sarah. on the run.

Good Karma, the Afterlife, and All That Jazz

We arrived in Varanasi around midnight. As usual, the train station was jam-packed with men, women, and children huddled together and/or sleeping on the concrete floor. Brendan and I keep wondering about this. Do all these people have very early trains to catch, and decided to just set up camp here overnight so as not to miss them? Have their trains just been delayed indefinitely? Or do they just sleep here all the time?

Varanasi has a bad reputation for tout scams and rickshaw drivers who try desperately to get you to stay at one of their hotels for commission money. This happens all over India, but it's particularly effective in a city like Varanasi which, being extremely old, is a jumbled maze of narrow alleyways and almost impossible for tourists to navigate on their own right away. The touts here know this. If you've already reserved a hotel somewhere, they'll tell you it's been flooded, or out of business, or that the building just burned down... anything so that you'll give in and let them take you somewhere else. Every guidebook on India warns travelers about these guys, so I have no idea who's keeping them in business. It's the most annoying thing in the world. You can scream at them to leave you alone, that you'll never go anywhere with them, that you hate them, that you hate their mothers... no matter what, they'll keep at you until you physically ride off with someone else.

We weren't about to spend all night being taxied around by a bunch of swindlers, so we'd made prior arrangements with Shanti Guesthouse to be picked up straight from the train station. Twenty minutes after we telephoned to announce our arrival, some kid actually showed up and rescued us from the small army of touts that had surrounded us like sharks. As we followed him on foot through the dark tunnels of the Old City (the paths are so narrow that rickshaws won't fit), it became obvious that we'd never, ever have found it ourselves. The guesthouse was a little shabbier than what we'd expected, but it was cheap, and we were safe.

Where do I start with Varanasi? It's just so very weird. For Hindus, the city is special because it sits along the banks  of the holy Ganges River, which starts way up in the Himalayas. In Varanasi, people incorporate the river into all sorts of activities via a series of ghats (concrete stairs that lead down to the water). They bathe, they wash their clothes , they have wedding celebrations , they dry out cow patties , they meditate , they dump the deceased...

Yes, dead people. In the river.

Apparently (and I'm really just getting a loose grasp on Hinduism here myself, so bear with me), if you die in Varanasi, you achieve some sort of enlightenment you wouldn't get by dying anywhere else. Devotees come from all over India to check out in style here, mostly by public cremation that involves dipping the wrapped body in the Ganges first. I did see a body floating in the river at one point, so maybe not everyone can afford the cremation part of the deal. There's certainly a lot of wood and manpower involved.

I know this all sounds ridiculous, but it's true. Brendan and I sat and watched bodies turning to ash over campfires with our own eyes. It's quite a production. You almost feel like you're on a big-budget movie set, watching hundreds of costumed extras carrying piles of wood around, arranging the bodies, and stoking the fires. Except that it's actually happening. The only thing I couldn't do was take any pictures, as it's understandably taboo and would have been extremely offensive to anyone who caught me. You can check out a couple of campfire hints here and here .

Strolling along the ghats or taking a river cruise is a great way to spend an hour or two in Varanasi, but the constant offers for boat rides and begging children will take their toll on you, and it's important to be able to escape to your guesthouse when you need some downtime. Our room at the Shanti Guesthouse was a small, windowless affair, but the rooftop terrace was lovely and even had internet access, so we spent at least a few hours up there  every day. Most of our fellow guests were Israelis celebrating Hanukkah away from home, and there would be much singing and candle lighting at their dinner tables. I was prepared to join in for the Dradle Song, but nobody ever sang that one. Bummer.

Five days in Varanasi was perfect for us. We walked the ghats, we watched a few cremations, we observed river life, we took a million pics , and then we were ready to exit the freak show.

Next destination: Agra, home of the Taj Mahal. I'm beside myself.

Thanks for all the support, everyone!

s

In Transit

Our route out of the mountains of Himachal Pradesh and back down into Uttar Pradesh toward the city of Varanasi was a long one, so we chose to break it up a little. Our first stop was Chandigarh, the capital of Punjab state and a major railway connection point for travelers going in all directions. Our bus rolled in sometime around midnight, we found an insanely overpriced room (they called it a suite because there were two beds), agreed to the price (1300 rupees) because it was late and we were wrecked, and slept.

Oh, glorious sleep. How I love thee.

The next morning we awoke to a scrumptious continental breakfast in bed, complete with homemade blueberry muffins and a pot of organic darjeeling tea, courtesy of the hotel staff, who just so happened to be big fans of The Traveling Morans.

HAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHHAHAAA!

Sorry, I couldn't help myself. Man, that was funny! Ok seriously.

The next morning we awoke to lots of yelling in the street. We had the entire day to kill before our train left for Lucknow that evening, so we set off in search of the action.

There is  very little action in Chandigarh on Sundays, FYI.

Chandigarh was born as a planned city, built to replace Punjab state's old capital city which was lost to Pakistan after Partition. The streets are built along a large grid and neighborhoods are divided into something like 60 rectangular "sectors". I can understand how it all seemed like a good idea at the time (let's bring order to India!), but the result is oddly sterile . I'm glad we had just the one day.

Ok, onto the train ride... our first of many overnighters. We chose to buy sleeper beds in Class "2A", which isn't quite first class, but provides slightly cushioned flat vinyl beds with pillows, sheets, and blankets. It's a passable night's sleep, especially compared to overnight buses. The problem is the privacy... there really isn't any unless you know the three other passengers inside your curtained-off cubby. Anyone besides a group of four is better off securing a "side" sleeper bed parallel to the aisle (at least you've got your own curtain!). I'll take some pics next time.

On this particular train my three sleep-mates seemed harmless enough. That is, until about two hours into the twelve-hour trip when the very fat one started snoring. I'm telling you, this man sounded like he was choking to death. We're talking serious sleep apnea here. My earplugs were no match for him. All they did was isolate the noise. I started to panic a little.

Then he started farting.

In life, there are those moments every so often when you're forced to step back, ponder the situation, and ask yourself, "Who am I, and how did I get here?" This was one of those moments.

When we arrived in Lucknow the next morning, we had a hotel near the train station in mind, and planned on hopping on a cycle rickshaw for a few blocks to get there. Naturally, more than one cycle rickshaw driver wanted our money, and a small brawl ensued as each guy simultaneously blocked our path while trying to physically force us onto his ride. I was actually run over by a rickshaw wheel during the scuffle, which put me over the edge.

Once again, we were only in Lucknow for a day before getting back on the train toward Varanasi, and although I hadn't gotten much sleep on the train the night before, it was nice for once not to be rolling into a new city after dark.

After a lunch of masala dosas (my new favorite), Brendan took a rickshaw back to our hotel and I went on a wild goose chase for an internet cafe (in a country teeming with IT professionals, you'd think this would be a lot easier). On the way back, my own rickshaw driver got lost for a solid hour, after assuring me repeatedly that he knew exactly where my hotel was. We'd go in the wrong direction for a few minutes, I'd get nervous and tap him on the back, we'd consult the Lucknow city map in my guidebook, he'd pretend to understand, he'd turn around, stop in front of something resembling a landmark, seem confused when I didn't want to be dropped off there, and then flag down some random guy to try to make some sense of what I wanted. It was all very frustrating. Why don't rickshaw drivers know their own cities better? Don't they spend their days taxiing people around?

Feeling extremely fried after that debacle, I ordered room service and B and I stayed in for the rest of the night. We were kind of rethinking our decision to stop in both Chandigarh and Lucknow, instead of just taking a longer train straight to Varanasi sooner. It's overly ambitious to arrive in a new city exhausted, find a hotel, get some food, and then expect to go sight-seeing that same day. Especially in India.

In the morning, we got up, got out, and got on the train bound for Varanasi. What was supposed to be a five-hour journey turned into nine hours for no particular reason, once again securing our arrival well after sundown. Safe, sound, and starving.

Varanasi is one of those places everyone should see before they die. I'll tell you why next time.

Peace!

Sarah

The Traveling Morans Episode 12: Incredible India

Watch "The Traveling Morans Episode 12: Incredible India".

Subscribe to our podcast to receive our latest videos automatically from now on.

Oh, and speaking of subscribing, we're back on iTunes! Let's all do a little celebratory dance!

***I had to completely rebuild the podcast section of brendanandsarah.com after the fabulous iWeb meltdown last month. I'm not sure if it's going to mess things up for all you current TTM subscribers, but if it does, please let me know so I can try to make it all better by Christmas morning. The good news is that our entire site got a little face-lift in the process! Hurray for face-lifts!

Happy holidays, everyone!

Love,
Sarah

Cold Feet in the Himalayas

Namaste!

Much like the great United States of America (California 4 Life!), India is split up into various states, each with its own special customs, languages, histories, and terrains. Once you're inside the country planning itineraries and zeroing in on the must-sees, knowing your states helps narrow things down tremendously.

After the madness of Delhi we chose to venture into Himachal Pradesh, a northern Himalayan state west of Tibet and south of Kashmir. Originally we'd planned on crossing into Nepal at some point during our trip, but Himachal Pradesh seemed like an easier, and an equally rewarding, alternative.

From Delhi we took a train to Kalka, and then boarded the famous "toy train" north from Kalka to Shimla, which was a ton of fun. Lots of sweeping vistas, precarious cliffs, the works. Temperatures starting dropping pretty rapidly as we climbed in elevation, which worried us a tiny bit given the prevalence of sarongs and tank tops in our backpacks, but we figured we could buy whatever we needed once we got up there. Brendan, who consistently surprises me with his lukewarm enthusiasm toward the world's finest railroads, diligently kept us toasty with miniscule cups of chai at every stop. Not really sure why the cups have to be that small. Grande chai, anyone?

We lost our race against the sun and arrived in Shimla after dark, found a room, got under the covers, and shivered helplessly through the night. Below are a few things we hadn't counted on:

- Himachal Pradesh can be really cold in December. I mean really, really cold. It's not the kind of weather you can just suck up. You need fleece. And wool. And two layers of socks. At high noon.

- Budget hotels in Himachal Pradesh don't do "heating". Sure, they'll offer you a small electric space heater for 150 extra rupees, but that it won't heat up a room built with plywood and tile. You're better off wearing every single item of clothing you own and huddling under five heavy blankets.

- Hot showers are not actually a given. I know that sounds terribly cruel and unfair. Indeed it is.

We were up and out of Shimla early the next morning, which was too bad, since it seemed like a nice town. But our plan was to continue by bus onto Manali, a major tourist hub and jumping off point for mountain trekking.

Did I mention the buses aren't heated either? And that when the roads get windy enough (and they do), people empty their stomachs out the open windows? It's like entering a new dimension of cold. You'd think the cold would just cancel out the nausea at some point, but alas, no. I've never witnessed so many motion sick people as I have in Asia and India over the last few months. Sure, the buses are driven recklessly and the roads are windy, but we tourists are fine. What's up with that?

Brendan and I stayed in Manali for three days, most of which were spent buying warm things to combat our frosty body temperatures. It was ridiculous. Between the two of us we bought two sweaters, two pairs of Tibetan wool socks, two pairs of mittens, a scarf, a hat, and a blanket - none of which we'll need in less than a month. I wanted to enjoy Manali's surroundings more, but we were so ill-prepared for the cold weather that attempting a trek suddenly seemed like a very dumb idea. We mostly kept inside restaurants with wood stoves and ate all day.

If you're ever in Manali, try the muesli, fruit, and curd at a little place called Chopsticks. Delish!

The only way to get from Manali to Dharamsala (our next destination) was on an overnight bus. I don't have to tell you how excited I was about that prospect, but we really had no alternative. Needless to say it was a chilly ride. The hands-down highlight was when our "deluxe but not really" bus dropped us off at a deserted intersection around midnight and we boarded a "local" bus whose driver took us the rest of the way by careening through twisty mountain roads without any headlights. I have no idea if it was a strategic thing or if the bus actually had no headlights. I was so tired I didn't even really care. He seemed to know the way.

We arrived in Dharamsala around 3 a.m., caught a short taxi up the hill to the northern part of town, banged on the door of our reserved hotel until someone woke up and let us in, and finally crashed.

Dharamsala is fairly famous around the world as the permanent residence of the Dalai Lama since his exile from Tibet. Indeed, Tibetan refugees seem to outnumber Indians around town, and Buddhism dominates. It's an interesting scene in a very lovely part of the world. We inquired about attending a "local meeting" to meet the Dalai Lama himself, but he wasn't offering one during our stay. Bummer.

As luck would have it, the runny nose I had in Manali had blossomed into a substantial head cold at this point, and wads of toilet paper acting as Kleenex piled up around me wherever I went. It wasn't completely debilitating, but spending a day trekking through the snowy peaks above town was obviously out of the question. The morning I started to feel better, Brendan started sneezing. I was beginning to see that we had no business being in the Himalayas at all, and were being punished for our foolishness.

Then Brendan got food poisoning. Probably one of his worst 24 hours on record. We blame a batch of Tibetan momos that he ate, and I passed on, the night before. When he stopped throwing up, I threw in the towel and booked a bus out of the mountains the next afternoon.

In hindsight, I'm not sorry that we ventured into Himachal Pradesh. It was an enriching experience that toughened us up, and I'm glad we stuck it out for two weeks. But I don't recommend a winter visit unless you're a wookie or are willing to pay for ample heating.

Next stop...Varanasi, with rest stops in Chandigarh (Punjab state) and Lucknow (Uttar Pradesh). I hope you're taking notes, because you will be tested later.

-s

Wanted: Podcast Tutor for Inept Traveler

Ok, I always hate to admit when I don't understand something tech-related, but when it comes to the inner-workings of podcast feeds, I get stumped sometimes. Can you help me?

Here's the deal:

I have a podcast, built with iWeb, that I'm sharing with the world. The main podcast page displays the five most current podcast episodes. All others are alive and well in the podcast archive.

I'm using FeedBurner to keep track of my podcast stats. My feedburner page also only displays those five most current podcast episodes. My iTunes podcast page has the same problem. So for anyone new to "The Traveling Morans" podcast, it looks as if there are only five episodes, starting with episode #7.

I'm not sure where the problem originates. Any podcast pros want to enlighten me?

Thanks in advance,

s

I'm Bringing Sexy Back

While I was stateside back in November, I paid a quick visit to my buddies at Revision3 in San Francisco to participate in a little holiday gadget round-up for "InDigital". It was awesome to work with some old colleagues and friends again. Enjoy the episode!

-Sarah

From Bratwurst to Bhaji in 14 Hours

Two weeks back in the USA went by too fast. Before we knew it, Brendan and I found ourselves back on an airplane, this time flying back across the Atlantic to the great Asian sub-continent of India.

I've always wanted to visit India, for several basic reasons: I love garlic naan, I enjoy yoga, I think saris are pretty, and I desire a photo of myself standing in front of the Taj Mahal for bragging rights. That's the pathetic truth. The rest of India is an intimidating mystery to me, which is funny, because I'm going to be here for nine whole weeks.

Our first stop was Delhi, the national capital, situated in the Indian state of Uttar Pradesh. I've heard it described as a traveller's "soft introduction to India". If that's true, then I'm doomed. Delhi is truly, deeply insane. But it's a fun kind of insanity. Within the first 24 hours, I saw the sun rise over Pahar Ganj, got swept up in a Sikh street parade, observed cows and humans dining together in the street, endured the world's worst traffic jam, and hung out at the Brazilian embassy (no photo available).

A word about Delhi's Brazilian embassy: boo. Yes, boo. Here's why:

- You must enter Brazil within 90 days of receiving your visa, the process of which can take anywhere from 1-4 business days. Because of this restriction, we couldn't just take care of it while we were in Chicago (well, we tried, but apparently it's high season in Chicago for Brazilian visas and they couldn't guarantee we'd have our passports back in time to make our India flight). Hence our need to revisit the process in Delhi.

- Delhi refused to accept our carefully prepared visa applications, and made us re-submit a slightly different Indian form for Brazilian visa-seeking Americans. The embassy also required an official letter explaining why, as Americans, we were trying to obtain a Brazilian visa from India, a formal letter explaining what we do for a living, another to explain why we don't do anything for a living, a copy of our bank transactions over the last year proving that we have sufficient funds to enjoy vacationing in Brazil without actually doing anything for a living, and $125 each, to be paid by money order from the Bank of India.

- All of the above requirements were revealed to us in stages. For example, when we returned to the embassy with our formal letters explaining that we were unemployed, the nice man behind the counter said, "Now you must submit a document telling us why you are unemployed. Otherwise there is no guarantee your visa will be granted. We're closing. Come back tomorrow." And so on. In total, we racked up seven visits to the Delhi Brazilian embassy. That's too many.

One afternoon we tried to visit Delhi's famous Red Fort, but got denied by a long line of twelve thousand schoolchildren (I'm only barely exaggerating). We settled for India's largest mosque instead, which is totally worth it for the super views and instant friendships.

We also paid a visit to Humayun's tomb, which was like, way more impressive than I thought it would be! I mean, that's one fancy tomb.

In general, Delhi wore me out. B and I could only hang out in the thick of it for so long before escaping to our quiet hotel room for a couple hours to nurse our frazzled nerves. It's just non-stop, relentless, noisy mayhem. Maybe we're total losers who should be trying harder to assimilate, but we had to enjoy ourselves in small doses. After nine days, it was time to get the hell out and head for the Himalayas.

Bookworms of the World...Unite!

Now that I've gotten used to an existence with little to no television, I'm firmly back on the book-reading circuit. Being on an extended (permanent?) vacation finally affords me the ability to guiltlessly devote an entire day to reading. It's the smart person's pastime, after all, and, despite the lack of physical activity involved, nobody ever accuses the avid reader of being a lazy bum. In all honesty, I haven't had the free time or mental capacity to go through books at this pace since my V.C. Andrews phase in middle school (and that was mainly because of all the incestuous sex plot-lines...what can I say, I was a curious child). I'm really very proud of myself, and I hope you are too.

Here's the latest damage:

1. "High Fidelity" - Nick Hornby
I own the DVD, but I'd never read the original book, which is actually a lot more similar to the movie than most books. My problem is that I love the movie too much, especially the main character of Rob as played by John Cusack (swoon!). The original book character is English, does not live in Chicago, and does not have sex with anyone resembling Lisa Bonet. It was a fun read, but this is one of those rare cases where I prefer the adapted film version to the novel. God Bless America.

2. "Hannibal" - Thomas Harris
The follow-up to "Silence of the Lambs" brings the tale of Clarice Starling and Hannibal Lecter to an apparent close. I didn't love it, and I must first blame my lack of enthusiasm on Julianne Moore. Not because she's not a good actress, but because she isn't Clarice Starling. Jodie Foster is Clarice Starling. Jodie Foster is who I imagine when I read about what Clarice Starling is up to these days. But Jodie Foster didn't want to do that movie sequel, so they got Julianne Moore to play the role, and I know that, and it messes with my imagination and I find the whole thing exhaustingly distracting. My second issue was the author's decision to have Clarice and Hannibal suddenly get together (yes, sexxxually) at the end. Kind of a cheap move that felt thrown in just for the hell of it (sorry for the spoiler, but you had quite a few years to beat me to it).

3. "Bonfire of the Vanities" - Tom Wolfe
Juicy, fictitious take on racial tension, class distinction, and prejudice in New York City in the decadent 1980s. Kind of a comedy, but more ironic and less ha-ha. My gripe is that every single character in the story is unlikable in some way, either because they have affairs or hate black people or are just generally selfish and rotten, so it's difficult to root for anyone. I also couldn't put the book down, so I guess the author's technique worked. I seem to recall this book also being made into a movie that was universally panned by critics. Probably won't bother renting it.

4. "In Cold Blood" - Truman Capote
Ok! Really enjoyed this one! Truman Capote's retelling of the events that followed an actual set of murders in rural Kansas. Written in 1965, the book has a pleasantly old-fashioned tone and keeps you on the edge of your seat without getting too sensational.

5. "Eleven Minutes" - Paulo Coelho
Ugh. Nobody wants to read the beloved author of "The Alchemist" going into depth about the erotic pleasures of sadomasochism, do they? Maybe it's just me. In his usual existential style, Coelho tackles the sex vs. love theme, and the lengths that people will go to achieve one or the other or both. It's not a crappy book, I just found it a little too smutty in a supermarket romance novel sort of way.

6. "A Monk Swimming" - Malachy McCourt
The younger brother of "Angela's Ashes" author Frank McCourt gets a book deal to write his own memoirs, and this is the result. His are not a particularly pleasant chain of events to put into print (poor young Irishman moves from Limerick to New York City, drinks himself to near-death every day, fails as a family man), but hilarity does manage to ensue. McCourt is a very funny storyteller, and if half of what he's shared on paper is actually true, then he's lived quite a life. Being an Irish lassie myself, I tend to sympathize with anyone from the old country who's had a rough time of it and drinks a lot. When I do this, Brendan likes to scoff and remind me that I was born in America and have lived a very pleasant life and don't even like whiskey.

7. "The Corrections" - Jonathan Franzen
It was Brendan's book first and he raved and raved, so I gave it a go. Intricate story of an unraveling midwestern family, their individual idiosyncrasies, and their judgement of one another as each one follows life in a different direction. They story tackles some emotional issues raw enough to make me blush from time to time, but it's the sensitivity that really strikes a chord. I freely admit that I wept like a baby through the last few pages. Gasping, snot running, the works. If you can handle depressing material (and I really mean that), it's a fantastic novel.

I also have a favor to ask of you, fellow bookworms. A few years ago I was vacationing in Mexico and picked up a book someone had left behind at the resort called "The Keepsake" by Kirsty Gunn. It was one of the weirdest, most disturbing books I've ever read. Ever. But it was also terrific. I came home with the intention of buying it online, but have yet to be able to find it on sale anywhere oopsie, it's right here on Amazon! Has anyone read this obscure book, and if so, do you feel like explaining it to me?

Yours, etc.
Sarah

Bali... Hi Again!

We sailed back to Padang Bai, Bali, after a couple weeks exploring the neighboring island of Lombok. At this point we'd put in quite a few hours on buses and crowded ferries across the Bali Strait, so it only seemed fair to stay there for a couple days, doing absolutely nothing.

After doing absolutely nothing for a couple days, we got bored. Isn't life cruel that way? Anyway, in order to get excited again, we decided to hike to the top of Gunung Batur, one of Bali's two volcanoes (Gunung Agung is actually the larger of the two, but it was closed to tourists because of some major Hindu festival, or so they told us).

So there I was, scrambling up the side of Gunung Batur with a cheap little flashlight in the pitch-dark at 3 a.m. in order to reach the crater rim by sunrise. I remember thinking, "This is truly the worst idea I've ever had. I hate hiking in the middle of the night and I will never, ever do anything like this again." But I honestly took it all back once we reached the top and the sun started to rise over the neighboring peaks. It's amazing what a little light and an awesome view does for a crabby little camper! A group of photogenic monkeys sharing the moment with us didn't hurt, either. I'm starting to really love monkeys. They're like little furry people!

After sufficiently appreciating the sunrise, our guide led us along an extended tour of Gunung Batur's crater rim. I felt like we were on the moon. It's still an active volcano emitting sulfurous gas, and the footprints from the last big eruption are really quite ominous, but amazingly, people still live right in the lava path.

By late morning we'd descended safely and had thoroughly enjoyed our volcano adventure. However, since it was dark when I started hiking, I didn't get a chance to read the rules until it was too late. Oopsie...sorry, Hinduism!

Later in the day, our driver took us  to Pura Besakih, Bali's largest temple complex and #1 sacred place for Balinese people. As I mentioned in an earlier post, Hindu temples aren't really doing it for me. They're fascinating in a rambling sort of way, but they're too all over the place for my tastes (and I'm perfect, so I can make these kinds of observations). Perhaps beginning a strenuous hike up a volcano at 3 a.m. killed my midday temple enthusiam. I did get a pretty good look at Bali's other volcano, Gunung Agung, from the temple hill, so all was not lost.

Brendan and I had about one more week in Bali before flying back to Chicago, and we didn't want to spend it doing anything stressful. Feeling travel-weary and out of ideas, we caught a bus to Kuta, Bali's most famous beach resort and gigantic tourist trap. Never go to Kuta unless you like shopping for tacky crap and dodging motorbikes all day long. The beach is pretty, but overcrowded (though watching the surfers at sunset was kinda fun). I think we were both so excited to get back onto American soil that we just gave up altogether. I hung out in the internet cafe, B finished his novel, and we both did a lot of this during our final week in Asia.

Coming up next.. Sarah goes to India and hilarity ensues! Don't change the channel.. we'll be right back!

New Travel Photos...

...are up now! Check 'em out and share your brutal criticism of our elementary framing techniques in the comments section. Enjoy!