn't. It was a long flight.

Finally, upon arriving in JFK in New York City, the first thing I did was to buy a fountain drink with ice, not worrying if I was going to fall sick. I realized how vulnerable I can be.

That night on the flight from New York to Atlanta, en route to Pensacola, I met a deshi who listened to my disappointment with myself. He said the best way to think is to have a Western mind, but an Indian heart.