Brendan Moran's Exciting Travel Adventures

Rio

I could live in Rio. If only I spoke Portuguese. The language barrier has taken a little getting used to here in Brazil. We've been spoiled and lazy in India for the past three months, where most people speak enough English.

Now we're back to pointing and grunting. I bought a Portuguese phrase book, but every time I think to try out one of my new phrases, I freeze up. I usually just smile and point.

We're in Ipanema. I guess it's the classy part of town. I know it's summer here, but there are about ten thousand people on the beaches in the middle of the week. It's packed. It looks like a city of large sun umbrellas. I guess maybe these people all work at night. Otherwise, I can't figure out how there could be so many people (all young, fit, and seemingly career-oriented) on the sand.

Everybody seems to work out here. And the men all shave their chests. It's a little weird.

It's also very expensive. At least compared to Indian standards, which we're used to. The bar bill the other night was equal to a four night stay in beach shack in Goa.

I woke up with a pinched nerve in my neck, so I was laid up for about two days. It was a shame, but at least we had a couch and cable TV. Though the selection on these channels is always strange. Of the English speaking ones, I had two movie channels, and a third devoted entirely to the show, "Smallville." I just couldn't get into it. I'd like to meet the head of programing at the Universal Channel and ask him or her some pretty direct questions like, "Deep Blue Sea? Come on, man. I can't move my neck here!"

At one point I had the choice between two dog-based films. In one of them, the dogs talked with the voices of some pretty big name talent. Toby McGuire, Alec Baldwn, and I believe Susan Sarandon in a bid to save the dog world for evil cats or something. The other dog movie rehashed the old "dog as cop" premise. No, not "K-9" staring Jim Belushi, but another one with a younger guy and a shaggier dog. I spent most of my time with the first dog movie.

Then "Star Wars: Episode 3" came on and all was forgiven.

Fun's Over

We're near the southern tip of India in a town called Kochi.  It's not exactly a welcome change from the beach in Goa, where we spent the past week.  I didn't want to leave, but Sarah insisted.  Damn her. That beach was a vacation from my vacation.  Leaving it even felt like having to come back home from a vacation.  You know, when you dread going back to work, dealing with groceries, taking out the garbage.

Except I don't do any of those things.  Ahhhh.

Clint Eastwood

Sitting down to lunch yesterday, an Indian guy with his girlfriend at the next table leaned over and asked, "Excuse me, are you Clint Eastwood?"

"Ha.  No," I said.

"Clint Eastwood is like seventy-five years old," interjected my wife.

A strange question, I thought.

"Yeah maybe it's the hat," I said.  I was wearing my hat at the time. 

The guy just kind of looked at me.

"At least it's not Chuck Norris this time," Sarah said taking a bite of her sandwich.  Back in Bali, I was called Chuck Norris twice in one day on account of my red beard.  I shaved it soon after.

"I AM American.  So..." I thought out loud. 

"Oh, I know," said the Indian.  He was not being playful.

Am I being insulted somehow, I thought?  Clearly, this guy knows I'm not Clint Eastwood, so why say that?  I mean, it's not like it's funny or anything.  Maybe he's just jealous of my red beard.  I mean who wouldn't be right? 

Yeah, that's it.

Cold Coffee

I drank a beer from a tea pot at dinner last night.  The place we ate didn't have a license.  I guess the waiter was worried about Elliot Ness walking in at any moment,  so he served it in the tea pot.  Oh, and a mug too.

Plenty of places in India aren't allowed to sell liquor, but they do it anyway. 

"Cold Coffee" on most menus means beer.  I kind of like that. Cold coffee.  It's a good euphemism.  Like "road soda".  It's got a fun ring to it.

Beachin' It

I haven't been doing much of anything the past week.  We've been on a beach in Goa.  It's incredible.  There's almost no one here.  The town is called Agonda.  But don't tell anyone.  We wouldn't want it to get too crowded.   

Camel Trek

Getting on a camel is a bit like bull riding.  You straddle its back and grip the saddle while it's sitting.  As it extends its back legs, you have to lean way back to keep from falling forward onto its neck.  Then, the front legs go up and suddenly you're ten feet off the ground.  These things are huge.

There were four paying customers, four guides and four camels on our two day trek into the Thar desert near Pakistan.  As we started off, I remember wondering where the other camels were.  The ones for our guides.  Surely these guys weren't going to just walk through the desert the whole time.

They did.  That, plus the fact that one guy held my reigns the whole time made me feel like a kid on a pony ride at the state fair.

We walked for an hour, ate a three hour lunch made right there on the sand, and then got back on the camels for another hour of slow progress through the desert.  It's a good thing too, because the saddle really does chafe.

That night, we ate and slept under the stars.  For dinner, we were joined by a few other people who included a pair of middle aged guys from London.  When it was revealed one of the girls on our trek's name was Maria, the men broke out in a seemingly rehearsed two part harmony of the "Maria" song from West Side Story.  The girl named Maria blushed.  The guides just looked at us.  The British guys followed up with "How do you Solve a Problem like Maria" from The Sound of Music.

Liz Hurley Sighting

We saw Liz Hurley at the fort in Jodhpur.  She's pretty tall. 

Dive bombed

We ate at the same restaurant for the third night in a row last night.  The food was fantastic.  It was all-you-can-eat for a dollar.  Sarah wants to move back to Udaipur just for the this place.  Anyway, as we were walking out and I was putting on my jacket I noticed that I had recently been shat upon by a pigeon.  The evidence was drying down my right arm.  As Sarah and I were trying to figure out how I could have been hit without noticing, she noticed that something had just hit her on the side of the head.

"Do I have something in my hair?!!"

"I don't see anything."

"What about my shoulder.  I just felt something hit me."

"Yep."

"Sick."

"Got your scarf too.  Maybe we should move over here so we're not directly underneath all these power lines." 

I waited for a big freak out, but it never came.  She was composed the whole rickshaw ride back to the hotel. 

I've been shat on before (by a pigeon), but I've never on the same day as my wife.       

One night at the Train Station

We spent most of last night at a train station in Kota.  We were booked on the 1:10 a.m. train due to arrive in Udaipur at 7 a.m.  Unfortunately, the train was late. 

The night started in Bundi. We spent the past eight days there and by last night, we were ready to leave.  We hopped on a bus which put us into Kota at 11 p.m., two hours early.  No problem.  I'd rather be early than miss the train.  So we sat down to wait in a long open air stretch of concrete pillars and benches which bordered the platform.  A woman's droning recorded voice announced arrivals and departures and occasionally  reminded everyone that spitting on the platform is a bad habit.   

11:16 p.m.

I don't think Kota sees a lot of tourists.  It would explain why people are craning their necks to see the two Westerners bundled up in hats and blankets sitting on a cold bench and yawning a lot.  One tall ambitious looking guy in his early twenties wearing a red jacket with the word "Ferrari" on his chest sits down beside me.

"Where you from?"

"America." (This answer is always a big hit).

"Ahhh! America!  I know much about America."

"Oh yea?"

"I can name all fifty states."

"Really? I'm impressed." (No sarcasm intended here).

Sarah begins to take out her iPod and untwist her headphones.

"Your wife does not want to talk?"

"No, she's just tired."

"I bet you can not."

"What?"

"You can not name the fifty states?"

"I bet I can."

"What did you study in school?"

"Journalism."

"I have an MBA and am working at a cement company."

"That's cool.  I started to get an MBA, but I stopped."

"You have a degree and I have my MBA."

"I guess so."

"It is my dream to go to California."

I yawned.  "Well I hope one day you can do that."

"Are you tired of me?"

"Ha.  No.  Just a little tired."

"Because you can tell me if you are not wanting to talk.  I just like to practice my English and talk to you."

"Yea, it's fine.  It's cool."

Sarah sits scrolling her thumb around and around on her iPod.

"Do you like music?"

Oh Jesus. 

"Yes, I do."

"Do you like Shakira?"

"Um, I don't dislike her.  I'm just not really into her, you know?"

"What do you like?"

I tried to think of something he might know.

"Do you know Radiohead?"

"Bryan Adams!  Yea!" 

"Mmm haaa!"  Sarah chokes out a laugh, keeping her eyes down and her thumb working.

"George Michael?"

Sarah looks up smiling, "I'm with you there."

He stands up and shakes my hand.  "Okay.  My train comes now.  Goodbye."

12:00 a.m.

I walk back into the main hall to see if our train is posted on the big electronic board.  Standing in the middle of the room is a cow.  People rush around, ignoring it.  The cow just looks straight ahead at the wall, unmoved.

12:14 a.m.

We are sitting on our bench.  Our backpacks of varying sizes create a small fort around our legs.  A middle aged man in a leather jacket walks by.  He's got a big mustache and tinted glasses and he's holding a cellphone to his ear.  He sees us and quickly reverses in our direction. 

"Which country?"

"U.S.A."

He's still holding the phone to his ear, but he's not talking into it.  It must be still ringing.

"Okay.  Okay."  He smiles and reaches out for a handshake with his left hand, since his right is holding the phone.  I give him my right and we exchange an awkward dainty handshake where I feel like he's a medieval knight courting me.  Then he makes the moment really awkward.  He bends down and kisses the top of my hand. 

"All right.  Thank you sir.  That's nice."  I pull my hand away.  He's still smiling.  The person on the other line has still not picked up.

"Thank you.  U.S.A.  Yes.  Yes."  He walks off. 

"Oh my God," says Sarah.

"Well that's a first,"  I say.      

12:25 a.m.

I glance at the board above our heads and see train numbers scroll by in red electronic lettering.  I'm not really paying attention, but I swear it just read:

#2963 LT 2:25 2:40

This would mean that our train is now ninety minutes late, getting in at 2:25 a.m. and leaving at 2:40.

A moment later I see it scroll by again.  Yep.  We're going to be here a while longer.

Sarah takes this in stride. I'm proud of her. While she opens her Su Doku book, I go for a walk.  Near the bathrooms is a large room where dozens of people are sleeping on the floor.  They're wrapped up like mummies lying on thin pieces of cardboard to insulate them from the frozen ground.  It looks as if there's been some sort of dangerous chemical leak in a nearby neighborhood and these people have been forced to spend the night here.  I don't think they're homeless, but I'm not really sure.  There isn't anyone nearby I want to ask and even if I did, I'm not sure I could phrase the question tactfully enough. 

I buy some chai tea.  The guy making it at the little snack stand asks me if I'm German.  I tell him "U.S.A."  We don't try to say anything else.  The hour of spitting out jumbled phrases and awkward smiles has passed.  So I wait in silence and watch him heat a pot of foamy chai.  It looks like hot milk chocolate.  This isn't so bad, I think to myself.   

1:39 a.m.

I watch as an old man walks past me, squats down on the ledge of the train platform and urinates off the side.

1:55 a.m.

A train of boxcars pulls into the platform next to us.  Huge brown boxes ease by and slowly stop.

"Where are those boxes from, you think?"  I ask Sarah.

"I don't know.  What do you think is in them?"  she says.

"I always think they're full of toys made in China."

"Maybe." 

2:20 a.m.

We are sitting on the bench warming ourselves under blankets when a man with a mustard colored beret begins shoving around and older man wearing a torn sport jacket and no pants.  I saw the older guy walk by going the opposite direction a moment ago and thought he looked drunk.  The cop (I think it's a cop, he's got a beret after all) is trying to get the man to come with him, but the guy isn't cooperating.  As a small crowd watches, the cop kicks the man in the side and then punches him hard in the chest.  The drunk guy just takes it.  It's like a half-hearted bar fight.  The guy lays down on the concrete as another cop gets a few kicks in for himself.  Finally, they get him up and march him off to a cage only a few yards behind us.  They spend a few minutes yelling at him in Hindi.  I still can't tell what he's done wrong.  It seems like the man is calmly lecturing the cops, but his eyes are glazed and his finger pointing is sloppy.  One of the cops slaps the man hard across the face, but he keeps right on talking.  Finally, the excitement dies down and the crowd moves on.  Sarah and I just sit and wait.  It's getting colder and I can see my breath now.

2:25 a.m.

The board lights up and the red numbers speed by:

#2963 LT 3:25 3:40

Delayed again.  We're now leaving (hopefully) at 3:40 a.m.

3:00 a.m.

A passenger train slides into the station.  As it stops, men pushing carts loaded with fried vegetables position themselves next to the open doors.  They call out whatever they're selling like old men hawking programs at a baseball game.  The men call out again and again, each with a distinct cadence, all of them clashing.  Other men carrying tea pots and tiny paper cups hurry in all directions saying, "Ch-iii-yaa."  These are the beer men of the train station.  Except they don't ask to see I-D and don't charge nine dollars.   

A second class train car has stopped beside us.  It's so overcrowded I feel claustrophobic looking at it.  Men are sitting on each others laps.  Boys climb on people's shoulders like they're playing on a jungle gym.  People are stacked upon people.  Faces stare out of open windows at us.  They look bored. 

"I have never seen anything like that."  I say.

3:18 a.m.

I walk to the bathroom one more time before we head down to the platform where our train is expected.  On my way, I see the man with no pants walking unsteadily.  Apparently, he didn't care for the police cage.  The cow I saw in the main hall is now  slowly eating from a garbage can. 

3:25 am

#2693 LT 3:50 4:05

4:08 a.m.

I think the train is coming.  There's a bright light in the distance.  I think it's getting bigger but I can't be sure.  We're now at a different platform than the one where we've spent the past five hours.  As we walked up, people who hadn't seen us at our original waiting spot now get their chance to stare at us.  Sarah likes to stare back at them and see how long it takes them to flinch.  They're just curious, I tell her, but sometimes it bothers me too. 

I think to myself that back in America, people would be a lot more pissed off about a three hour delay.  I'd see people on cell phones, restless and pacing.  Strangers talking with each other, telling their own personal tragedy about how this delay is ruining their plans.  And I think about how pissed I'd be too.  Indian people though, they take it in stride.  Maybe they're used to delays like this.  Used to sitting on a cold train platform at four in the morning.  Granted, no one's really smiling, but there's calm. 

Then the train comes.

Monkey Update

As I've said before, the monkeys here are terrifying.  Sarah (or rather her fruit salad) was assaulted by a monkey this morning at breakfast.  It just leaped down from the rooftop ledge, swiped at her plate and was gone before she ever thought to scream.