sarah. on the run.

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

On the Rajasthani Circuit at Breakneck Speeds

Almost everyone who visits India goes through Rajasthan at some point. It's a state with history, ruins, deserts, centuries of traditions.. in many ways visiting Rajasthan is that quintessential romantic Indian experience.

But it's also packed with tourists, especially during the wintertime when temperatures are cool and comfortable. As we left Bundi and got back on the crazy "Rajasthani Circuit" we hoped our efforts would pay off as we attempted to cover a lot of ground in just over a week.

First stop: Udaipur

Built along lovely Lake Pichola, Udaipur has been called the Venice of the East (although isn't almost every city with water dubbed a Venice of some kind? "The Venice of the Former Soviet Bloc" ... "The Venice of the Steel Industry"). The old area of the city undoubtedly makes for a pretty view, but up close it's almost completely dominated by guesthouses, souvenir shops, and rickshaw drivers looking for work. The quality of the shopping is decent, but both Brendan and I were completely burned out after Jaipur and not really interested. As backpackers, we have nowhere to stash what we buy, even if we really love it. Besides, hang out in India long enough and you'll start to notice that all the westerners are dressed alike, with the same oddly crotch-sagging pants, linen tunics, and embroidered cloth over-the-shoulder bags. There's Indian fashion, and then there's "Indian tourist fashion". Dabble too much in the latter and you'll end up a walking cliche.

Ok fine, so I bought a pair of earrings. But they're really cute and non-touristy and instead of packing them I just wear them 24/7. So there.

Udaipur has its own former royal palace which, again, looks very pretty from afar, but isn't the most spectacular palace in the world. It's been preserved beautifully and turned into more of a museum, but in the process seems to have lost some authenticity. Brendan sulked through it.

After three days, we were ready to leave Udaipur. In my opinion, it's a bit overrated unless you've got the cash to stay somewhere ritzy like the Lake Palace Hotel in the middle of the water. Which we do not.

Second stop: Jodhpur

I made Brendan come to Jodhpur for the palace and fort. I have this fear that the one palace and fort we skip will be the best palace and fort ever and I'll spend the rest of my life ruing the day I passed them up. The idea was to arrive by bus (4 hours northwest from Udaipur), get a hotel, wake up early the next morning, do the palace and fort, go to sleep, wake up, and get back on a bus out of town.

Once we got to Jodhpur, we immediately wished we'd alloted more time for ourselves. The "Blue City" is indeed awesomely blue, and our guesthouse was literally right under the fort hill in the old part of town. I liked the scene a lot better than Udaipur. More dramatic.

I'm not sure if Jodhpur's palace and fort are the best palace and fort ever, but they're absolutely worth stopping for (yay me!). Make sure you take advantage of the audio tour. It helped put everything we saw into context and was actually very educational (yes, I realize that I am channeling my grandmother). The views from the top of the fort are phenomenal, and from our perch we could see thousands of people hanging out on flat roofs all across the city. Indians really do love their roofs.

At one point in our fort tour, Brendan came up to me with a funny look on his face. "That's Liz Hurley over there," he said through clenched teeth as he jerked his head in her direction. She was there with her son and fiancee, who happens to be Indian. B took an unintrusive picture and we went on our way. Later he asked me why Liz Hurley was famous.

Third stop: Jaisalmer

Another several hours west of Jodhpur lies the city of Jaisalmer, smack dab in the middle of the desert. Unsurprisingly, it also comes complete with its own fort, but Jaisalmer's is actually still inhabited. Supposedly the cool thing to do is to stay somewhere up inside the fort, but our hotel (Shahi Guesthouse) had better views from the bottom (although the roof deck was practically an icebox after sundown - it's cold in January!).

Jaisalmer's big draw is its proximity to endless sand dunes, which are naturally best visited on the back of a camel. Booking a two-day camel trek is one of those touristy things that we felt obligated to do, being all the way out here and all.

Ours was a good group: me, Brendan, Maria from Colombia, and Nicki from Australia, along with four camel men who were our guides and cooks (and buddies for Brendan, who was otherwise stuck with us three chicks). My camel had intestinal issues and farted a lot, but otherwise made for a good companion. After a few hours of ambling through the desert, we stopped to rest and made lunch. Another few hours later, we arrived at our camp for the night, situated right on the edge of some picture-perfect sand dunes. We watched the sun go down over Pakistan, performed stupid desert tricks, ate dinner, sang songs around the campfire (along with two lovely gentlemen from London who joined us later from another trek), and finally settled into our blankets for the night. We were neither very warm nor cozy sleeping under the stars, but what the desert lacked in comfort it more than made up for in atmosphere. For one night, anyway. 

Back at our hotel the next afternoon, we traded stories with another group who had just gotten back from a similar camel trek and were disappointed with their experience. Apparently their sand dunes were rather lackluster, there weren't enough blankets, and they felt cheated overall. I guess we got lucky.

Fourth Stop: Jodhpur

We didn't mean to get stuck here again, but our bus from Jaisalmer had to come back this way anyway, and it just got late. Didn't see anything new. Caught a bus out of town early the next morning.

Fifth Stop: Udaipur

We arrived back in the city where we started around noon (after our bus rear-ended an SUV on the highway and delayed us an hour or two), wasted some time eating and surfing the net, and caught a night train out of the state.

It's been fun, Rajasthan!

Gujarat, here we come!

-s

Bumming in Bundi and Loving It!

Last year as we began organizing our big trip, we decided to spend Christmas and New Year's Eve in India.

"India! How random! Yes!" We thought.

Turns out, spending Christmas and New Year's Eve in India is not at all random for the millions of travelers who come here during the holidays to get away from their own cold climates and to take advantage of India's mild season. Americans go to Florida... everybody else comes to India.

Furthermore, if you want to spend Christmas on an Indian beach, you're in for large crowds and high tariffs. Our original idea to lounge somewhere on a seaside hammock in the southern state of Kerala at the end of December was scrapped, once we saw what we were up against ("sorry ma'am, booked solid"). We wanted to find peace and serenity during our holiday away from home, not a swarm of package tourists.

So we decided to stay in Rajasthan and Brendan zeroed in on a little town called Bundi. It's the kind of place that's mentioned briefly in guidebooks as a "still undiscovered" alternative to the bigger, more tourist-oriented cities, and travelers write about it on internet message boards as "the best-kept secret in Rajasthan". So we went for it, arranging to arrive on December 24th and leave on January 2nd. That's kind of a long stretch, but we figured that even if we were disappointed and a little bored in Bundi, we'd still be glad we erred on the mellow side.

We were so right.

For the first time since we've been in India, I felt like I had gotten somewhere pre-tourist explosion. Bundi is really beautiful, despite its size still retains a traditional village lifestyle and is almost completely devoid of tourists (it's not that I don't like other tourists, but put too many of us in one place and something is lost). The old palace and fort, which loom on a hill just above town, are awesome and afford great views. Locals are friendly because they're friendly, not because they want you to buy something. After being accosted around every corner for the past month, Bundi was the welcome change we needed, big time. It took a few days to let my guard down, especially around all those monkeys.

There are very few actual restaurants outside of guesthouse kitchens, which range from really good (I highly recommend the thalis at a place called Shivam), to really bad (Kasera Paradise's kitchen must have the worst food in India...unfortunately it was also our hotel). We got by. Brendan became addicted to peanut brittle, and we also discovered world's best samosa/sweets joint in the bazaar. If you see these guys, you'll know you're in the right place. Don't leave without trying the carrot pudding. You'll thank me.

Christmas was a a bit of a letdown for me, only because it was so un-Christmasy in Bundi and I missed my mom, but that was to be expected. I got over it. New Year's Eve was also uneventful and we were asleep well before midnight, but that was ok too (though it did mark Brendan's and my fall from the grace of sobriety... we'd been dry for six weeks and having a celebratory beer seemed like the right thing to do).

Two bicycles got us out to the desert countryside, where life is still pretty simple and everyone wants their photo taken. One thing I noticed was how hard the women work. In one village where we stopped for cups of chai, I was the only one in sight not performing manual labor... the men were drinking tea and playing cards, and the women were out digging ditches. We didn't stay long for fear I'd eventually be recruited. On the way back into town, Brendan got a flat tire. An hour and 20 cents later, he was back in business.

Nine days into our anonymous little existence in Rajasthan's best-kept secret (shhhh!), we were ready to leave Bundi's calm and get back on the Rajasthan tourist circuit.  Mark my words, that town will not be the same in ten years. It's just too pleasant to stay "undiscovered." I feel so lucky to be ahead of the curve!

For details on our unforgettable train ride into Udaipur, read Brendan's play-by-play account of the evening.

Your friend in the desert,
s

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