sarah. on the run.

La La La... Carnaval.... La La La

About two hours north from Rio de Janeiro by plane, Salvador is the capital of Bahia state and arguably home to Brazil's biggest authentic Carnaval celebration. Or at least that's what we read beforehand - that while Rio's parades are flashier and splashier, Salvador's Carnaval is still the big neighborhood party. We hoped the latter was more our style.

Luckily, we've been staying in Pelourinho, Salvador's gorgeous old part of town. It's half-trendy, half-crumbling, and exploring its architecture (especially Catholic churches) makes for a wonderful afternoon on foot. That is, if it's not raining buckets. Which it has been every single day, at least for an hour or two. Never leave the house without an umbrella in Salvador, no matter how sunny it looks at the time! Thankfully the weather always passes and we've never been stuck indoors all day. But it's hot, hot, hot all the time. Sticky, steamy hot.

We arrived a few days before Carnaval officially began (Feb 15), in order to get situated and figure out how to participate. At first, the choices were daunting. At any given time over a six-day period, there are several different parades in full-swing throughout the city, though the main two happen in Campo Grande and Barra. If you want to join a parade (bloco), you choose which band-on-a-float (trio) you want to walk with, pay the requisite fee, at which point you get a special day-glo t-shirt that will identify you as belonging there come parade time. Our problem was that we weren't familiar with any of the acts playing, and didn't want to choose unwisely only to be stuck with crappy music for six hours. But the organizers at the offical "Carnaval ticket store" assured us that all the parades were fun and there'd be so many people it wouldn't make much of a difference who we chose. So in the interest of diversity, we decided to join a nighttime parade Thursday night on the Barra Circuit, sit in bandstand seats all day Sunday in Campo Grande, and then walk in a daytime parade in Campo Grande on Tuesday, and paid no attention to the musical selections.

Obviously, we couldn't possibly have realized how big of a deal Carnaval really is in Salvador. Every parade is huge, packed with thousands of people of all ages dancing and screaming along with the band, hugging each other and spraying, beer, water, and shaving cream in the air. Mayhem. And you start hearing the same tunes over and over as the hours pass by. It's as if the entire country learns five songs beforehand word for word, and then goes ape-shit every time they hear one of them. I'm not sure if these are official "Carnaval" songs played year after year (ala Jingle Bells), or if it's just the latest pop tune everybody wants to hear. Either way, the energy is infectious, and on that first night Brendan and I danced our asses off with the rest of the world, hugged strangers, and politely dodged sloppy tongue kisses.

I will say that the Carnaval mood is one of true happiness. I saw a lot of spandex, heavy petting, and public urination, but not once during the entire week did I witness a fight or even a negative exchange between anybody (and these people can drink). The masses come out to dance and sing and share in the craziness, pure and simple. It's so much fun. That said, I had to leave my camera at home to avoid having it lifted by pickpockets, who have a particularly nasty reputation in Salvador. That was a huge bummer since now I just have a few shots around the ´hood, and none that illustrate the major parades themselves. Oh well. Better safe than sans Nikon, and you gotta love these guys. One of them offered to pay me $2 for Brendan. I declined.

Tomorrow we fly south to the point where Brazil meets both Paraguay and Argentina, to see world´s most impressive waterfall, Foz do Iguaçu. They say it makes Niagara look like a trickle. If that´s true, I´m stoked!

Blame it on Rio? Gladly.

Click here to see the last shot I took of India as we waved goodbye from the plane. It makes Mumbai seem pretty and tropical, doesn't it? Leave it to India to go out looking like paradise (I know better).

At some point on our first of three flights that would eventually deposit us in Rio de Janeiro, we flew over Iran, and I snapped a nice one of an anonymous city below us. All I know from our route map was that it was south of Tehran. The way politics are going lately, I probably won't see it from the ground anytime soon, but I guess I can kinda sorta say I was there for about two minutes.

Stopping in London's Heathrow airport was a big tease, since I love London and hate to be so close to the city without actually seeing it. Oh well.

Another 10 or so hours later, we were flying over land again and I got my first glimpse of Brazil. So green! So hilly! A brand-new country... in a brand-new continent! Hooray!

We made it to Rio's international airport, trudged through customs, got our backpacks, and were relieved to find our ride holding a card with Brendan's name on it. We'd booked a little studio apartment in Rio's Ipanema Beach way back in November and paid the landlord over the internet, but she hadn't been responding to our last few emails and we worried we'd be living on the street upon arrival. Luckily, she was legit and we happily moved into our home (with free Internet!!! OMG!!!) for the week.

In my opinion, Ipanema Beach is the place to be in Rio. Just south of the more famous Copacabana Beach, it's clean, it's kitschy in a 60s era kind of way, and there's a ton of bars, restaurants, and shopping to be had. Our apartment was in an unassuming building with a tiny little ocean view and my first kitchen in many, many moons. It was gold, Jerry, gold! To be self-sufficient again! I practically lived at Zona Sul, the local supermarket, the convenient and familiar likes of which I hadn't seen since Russia. Seriously. Brendan would have to make me pay up and leave or I'd be in there all day. The Zona Sul employees called me crazy behind my back (and then to my face once they caught on that I didn't speak a word of Portuguese).

One of Rio's most famous landmarks is the Corcovado, where a statue of Jesus looms on a mountain overlooking the city and surrounding coastline. Naturally, we had to do the tourist shuffle and get a picture of him, even though the trip ended up being about $40 USD (which in India would have been more like $4. See? There are things I miss about India!).

If you're ever in Rio, don't miss this little excursion. I always imagined the city to be a beautiful, tropical place, but it's really something special. From up at the Corcovado you can see a million miles in every direction. Amazing!

The week went by too fast, between my big fancy website re-design and afternoons spent people-watching at the beach (beforehand I worried about my buns not being up to Brazilian bikini standards, but they've got all shapes and sizes down there, just like any other beach). A little R&R was just what we needed before flying north to the city of Salvador, famous for having the most insane Carnaval celebration in all of Brazil. We're going for Carnaval. And I'm mildly afraid of crowds. So...yeah. You only live once.

Whirlwind Tour of India Comes to a Close...Whew!

I'll try to make this quick, since now I'm in Brazil and India is quickly fading into one of those places I was once, in another life. Also, I'll be linking to flickr photo sets instead of within Typepad from now on. I think it keeps things more organized, but I want your opinion if it's better than mine. Please weigh in!

GOA

Ok, so from Ahmedabad, Gujarat, we flew south into Panjim, the capital of Goa, where we caught several buses throughout the day and finally arrived in Agonda Beach sometime after dark.

I spent the first few days doubled over inside a grass hut (naturally my stomach had been completely fine for the first six weeks before I had to don a bathing suit), but recovered soon enough to spend the rest of the week reading in the sun. Agonda's a lovely, lovely place to hang out as long as you aren't looking for anything exciting or fancy. It's still a modest little fishing village with its share of cows, burning garbage, and bad plumbing, but as India goes it's pretty cute. The huts are basic, the seafood is delicious, and there's really nobody around. Even in high season.

One afternoon Brendan and I rented a scooter and rode about ten kilometers south to the town of Palolem, southern Goa's biggest resort. Oh, am I glad we chose Agonda! Palolem was probably a real gem once, but now it's your average Bob Marley-hippies-incense-souvenirs nightmare, just not the kind of place we're looking for anymore. That's not to say it's all bad... Palolem's food and nightlife choices trump Agonda's for sure, and ten years ago I certainly would have preferred it. Now that I'm married and boring, it was worth a day trip. We chose to put our towels down for a few hours at Patnem beach, just south of Palolem (just as pretty, and a little quieter).

I had to drag Brendan out of Agonda after a week. Quite the beach bunny, that one.

KERALA

A twelve-hour overnight train south from Goa put us into Cochin (aka Kochi), one of Kerala state's biggest draws for visitors. From the train station, we took a taxi to the recommended historic (read: touristy) part of town called Fort Cochin, and were immediately greeted by thousands of other westerners, rickshaw drivers, and souvenir shops. It was overwhelming after the serenity of Agonda Beach, and it was a lot hotter. Brendan immediately disliked the place and wanted to get out.

But we were kind of stuck, and here's why: the day we arrived in Cochin, I received an email from our travel agent informing us that British Airways was going on strike and our flight on February 6th from Mumbai, India, to Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, was probably going to be cancelled. The flight in question was in ten days. We wanted to be on that flight. We needed to be on that flight. That flight was literally our ticket out of India.

After a few frantic calls to British Airways customer service, we put ourselves on hold for the next available flight to Rio - if indeed our original flight ended up being cancelled. Unfortunately, the impending strike had already set off panic among other travelers who were changing their respective flights, and we couldn't even get into new seats until February 23rd. Note that flying into Rio on the 23rd would also completely side-step Carnaval, the main reason we were traveling to Brazil in the first place. Add to that our Brazilian visas themselves, scheduled to expire 90 days after the day they were issued, which happened to be February 25th (these are the same visas that kept us tied up in Delhi for an eternity back in November, if you recall). If by twist of fate we weren't going to make it into Brazil by the 25th, we'd have to re-apply. In Delhi. Which was now conveniently on the other side of India. We decided not to leave Cochin until we knew what was going on.

The strike got called off five days into it. Thanks for the drama, British Airways. Thanks a million. At least we were leaving the country on schedule. Crisis averted!

One of the big draws in Kerala are the backwater boat trips, so we headed down to the town of Alleppey, well-known for its abundance of boat providers, got in touch with a company that seemed reputable, and booked ourselves on an overnight cruise through the waterways. Guidebooks swear that going overnight is the most romantic and rewarding way to see the backwaters, and the boats come with a captain and a cook, so we went for it.

I won't lie to you, the trip was a little disappointing. The scenery was certainly nice and we had the boat to ourselves, but I got the impression that we never veered off the well-worn, main arteries of the backwaters - a tourist trap unto themselves. I had imagined cruising through narrow, overgrown, jungly inlets and anchoring under the stars. In reality we saw a lot of other boats throughout the day and stopped right next to a couple of them for the night. Also, once dusk arrived, insects of all shapes and sizes swarmed every lightbulb in our vicinity and we couldn't get away from them unless we were in the bedroom under the mosquito net, which kind of defeated the purpose of spending a night on a boat. The food (lunch, dinner, breakfast) was delicious and observing backwater life was cool, but wasn't worth the $100 price tag we paid (the single most expensive thing we bought in all of India, btw).

For what it's worth, I did run into another couple a few days later who loved, loved, LOVED their backwater cruise, although when comparing notes it sounded like their boat was a lot more luxurious than ours and their crew more interactive. If you're really interested in going out overnight, I suggest getting a tour of the digs beforehand and a guarantee that you'll be sailing on paths less traveled.

After docking the next morning, we left Alleppey by train and headed further south to the beach town of Varkala to while away our last few days in India. Maria, our Columbian friend from the camel trek in Jaisalmer, was already there and had reserved a room in her hotel for us, so we arrived and settled right in.

The three of us hung out in paradise for the next three days, doing a whole lot of nothing. It was a nice place to reflect on the last nine weeks and start daydreaming about the next chapter of our trip.

MUMBAI

With just two days left in India, we flew out of Trivandrum, Kerala and into Mumbai, where we spent most of our time catching up on emails, trying unsuccessfully to watch the Superbowl, and savoring our final thalis. Mentally we were done with India and chose not to venture more than about four blocks beyond our hotel, which is a shame, because I know we missed out. Poor Mumbai never had a chance.

Ah, there's always next time. I'll be here again someday.

Maybe.

Next stop.. Rio de Janeiro! I don't have the slightest idea of what to expect, but I have a hunch alcohol will be involved. Do your worst, Brazil. Do your worst.

I needed a makeover...

...but I didn't feel like shopping, so I gave my blog a new outfit.
You likey?

I Make Your Life Fun.

Bored in bed? Need a new book? Then you're in the right place! Scroll down the left-hand side of this page and you'll find a new category called Sarah's Book Club. I'll regularly update you on what I've been reading while traveling, and each book will be expertly rated by me. Seriously, I have good taste in books. But sometimes my favorite books are kind of psycho. So you've been warned. Happy reading!

Oh, and if you like web widgets, I've turned myself into one. You'd think I'd be too busy for this crap, but I honestly can't help myself. You're welcome.

Love,
Sarah

The Traveling Morans Episode 14: Deserts, Beaches, and Curry

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Adventures in Gujarat

After being just one of many, many tourists traveling through Rajasthan, I wanted to venture somewhere off the beaten track. So I chose Shatrunjaya Hill in Palitana, Gujarat, home to India's biggest Jain pilgrimage site. I didn't know what to expect, but I figured a bunch of temples on a hill in the middle of nowhere couldn't be all bad. Brendan had his doubts, but went along with it (wonderful husband that he is).

The main problem was that we were going to have to do a lot of traveling in order to reach Palitana. We left Udaipur, Rajasthan and took an overnight train into Ahmedabad, the capital of Gujarat, where upon disembarking we promptly boarded another train four hours south to Bhavnagar.

At this point we were still an hour's bus ride away from Palitana, exhausted and dirty, and decided to rest for the night before continuing onto our final destination. The hotel we splurged on was a whopping 1400 rupees (we usually pay 500-700 per night), but it was clean, boasted an "internet center", and our room came with cable TV.

Except that the cable TV didn't work. After a few minutes of fiddling unsuccessfully with unidentified wires, I gave up and called the front desk. Here's how it went:

"Hi, our cable TV doesn't seem to be working, " I inform the voice on the other end.

"Hmm, ok, someone will come up and check," he answers.

Several minutes later, some random man walks into our room. He doesn't knock, he doesn't call out, he just enters. Granted, our door wasn't locked, but still. I could have been naked.

"Jesus Christ, you have to knock before you come in," Brendan scolds him.

"Yes, hello," he answers, completely oblivious.

He fiddles unsuccessfully with the same unidentified wires. It's clear to all three of us that he has no idea what he's doing. He leaves.

Silence.

"Is that guy, like, coming back?" Brendan wonders aloud.

I call the front desk again.

"Hi, someone just came to our room and tried to fix the cable TV, and then he left. Is he coming back?" I ask the same voice on the other end.

"Madam, there is a festival today so no cable TV," the voice answers with a trace of annoyance.

"What?"

"A festival here today. No TV."

"Why does the cable TV go off if there's a festival in town?"

"Madam, there is no TV. There is a festival."

"Ok, but then why was there a man in our room trying to fix the TV?"

"Yes madam," and he hangs up.

Several minutes later, Random Man walks into our hotel room again. Without knocking. Brendan freaks. I freak. Random Man either genuinely can't understand what we're upset about or is getting some sort of joy out of pretending - hard to say. Maybe it's a cultural thing, this staff-walking-into-hotel-rooms-without-getting-permission-first business, but I can't imagine any other woman wanting Random Man walking in on her naked, either.

"The man at the front desk said the cable didn't work because of a festival. Are you trying to fix the TV?" I ask him. No response.

Random Man produces a remote control from his pocket (identical to our own) and turns on the TV with the power button. The screen shows fuzz. He smiles, gestures to the set, and turns to leave.

"No, no, it's the cable. It's not the remote. The remote is fine. It's ... see? The cable, there's no picture, you can't watch this... it's not... um..."

Fuck it.

An hour later, I can't find the internet center, so I return to the front desk, laptop under my arm.

"Hi, where's the internet center?" I inquire.

I swear to god I see him smile a little. "No internet center, madam."

"There's no internet center here?"

"Yes, but it's not working now."

I'm so tired I can't even get mad. Brendan and I order room service (they try to come in without knocking, but we're hip to the game by now) and call it a night.

In the morning, we're rested and ready to continue on to Palitana. We approach the front desk to check out. There's a new guy on duty.

"1400 rupees," he says nonchalantly.

Brendan calmly puts two 500 rupee bills down on the desk. "Since there was no internet and no cable TV, we are going to pay 1000 rupees for our room."

"No!" The guy panics. He dials a number. The phone in an empty office next to us starts ringing.

"Yes. Goodbye." We leave the money and start walking out.

"No! Sir! 1400 rupees! Come back sir!"

He's yelling at us, but making no move to stop us. We hail a rickshaw to the bus stop. I feel like I've just robbed a bank and gotten away with it. It's quite a rush. I briefly consider becoming a kleptomaniac. We leave Bhavnagar in a cloud of triumphant bus dust.

------

There's not much going on in Palitana aside from the Jain temples, so we drop off our backpacks at a much simpler hotel and head straight for the action.

Turns out that to reach the temples, you must first climb about five billion stairs. They aren't steep, there are just five billion of them. Brendan wants to kill me about an hour into it, but to his credit he keeps climbing. We pass a number of pilgrims who have paid to be carried up and down the hill. It's tempting, but I still have my pride. Eventually we reach the top.

The Shatrunjaya temples really are exquisite, no doubt about it. There's almost a Disneyland quality to the way the architecture rises up out of nowhere, and the details are outstanding. We take a lot of pictures and watch Jain pilgrims pay their respects to their gods (no photos allowed inside, though). Even though this part of Gujarat is kind of bleak, at least in the winter, the views of surounding waterways are neat from way up high.

And then we run out of things to do, not actually being pilgrims and all, so we walk back down the hill. Both of our legs are shaking by the time we get to the bottom. I feel bad. We shouldn't have come so far out of our way for a few hours of stairs. It's not that Jain temples aren't interesting or that I wouldn't recommend Shatrunjaya to you, I just wish I had thought this road trip out a little better.

The next morning, we spend all day in buses getting back up to Ahmedabad. It sucks. In two days we have a flight out of Gujarat and into Goa, the state best known for beaches and parties and sun. Hooray!

-s

Yeah, I Know...

Your browser does not deceive you...this page looks a little wonky right now. Now that I've got a ton of content here, I'm experimenting with better ways to balance all my categories for y'all. I'm thinking that having both left and right-hand columns around the main content is the way to go (which always worked pretty well at sarah. word.). Bear with me for a few days while I make symmetrical magic.

Also, I'm trying to convince Brendan to let me give his blog a fresh look. Who else thinks he picked the most boring Typepad template known to mankind? Love ya, honey.

:)
s