Greetings from the Matthew Ridenour of the present, which in the "Matthew Heads East" alternative reality timewarp, is the Matthew Ridenour of the future. I am going to do something TOTALLY unorthadox, and break the chronological blog code. I have to inform my faithful and wonderful followers of where I ACTUALLY am. I am in Jomsom, Nepal- trekking through the mountains and valleys of the Himalayas. And it is good.
I have managed to find the only "cyber cafe" within a 200-mile radius. And it is good. Our outfit is small but strong- led by none other than the man himself, Mr. Robby Rai (whose house we stayed at in Kathmandu for our first week in Nepal). Pastor Meg (a.k.a. "THUNDER) is the muscles of the gang. Standing only 5'4" in height, he packs a punch that crushes opponents thrice his size. He even literally carried me on his back across a river. I'm not kidding. Pastor Thunder is no joke. Then of course, there is my faithful friend and brother, Greg Zapf. Greg is a constant source of encouragement, and is also currently totally constipated- and has been for days. So pray for that. Finally, there is me- thus rounding out our fearless outfit.
We have been hiking up into the mountains, meeting people, sharing the gospel with them. We have been enjoying the beauty of this incredible part of the world- soaking it in. We were able to literally soak it in at a wonderful natural hot spring pool after our first and fairly brutal day of hiking, up to the town of Tatopani. "Soaking it in" left our hands pruned- and it was good. The main purpose of the trip is to glorify God and to be a part of what He is doing here in the Himalayas. We are meeting with local churches and small communities of believers to encourage them and train them a bit in the Bible.
Earlier this week, in the town of Lete, we met with the 3 Christians in the entire town. Until 2 months ago when Robby and another team came through, there was 1 Christian. He is overjoyed that he now has some fellowship. Robby sat down and explained some basics of the faith and such, and then suddenly turned to me: "Pastor Matt, please explain for these 3 from the fall of man up through the new covenant with Jesus. Pastor Thunder will translate." "Uh.... ok", I responded. And we were off. I did my best, through the Spirit.
Greg, Thunder and I hiked from 8,000 ft. to 14,000 ft. to reach the ceremonial location where Hindus during this month drink the blood of yaks on top of the mountain. Unfortunately for us, they couldn't perform this ritual anywhere within a 6-hour hike from civilization. But we had to see it. So we hiked. And hiked. And hiked. It was grueling- but we pressed on in the faith that we would see what few westerners see: the yak-blood ritual. And so, 6 hours and 6,000 vetical ft. later, we arrived. In the clouds. And could barely see. "So... where is it?" I asked. This was the awesome point at which we realized there was nothing to see. We had missed the ritual for the day. Perfect.
Given the situation, we made the best of it by befriending some locals in a hut who served us yak milk, yak meat, and some cheese dish that I didn't understand. But I ate- and was stoked. We purchased about half of a yak's worth of yak meat, Pastor Thunder threw the bag over his shoulder, and we were off- down the most treacherous mountain descent of my life. It was envigorating.
The main reason I am giving an update is to request prayer from you. Please pray for our time here- as we meet with people and with churches- may God's Kingdom go forth and He be glorified. I pray that we will be led by the Spirit to build meaningful and lasting relationships, and that we get to experience God's redeeming work here in Nepal. THANK YOU SO MUCH! More to come soon.
Blessings,
Matt
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Sunday, July 12, 2009
KATHMANDU 2.0
SUNDAY, JULY 12
Greg and I continually awoke throughout the night, switching off turns in the bathroom. Add to this the fact that I had a chronic cough that seemed to manifest itseld as soon as I lay down in my bed each night, and continued all night. Needless to say, it was a lovely scene.
Greg didn't eat, as his stomach was still not to be trusted. I tried a bit of rice. We were a fairly sad scene. After meeting a different missionaries and locals in the area, our stomachs were telling us it was time to leave. So we headed back to Robby's house.
Witnessing the exchange was, for me, brilliant. Ten to twelve minutes later, Greg was speaking to us on Matthew 7. It was well done. After Greg finished his 15 minute talk, Robby commended him on a job well done. He then proceeded into over an hour of monologue about the text. And it was really good. When it comes to the Bible, Robby Rai knows his stuff, that's for sure. At the end, he informed me, "Pastor Matt, you are next. Tomorrow you will preach on the Kingdom of God." Lucky for me, I had some real prep time.
Greg and I continually awoke throughout the night, switching off turns in the bathroom. Add to this the fact that I had a chronic cough that seemed to manifest itseld as soon as I lay down in my bed each night, and continued all night. Needless to say, it was a lovely scene.
NEPALI HOUSEWARMING
In the morning, we felt like doing just about nothing. So that's pretty much what we did. I began to get restless in the afternoon, so thankfully Robby had planned for us to go visit a church member's housewarming party. Robby, Ganga, Greg and I took a taxi out to the very well-constructed 4-level home that was being "blessed" by a ceremony. This meant that we sang a few songs of worship, and then 3 different men gave sermons in Nepali. I'm still not sure what they said, but 90 minutes later, we prayed and then ate some food. It was different than anything I had experienced, but God was glorified by it.
Greg didn't eat, as his stomach was still not to be trusted. I tried a bit of rice. We were a fairly sad scene. After meeting a different missionaries and locals in the area, our stomachs were telling us it was time to leave. So we headed back to Robby's house.
IMPROV PREACHIN'
I believe it was this night that we all sat around Robby's kitchen table, discussing spiritual matters, and then, around 9:00pm the conversation began to wane. After a few moments of silence, Robby asked, "Well pastors, what should we do now?" I was thinking, "Go upstairs, read, attempt to go to bed, and regain my health." What came out of both Greg's and my mouth was: "I don't know. What do you think, Robby?" "Pastor Greg, you can preach for us on the topic of faith", was his response. Greg, obviously taken aback, said "Uhm, ok." Noting his hesitation, Robby offered direction: "Use Matthew 7:24-27." Greg inquired, "Ok. So can I prepare at all?" "Oh yes, you can have ten minutes to prepare. Maybe twelve" Robby informed him, without hesitation.
Witnessing the exchange was, for me, brilliant. Ten to twelve minutes later, Greg was speaking to us on Matthew 7. It was well done. After Greg finished his 15 minute talk, Robby commended him on a job well done. He then proceeded into over an hour of monologue about the text. And it was really good. When it comes to the Bible, Robby Rai knows his stuff, that's for sure. At the end, he informed me, "Pastor Matt, you are next. Tomorrow you will preach on the Kingdom of God." Lucky for me, I had some real prep time.
Friday, July 10, 2009
KATHMANDU
We awoke, after sleeping soundly through most of the morning, to a home-made breakfast- made by none other than Ganga Limbu himself. We descended the stairway to the kitchen where we met Ganga for the first time. Ganga is a wonderfully charming, gracious, bright young man who has a passion for Jesus. He also works for Robbie- helping lead groups around that come to stay at Robbie's house in Kathmandu. So there he was, making omlettes for the three of us- which was wonderful.
We spent the rest of the day touring a bit of the city- eating lunch at a local Nepali restaurant in town, where we were fortunate enough to have our first taste of the Nepali staple meal: Dal Bhat. Essentially, Dal Bhat is a plate of rice, and you pour various foods on top and mix it all together. These include: lentil soup, sliced potatoes, and meat curry. Basically, it's awesome. Specifically when you join the Nepalis in eating purely with your hands. It's liberating.
We went to a shopping center, Namaste Market for a few items, and then it was back to the house for dinner. Stephano had to bid us farewell, as he was staying with a friend of his from Brazil, Rosana, who lives in Kathmandu. So the original group of four was now down to just Greg and myself. Luckily, we picked up the constantly spiritually deep conversation and high entertainment value of Robby Rai.
To be honest, the next week in Kathmandu was very low-key. Specifically when contrasted with the previous 3 weeks of my life. The main focus was on learning with and from Robby Rai: about evangelizing and relating to Nepali people, learning much about Hinduism and Buddhism, and building the firm foundations of our knowledge of the gospel. It was really different, and really good. I will outline the main events, but will keep it as brief as I, Matthew Ridenour, can.
FRIDAY, JULY 10
Greg and I awoke once again to "Omlettes with Ganga". We then walked to a house in the meighborhood to meet up with a group of three Canadians in KTM on a missions trip. From there, we hiked up a hill overlooking the Kathmandu valley, where they have a prominent Hindu temple and Buddhist shrine. We walked the streets of the neighborhood- very beautifully traditional village ambiance, praying for the people there. We prayed over the temples- that the Truth of Christ would be known. After our prayer walk, we had a delightful lunch of traditional Nepali Momo's (large pot-stickers filled with meat or vegetables). SO GOOD! Seriously- my favorite new food.
After lunch, Ganga asked us if we would like to pass out bibles to the local residents. I was a bit nervous about this prospect- I mean, how would the people receive us as we outsiders give them our Christian text? But before I knew it, he was already talking with the restaurant owner, sharing the gospel with the staff, and asking me to hand them a Bible. So there it was. It was that simple. If they didn't want it, no pressure.
We continued on, passing out Bibles to anyone who wished to have one. Surprisingly, we were met with enthusiasm and smiles as we passed out The Bible to a group of elderly Hindu men, just as with a group of younger women. It was wonderful.
As we walked around the town, we witnessed the filiming of 2 separate Bollywood movies- and they were both absolutely horribly acted. None of us could actually believe what we were seeing. But I will have to look out for both the movies- see if we made it in the backgrounds.
SATURDAY, JULY 11
In Nepal, the Sabbath is on Saturday. Maybe that's true everywhere. I'm not sure. But they go to church on Saturday. Which is different. Except if you're a Seventh-Day-Adventist. In that case, you would fit right in with the Nepali church-going calendar. Needless to say, we went to church on Saturday. Which was a first for me.
Also among the firsts for me were: everyone sitting on the ground (rugs) for the entire service, separation by sex: males on the right, an aisle and then women on the left, and a worship band with just a guitar, drum set, and 4 violins- accompanying a radical Nepali choir. It was a beautiful service, and I actually got emotional for the first time in years while singing "Lord I Lift Your Name On High", as I heard it in a foreign tongue it took on a whole new dimension. It was incredible to see the older Nepali women, dressed up in traditional long, colorful dresses and pashminas, standing up, lifting their hands, and singing their hearts out, praising Jesus. I was really surprised and overjoyed with the environment- the Spirit is alive there.
After church, a lady offered us some traditional food, so we ate up. As if that weren't enough, Robbie took us to the "best steakhouse in town"- Everest Steakhouse. It was here that I ate my first $4.50 fillet mignon. It was wonderful. Unfortunately, Robby forgot to mention that we should order our meat "well-done" instead of "medium". BIG mistake. Greg and I both payed for that one steak for the next few days- Greg more severely than I. Robby later apologized when he realized that our stomachs could not handle undercooked Nepali beef.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
VARANASSI --> KATHMANDU
TRAIN TO GHORAKPUR
The "3 Musketeers" boarded the night train from Varanassi to Gorakhpur, India- near the border of Nepal. After getting on the wrong cab (with about 1.7 million Indians inside, and an average temperature approaching 180 degrees F), we realized that we had bought FIRST CLASS seats. This meant, although we had no air conditioning, and no glass in the windows, we had our own private room. Private, that is, until during the middle of the night, when random Indian dudes would jar open the closed door that refused to lock, hop onto the top bunk, and sleep for 2 hours. This happened a few times during the night. The 3 of us were each too tired to care- or at least too tired to fully recognize what was transpiring within our private room.
COULD I DISCUSS JESUS ON A TRAIN, SAM I AM? YES YOU COULD, GREEN EGGS AND HAM
Before we went off to bed, Greg, Stephano and I had a wonderful conversation about each of our faiths. Stephano explained his search for faith and Greg and I got to talk about our faith in Jesus. It was a respectful and uplifiting conversation. We got to hear about Stephano's struggles with the church, having grown up in a Catholic home, and why he believes that Buddhism is a better fit for his life. Greg and I explained why we believe Jesus is the truth, and how we have each come to trust in that truth. I tried to explain that faith in Jesus does equate to some static, ritual-based dogmatic creed, but that it is a wibderfully adventurour, personal relationship with the living God. Even though not all Christians exhibit this truth in their lives, that does not disprove the truth of the Bible. At one point, Stephano just flatly asked: "So how do I get to Jesus without all this other church stuff?" It was a profound question. I find myself asking the same thing- when I see the inconsistencies between the Jesus of the Bible and the Jesus professed by many Christians. Sometimes there is a disparity. Stephano saw how attractive the TRUE Jesus is, but how He is often missed by Western culture. We tried to assure Stephano that anyone can, in fact must, come directly to Jesus- without anything else tacked on. Simply Jesus. In the end, it was really just good to hear where Stephano was coming from, and hear his thought process on these important and all-too-easily dismissed topics.
In the morning, we arrived to the sun gently streaking across the north-Indian countryside. It was beautiful. Soon after, we arrived. Transferring directly onto the adventurously ghetto local bus, we rode for the next 2 hours to the border of Nepal. Grabbing a quick breakfast at the border town then passing through border control, we approached the sign. The long-awaited sign. "Welcome to Nepal", it read. It was liberating walking across that border- out of India and into Nepal. Immediately, the air was fresher, the grass greener, the people more friendly, and most importantly, mush less cow shit.
NEPALI MINI BUS
As we had only been traveling for 12 hours at this point, we knew we couldn't be nearly done. And in fact, we were right. We boarded a Nepali mini-bus for Kathmandu: a 1970's Eurovan meant to hold 8 that in fact held 16 of us. There were 4 in each row that should have been either 2 or 3, depending on the row. I believe they added in an extra row somehow as well. It defied the general principles of physics. Einstein would have been baffled by this minibus.
The 3 of us rode on with 13 other Nepalis along the bumpy, windy road for the next 10 hours. And then it happened: the driver inserted a CD, and Blink 182's "All the Small Things" came on. At this point I had seen alot, but I NEVER would have guessed I would be driving through the countryside of Nepal with 13 natives, listening to Blink 182 songs from 1999. To be honest, Greg and I sang along. It was too perfect- how could we not? Don't judge.
As we drove, the scenery turned from "incredibly beautiful" to "the most beautiful landscape I had ever seen". Massive green hills diving into a gently winding river, with small hand-crafted homes dotting the rice-pattied hillsides. Narrow pedestrian bridges suspended high over the river, connecting two quiet villages on either side. A girl and her mother carrying a basket full of vegetables across a bridge, and two elderly men talking with eachother on the side of the road, overlooking the river. Every inch was green, save for the river itself. It was serene. It was simple. It was rich.
Though I had about 6 inches too little of leg room, and my knees were in my stomach, I didn't want the drive to end. It was breathtaking. Add to this my iPOD- playing Jon Foreman's albums for both Stephano and myself. It just fit.
Against my wishes, eventually, we did arrive in Kathmandu- around 10:00pm. We hopped into a taxi, and he drove us over to Robbie's house. Robbie and his wife, Leona greeted us out on the street, as they don't have an address- it's just a street. But it worked.
WHAT IS YOUR VISION?
Meeting Robby Rai, like being around Robby Rai in any capacity, was an experience. He was very passive, slow to speak, subdued. He and Leona showed the 3 of us up to our top-floor room, and then Robby sat down to talk with us. He waited a moment for silence, then looked at Stephano and asked, "Brother Stephano, what is your vision?" I couldn't believe it. He didn't ask Greg or me anything, just out of nowhere asked Stephano to share his vision with us all. Stephano gave a fine answer, but it was so unlike any other first interaction with another person I had experienced.
We went to bed that night excited to finally be in Kathmandu- glad to be in a place where we didn't have to pack up and leave the next day. Needless to say, we slept well.
Thank you God!
The "3 Musketeers" boarded the night train from Varanassi to Gorakhpur, India- near the border of Nepal. After getting on the wrong cab (with about 1.7 million Indians inside, and an average temperature approaching 180 degrees F), we realized that we had bought FIRST CLASS seats. This meant, although we had no air conditioning, and no glass in the windows, we had our own private room. Private, that is, until during the middle of the night, when random Indian dudes would jar open the closed door that refused to lock, hop onto the top bunk, and sleep for 2 hours. This happened a few times during the night. The 3 of us were each too tired to care- or at least too tired to fully recognize what was transpiring within our private room.
COULD I DISCUSS JESUS ON A TRAIN, SAM I AM? YES YOU COULD, GREEN EGGS AND HAM
Before we went off to bed, Greg, Stephano and I had a wonderful conversation about each of our faiths. Stephano explained his search for faith and Greg and I got to talk about our faith in Jesus. It was a respectful and uplifiting conversation. We got to hear about Stephano's struggles with the church, having grown up in a Catholic home, and why he believes that Buddhism is a better fit for his life. Greg and I explained why we believe Jesus is the truth, and how we have each come to trust in that truth. I tried to explain that faith in Jesus does equate to some static, ritual-based dogmatic creed, but that it is a wibderfully adventurour, personal relationship with the living God. Even though not all Christians exhibit this truth in their lives, that does not disprove the truth of the Bible. At one point, Stephano just flatly asked: "So how do I get to Jesus without all this other church stuff?" It was a profound question. I find myself asking the same thing- when I see the inconsistencies between the Jesus of the Bible and the Jesus professed by many Christians. Sometimes there is a disparity. Stephano saw how attractive the TRUE Jesus is, but how He is often missed by Western culture. We tried to assure Stephano that anyone can, in fact must, come directly to Jesus- without anything else tacked on. Simply Jesus. In the end, it was really just good to hear where Stephano was coming from, and hear his thought process on these important and all-too-easily dismissed topics.
In the morning, we arrived to the sun gently streaking across the north-Indian countryside. It was beautiful. Soon after, we arrived. Transferring directly onto the adventurously ghetto local bus, we rode for the next 2 hours to the border of Nepal. Grabbing a quick breakfast at the border town then passing through border control, we approached the sign. The long-awaited sign. "Welcome to Nepal", it read. It was liberating walking across that border- out of India and into Nepal. Immediately, the air was fresher, the grass greener, the people more friendly, and most importantly, mush less cow shit.
NEPALI MINI BUS
As we had only been traveling for 12 hours at this point, we knew we couldn't be nearly done. And in fact, we were right. We boarded a Nepali mini-bus for Kathmandu: a 1970's Eurovan meant to hold 8 that in fact held 16 of us. There were 4 in each row that should have been either 2 or 3, depending on the row. I believe they added in an extra row somehow as well. It defied the general principles of physics. Einstein would have been baffled by this minibus.
The 3 of us rode on with 13 other Nepalis along the bumpy, windy road for the next 10 hours. And then it happened: the driver inserted a CD, and Blink 182's "All the Small Things" came on. At this point I had seen alot, but I NEVER would have guessed I would be driving through the countryside of Nepal with 13 natives, listening to Blink 182 songs from 1999. To be honest, Greg and I sang along. It was too perfect- how could we not? Don't judge.
As we drove, the scenery turned from "incredibly beautiful" to "the most beautiful landscape I had ever seen". Massive green hills diving into a gently winding river, with small hand-crafted homes dotting the rice-pattied hillsides. Narrow pedestrian bridges suspended high over the river, connecting two quiet villages on either side. A girl and her mother carrying a basket full of vegetables across a bridge, and two elderly men talking with eachother on the side of the road, overlooking the river. Every inch was green, save for the river itself. It was serene. It was simple. It was rich.
Though I had about 6 inches too little of leg room, and my knees were in my stomach, I didn't want the drive to end. It was breathtaking. Add to this my iPOD- playing Jon Foreman's albums for both Stephano and myself. It just fit.
Against my wishes, eventually, we did arrive in Kathmandu- around 10:00pm. We hopped into a taxi, and he drove us over to Robbie's house. Robbie and his wife, Leona greeted us out on the street, as they don't have an address- it's just a street. But it worked.
WHAT IS YOUR VISION?
Meeting Robby Rai, like being around Robby Rai in any capacity, was an experience. He was very passive, slow to speak, subdued. He and Leona showed the 3 of us up to our top-floor room, and then Robby sat down to talk with us. He waited a moment for silence, then looked at Stephano and asked, "Brother Stephano, what is your vision?" I couldn't believe it. He didn't ask Greg or me anything, just out of nowhere asked Stephano to share his vision with us all. Stephano gave a fine answer, but it was so unlike any other first interaction with another person I had experienced.
We went to bed that night excited to finally be in Kathmandu- glad to be in a place where we didn't have to pack up and leave the next day. Needless to say, we slept well.
Thank you God!
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
VARANASTY: DAY 2
As there was no possible way to survive a repeat of Varanassi: Day 1, we planned a much different day for ourselves. It began with a leisurely breakfast at the hotel (with a round of Lassis), and ended with us hurriedly boarding a tuk tuk, as we were nearly late for our valuable appointment to teach children English at the local elementary school. Clearly stating our destination, the German Bakery (next to the school), the driver nodded and we were off.... for about 1/3 as long as we should have been. Once the driver had driven about as far as he had decided to drive, he just stopped- telling us in broken english to get out. "We're not even close", we replied in unision. "No go further. Traffic. You walk", was the response. Believing it was not too far a walk, we set off- frustrated, but with high hopes for the teaching experience.
IT GONNA RAIN!
That's when it rained on our parade. Figuratively, and had we possessed a parade, literally. Cuz it started pouring. And I don't mean California pouring. I mean middle-of-tropical-monsoon-season-gnarly-national-geographic-flood-pouring. And our wonderful tuk-tuk driver had just dropped us off in the middle-of-God-knows-where Varanassi. We walked. And walked. My clothes got to the point where, had I fully immersed myself in a pool of water, I would have been more dry. Large puddles roughly the size of Iowa began to form in the prominent and numerous potholes spotting the streets. To our wonderment, we all realized that all of the "Holy Shit" from the thousands of cows (reincarnated human beings) walking the streets was breaking down and flowing into the massive puddles we were walking through. Mmmmm! There was not much else to do but laugh at the situation we were in. As we walked, laugher brewed into frustration- and frustration brewed into us hailing a second tuk tuk. The "fabulous four" (Jessie, Stephano, Greg and myself) piled into the tuk tuk, explaining once again that we had to go to the "German Bakery". We were already 20 minutes late for our teaching arrangement, so time was of the essence. We made that known.
Racing through the poop-water streets, our nimbly evaded everything except for the poop-filled puddles- which splashed up all around us. We didn't care. It was an adventure.
A BAKERY BY ANY OTHER NAME...
After 10 minutes, we arrived at a bakery. Apparently, our driver knew the word "bakery". The problem was, it wasn't even close to the "German Bakery"- neither in name, or in location. At this point we were 30 minutes tardy for our own class, lost in a monsoon poop-rain, completely soakingly wet, and outside a cozily inviting bakery. The choice was obvious: ditch the kids.
No, that wasn't the actual thing we were thinking, but getting to the school at this point was hopeless. For whatever reason, God had not made our path straight to get to the school. So we made the best of it.
The remainder of the afternoon consisted of drying off, relaxing, eating delightful food, drinking wonderful chai tea, and playing some serious matches of 2-on-2 chess with a travel set that Greg had bought. It was beautiful- and intellectually stimulating.
THE GANGES 2.0: NOT THAT UNPLEASANT
After 4 hours of chess (2 games), we decided it was time to move on. Jessie had to hop on the train back to Delhi in a few hours. Against all odds, we set out on a final tour of the waterfront of Varanassi- along the infamously disease-ridden Ganges. We made certain to stay far south of the body-burning section, and found the walk along the river surprisingly charming. Beautiful, broad stone walkway, cascading with stairways down to the river. Had I not been aware of the scene just a few hundred yards up the river, I would have regarded the area as "pleasant".
And JUST as we were enjoying the sunset amidst dramatically dark blue clouds overhead, our new-found comrade, a 12-year-old street peddling kid prophesied that it would "rain in 15 minutes". Sure enough, 15 minutes later, to the second, it began pouring. Again.
By this point, we were pros. We ran through poop-filled puddles quickly and nimbly- like a herd of gazelles running amidst the spring rains of the Serengeti. We ran through narrow streets of houses and past families with children greeting us with smiles and shouts of "Hello!". It was wonderful. We emerged out of the narrow network of alleyways and onto the main "boulevard"- flagging down a tuk-tuk for our return to the hotel.
BREAKING UP THE FAB FOUR?
Back at the hotel, we cleaned up and shared our final meal together (a few King Fisher beers and some appetizers) at the hotel bar. It was surreal that we had known eachother for so short a time, yet had become so close- and now our group of four was splitting off.
We walked out and said our goodbyes (or so Jessie thought), and saw Jessie off in her taxi. Stephano, Greg, and I went back to the bar, and then realized that we couldn't just sit there. We were a unit. The three of us "dudes" agreed to hire a tuk-tuk to drive us to the train station to see Jessie off properly. We hopped into the tuk-tuk, and were about to take off, when a tall Indian man with a big shotgun walked up next to me and just stared at me. I had NO idea what was going on. I asked the driver to leave. We didn't move. Once again, more intenseley, I told the driver to leave. The man stared me down. I was honestly scared. We pulled off, leaving the creepiest man on earth in our Indian dust.
We arrived a few minutes later at the train station, and hopped over the masses and masses of people lying on the floor of the station and platform. Luckily, we had practice with this, as we had been in this situation before. But this was the most people laying everywhere I had ever witnessed. I mean, nearly every square inch of floor space was people.
FINAL FAREWELL
We carefully hopped our way to the platform where Jessie's train was stalled, waiting to leave. The three of us ran down the length of the trian, looking into each car to see if we could spot her. We got to the very end, and had missed her. Figuring we wouldn't be able to find her at this point, we walked back. All of a sudden I spotted her in one of the cars. We slammed a "We Heart Jessica" makeshift paper sign to the rainy window of the train, and she looked up. It was awesome.
We met Jessie on the outside of her car, and said our final, proper, goodbyes. We were all much more satisfied. Then the train began to take off. Stephano and I ran alongside the moving train, while Greg literally held on to the stairway. As the platform disappeared, Greg hopped off and we stopped running. It was rad.
FARE THEE WELL, VARANASSI!
Our ride back in the tuk-tuk was fun- we got to pick up a policeman who forced himself into our vehicle against our will, without a word, and without a rupee. I guess that's how it works- cops ride free whenever they want.
We packed up the rest of our belongings back at the hotel, caught a bit of the "Michael Jackson Funeral Showcase", and were off. Back to the train station, onto our train without a hitch.
Goodbye Varanassi. Hopefully I will not be visiting you anytime soon. But may God bless you nonetheless.
Monday, July 6, 2009
VARANASTY
Hello. This is Matthew Ridenour. You may remember as the chief editor of such blogs as "Matthew Heads East". I know I haven't updated much of anything as of late- but don't think I've forgotten my mission. I FULLY intend to "stay the course". Unfortunately (or fortunately) I have been out of internet's reach for the majority of the last 2 weeks- attributing to the lack of posts. So if you failed to receive a reply to an email you sent to me, please understand it is nothing personal. It just means that your email may have been slightly less important than the others I had to tend to with a limited amount of time.
I will now attempt to pick up where I left off- back into the chronological format that we all know, love, and warmly embrace. Cheers!
AGRA, INDIA: CITY OF TAJ
Where did I leave off? Oh yes! The Taj Mahal. As we rejoin our two bold heroes, we find them entrenched deep within the throes of a new and unfamiliar society....
Basically, Greg and I left the Taj around 8am and had about 12 hours to kill before our train left, in a city KNOWN the world over for its crappiness. Seriously. And literally. There's cow crap everywhere. Manu decided to take us to "Mac-D's" for some lunch in an air conditioned, nearly sanitary space. I got a McVeg Puff. Not sure what it was... just ordered because it sounded the funniest to say. We then toured the "mall" of 12 or so retail stores, and then went back to the hotel to chill out before dinner, as neither of us felt particularly healthy.
PIZZA HUT: THE FLAWLESS RINGING BELL SYSTEM
Knowing that we had reached the inevitable "last supper" with Manu, we let him decide where to eat. "Pizza Hut". The decision was clear.
Pizza Hut in India has all the classic pizzas: the "Chicken Masala Munch", "Veggie Delight", and of course, "Hawaiian". The meal was truly very tasty, and we all left shaking the Pizza Hut "ringing bell"- installed to allow the customer to make the appropriate amount of noise relative to their perceived quality of experience. Ring the bell violently = Best meal ever. Ring the bell timidly = Enjoyable. Don't ring bell = The cook spit in my masala munch pizza. The "ringing bell" system is much more effective than telling the waiter that you appreciated his service. Or giving him a tip.
After dinner, it was off to the train station. We bid Manu "Adieu" over near tears (Greg only), and were off to wait for the night train to Varanassi. Amidst the 26,000 Indians laying all over the station floors, we managed to find a group of lost-looking foreigners much like ourselves. Enter: MAGIC!
NIGHT TRAIN: AGRA --> VARANASSI
This is the point at which we met our 2 other travel buddies: Jessica (Jerry Bruckheimer's personal flight attendant from Orange County) and Stephano (Brazilian working in Brussels as Portuguese translator for the European Union). The 4 of us were a match made in heaven.
We boarded the train, and Jessie, Greg, and I were in the same room (along with 2 Canadians and an Indian family of about 16). We had a great time talking about California, hearing about Jessie's travel solo from South Africa to Turkey overland for over a year, hearing about flying in airplanes with Jerry Bruckheimer.... normal conversation stuff.
Soon enough, we were all best friends, and before we knew it we had arrived in Varanassi in the morning.
VARANASSI? MORE LIKE VARANASTY.
Jessie, Stephano, Greg and I left the station for a hotel completely unprepared for what lay ahead. After checking in and eating, it was time to go down to the Ganges River. Our hotel was 5km from the river, and being the unassuming foreigners we were, we decided to walk. Bad, yet adventurous idea. After over an hour of walking the dirt road in 95 degree heat and asking (with minimal success) every 5 minutes for directions, we eventually arrived at a street bazaar area. Jessie proceeded to buy souvenirs from nearly every shop owner and his cousin, while the rest of us were forced to continually deny the ever-present and blatantly forceful carpet seller and his cousin. Pushing our way through the bazaar, we moved on to the next stage in our journey: assailed by irresistably cute schoolchildren wanting their picture taken, then asking me to buy them candy for the picture. "Oh, no- that will rot your teeth." Narrowly escaped that one.
The final and most challenging stage: getting by the dozens of "Holy Cows" and their "Holy Shit" while winding through the confusing network of narrow stone streets. During this difficult stage, we regrettably lost a few members of our ourfit to the "holy shit". By this point, only Stephano and I could continue on to the witness the glory of the Ganges unscathed. And eventually, we arrived. The mighty Ganges- the Hindu Spiritual Mecca where dead bodies are publicly cremated.
DEAD BODY MANAGER WANTED!
We were immediately greeted by an informational "tour guide" who explained the scene before us. He was of the "untouchable" caste, and introduced himself as the "Dead Body Manager". To which I replied, "Do you put that on a Resume?" He didn't get it.
Essentially, a group of 8 men will carry a freshly dead body (wrapped in a white bag and decorated with flowers) down to the river, purchase a bundle of logs from the certified Hindu body-burning log vendor, perform a ceremony over the body in the Ganges, place the body on the logs, and light the logs on fire. As this transpires, boys immersed in the water beside the dead bodies and ashes will search for jewelry that may have fallen off the dead bodies.
Apparently, those who can't afford logs may opt to simply put the body on a boat and send it down the river in hopes that the gods will revive the dead person back to life. I asked if anyone had ever come back to life- the dead body manager said "No".
To be honest, I didn't understand the process at all, but that's my take. After the informative session with our very own dead body manager, we attempted to soak in the scene for a second- which proved tough. It was such a heavy experience- the spiritual darkness was tangible. Not only was it spiritually unhealthy, the whole area was completely unsanitary. I refuse to believe that religious practices that completely disregard basic human health are centered in truth. I pray over the area- that the TRUTH of Jesus might come to the people of Varanassi.
DOLPHIN HOTEL: GOOD FOOD AFTER BURNING BODIES
With heavy hearts, we sullenly departed in search of anything else- which brought us to the roof deck of the Dolphin Hotel. The Dolphin Hotel proved to be our little slice of heaven in the midst of craziness all around- the calm in the eye of the storm. We stayed for over 3 hours: enjoying good food, chilled Lassis (yoghurt drink that Stephano drank by the gallon), great conversation, and warm sun with a slight breeze. The experience was made all the better when contrasted from the heaviness of the previous scene. Luckily, we were all able to process it together.
TESTING THE WATERS
We left Dolphin Hotel and continued along the riverwalk towards the "German Bakery". On the way, I decided that I had to at least touch the Ganges river with my feet- just to say I did. Stephano agreed that he would touch it with his hand. No one else stepped up for the potentially fatal challenge. I approached the dead-man's-ash-carpeted water a bit nervous, but concious of the goal ahead. The thought did occur to me that I could accrue a gnarly foot disease from this stunt, but I pushed it aside. I waded out. Not bad. And to this day, no foot disease. Take THAT, Ganges!
We continued and came to some city steps where we met a man, Pasha: absolute skin and bones, in his seventies, begging for food. Jessie and I sat down on the steps with him and we began to talk. He explained how he had no food and had a number of medical conditions. Greg ran off to get him some food while I conversed with Pasha. It was heart-wrenching to hear his story- void of hope for a fuller life. However, by the time we had chatted for 10 minutes and fed him some good Rice pudding and a Chewy Granola bar I still had in my bag, he was all smiles- praising Lord Shiva. It was beautiful. Pasha asked where I would be traveling next: "Nepal and Calcutta", I answered. His face lit up, and his toothless mouth formed a smile: "Calcutta? I grew up there! I could be your tour guide! Take me with you!" The thought did cross my mind of just taking him along for the rest of the journey- but in the end, sweet as Pasha was, two American twenty-somethings transporting a 75-year-old malnutritioned Indian through the mountains of Nepal would most likely be a logistical nightmare. Politely, I declined Pasha's sweet, but difficult-to-execute offer.
HOLY SHIT!
Wishing Pasha all of God's blessings, the group left and made our way to the German Bakery to enjoy some upstairs "Houkka Lounge" style relaxing. After an hour we once again braved the "Holy Shit" stained streets of Varanassi to witness a "big deal" Hindu ceremony on the banks of the Ganges. On the way, the inevitable occured. I stepped in it. It. Yeah. It. I yelled out "Shit!" as if someone had inquired as to what I had stepped into. A young Indian man turned to console me: "No, it's good. It's a Holy Blessing- it comes from the Holy Cow." "Uhm... you're kidding, right?" I asked. "No, really, it's a blessing. Good luck", was his response. "I'm sorry, but this bull here does not make HOLY shit" I told him, pointing at a bull next to me. And I kid you not: immediately after I finished that sentence, the Holy Bull lunged with its full body at me. Luckily, I evaded him and ran up a few steps to safety, but it was close and totally unexpected. I guess the bull taught me a lesson.
We arrived at the ceremony and once again, our entire group was lost the entire time... but at least this ritual was not conducive to uncontrollable vomitting. Essentiially, 6 young men each stood up on separate platforms and held different gold vases or lit metal objects on fire and waved them around in synchronization. This went on for an hour and a half... and when we looked around and realized that literally NO westerner spectators were left in the crowd besides ourselves, and given the fact that we had NO understanding of anything we were watching, we decided head back to the hotel to beat the crowd.
BEATING THE CROWD
Unfortunately in India, you can't "beat the crowd". The entire country IS a crowd. If you want to beat the crowd you have to buy a plane ticket from Delhi to Des Moines, Iowa. Our small group of four quickly found ourselves trapped in the middle of the most insane amount of people moving through the streets of Varanassi I could possibly imagine. For us, the experience was comparable to a 5th grade schoolgroup traveling from Romania being dropped into the middle of San Francisco's Gay Pride parade. We were lost, a bit confused, and didn't know if we were gonna make it out.
Eventually (THANK GOD!) we found a Rickshaw that we all piled into- embarking upon the most wild rickshaw drive of my life. Narrowly avoiding masses of Indians people, Holy Cows, dogs, other rickshaws, bicyclists... the list goes on- and at the same time maintaining a pace with which you would have believed we were filming the Bollywood version of the Keanu Reeve's classic "Speed", I clung on tightly while being very impressed. Our driver managed not only to expertly weave through every obstacle, but also to pick up various "buddies" or "cousins" of his along the way.
And as we were just getting near to the hotel, of course, the rickshaw's tire blew out. AWESOME! We pulled off, and the driver informed us we would no longer be riding with him. DOUBLE AWESOME! We began walking... unsure exactly of where we were going. After a few minutes, another Rickshaw approached us and we hopped in, arriving safely back at the hotel. Phew!
At the hotel, the four of us ate dinner and debriefed about the day. There was ALOT of disbelief mentioned, as well as some good laughs. We all concluded that it was the most all-around intense day in recent memory. Oh, Varanassi!
I will now attempt to pick up where I left off- back into the chronological format that we all know, love, and warmly embrace. Cheers!
AGRA, INDIA: CITY OF TAJ
Where did I leave off? Oh yes! The Taj Mahal. As we rejoin our two bold heroes, we find them entrenched deep within the throes of a new and unfamiliar society....
Basically, Greg and I left the Taj around 8am and had about 12 hours to kill before our train left, in a city KNOWN the world over for its crappiness. Seriously. And literally. There's cow crap everywhere. Manu decided to take us to "Mac-D's" for some lunch in an air conditioned, nearly sanitary space. I got a McVeg Puff. Not sure what it was... just ordered because it sounded the funniest to say. We then toured the "mall" of 12 or so retail stores, and then went back to the hotel to chill out before dinner, as neither of us felt particularly healthy.
PIZZA HUT: THE FLAWLESS RINGING BELL SYSTEM
Knowing that we had reached the inevitable "last supper" with Manu, we let him decide where to eat. "Pizza Hut". The decision was clear.
Pizza Hut in India has all the classic pizzas: the "Chicken Masala Munch", "Veggie Delight", and of course, "Hawaiian". The meal was truly very tasty, and we all left shaking the Pizza Hut "ringing bell"- installed to allow the customer to make the appropriate amount of noise relative to their perceived quality of experience. Ring the bell violently = Best meal ever. Ring the bell timidly = Enjoyable. Don't ring bell = The cook spit in my masala munch pizza. The "ringing bell" system is much more effective than telling the waiter that you appreciated his service. Or giving him a tip.
After dinner, it was off to the train station. We bid Manu "Adieu" over near tears (Greg only), and were off to wait for the night train to Varanassi. Amidst the 26,000 Indians laying all over the station floors, we managed to find a group of lost-looking foreigners much like ourselves. Enter: MAGIC!
NIGHT TRAIN: AGRA --> VARANASSI
This is the point at which we met our 2 other travel buddies: Jessica (Jerry Bruckheimer's personal flight attendant from Orange County) and Stephano (Brazilian working in Brussels as Portuguese translator for the European Union). The 4 of us were a match made in heaven.
We boarded the train, and Jessie, Greg, and I were in the same room (along with 2 Canadians and an Indian family of about 16). We had a great time talking about California, hearing about Jessie's travel solo from South Africa to Turkey overland for over a year, hearing about flying in airplanes with Jerry Bruckheimer.... normal conversation stuff.
Soon enough, we were all best friends, and before we knew it we had arrived in Varanassi in the morning.
VARANASSI? MORE LIKE VARANASTY.
Jessie, Stephano, Greg and I left the station for a hotel completely unprepared for what lay ahead. After checking in and eating, it was time to go down to the Ganges River. Our hotel was 5km from the river, and being the unassuming foreigners we were, we decided to walk. Bad, yet adventurous idea. After over an hour of walking the dirt road in 95 degree heat and asking (with minimal success) every 5 minutes for directions, we eventually arrived at a street bazaar area. Jessie proceeded to buy souvenirs from nearly every shop owner and his cousin, while the rest of us were forced to continually deny the ever-present and blatantly forceful carpet seller and his cousin. Pushing our way through the bazaar, we moved on to the next stage in our journey: assailed by irresistably cute schoolchildren wanting their picture taken, then asking me to buy them candy for the picture. "Oh, no- that will rot your teeth." Narrowly escaped that one.
The final and most challenging stage: getting by the dozens of "Holy Cows" and their "Holy Shit" while winding through the confusing network of narrow stone streets. During this difficult stage, we regrettably lost a few members of our ourfit to the "holy shit". By this point, only Stephano and I could continue on to the witness the glory of the Ganges unscathed. And eventually, we arrived. The mighty Ganges- the Hindu Spiritual Mecca where dead bodies are publicly cremated.
DEAD BODY MANAGER WANTED!
We were immediately greeted by an informational "tour guide" who explained the scene before us. He was of the "untouchable" caste, and introduced himself as the "Dead Body Manager". To which I replied, "Do you put that on a Resume?" He didn't get it.
Essentially, a group of 8 men will carry a freshly dead body (wrapped in a white bag and decorated with flowers) down to the river, purchase a bundle of logs from the certified Hindu body-burning log vendor, perform a ceremony over the body in the Ganges, place the body on the logs, and light the logs on fire. As this transpires, boys immersed in the water beside the dead bodies and ashes will search for jewelry that may have fallen off the dead bodies.
Apparently, those who can't afford logs may opt to simply put the body on a boat and send it down the river in hopes that the gods will revive the dead person back to life. I asked if anyone had ever come back to life- the dead body manager said "No".
To be honest, I didn't understand the process at all, but that's my take. After the informative session with our very own dead body manager, we attempted to soak in the scene for a second- which proved tough. It was such a heavy experience- the spiritual darkness was tangible. Not only was it spiritually unhealthy, the whole area was completely unsanitary. I refuse to believe that religious practices that completely disregard basic human health are centered in truth. I pray over the area- that the TRUTH of Jesus might come to the people of Varanassi.
DOLPHIN HOTEL: GOOD FOOD AFTER BURNING BODIES
With heavy hearts, we sullenly departed in search of anything else- which brought us to the roof deck of the Dolphin Hotel. The Dolphin Hotel proved to be our little slice of heaven in the midst of craziness all around- the calm in the eye of the storm. We stayed for over 3 hours: enjoying good food, chilled Lassis (yoghurt drink that Stephano drank by the gallon), great conversation, and warm sun with a slight breeze. The experience was made all the better when contrasted from the heaviness of the previous scene. Luckily, we were all able to process it together.
TESTING THE WATERS
We left Dolphin Hotel and continued along the riverwalk towards the "German Bakery". On the way, I decided that I had to at least touch the Ganges river with my feet- just to say I did. Stephano agreed that he would touch it with his hand. No one else stepped up for the potentially fatal challenge. I approached the dead-man's-ash-carpeted water a bit nervous, but concious of the goal ahead. The thought did occur to me that I could accrue a gnarly foot disease from this stunt, but I pushed it aside. I waded out. Not bad. And to this day, no foot disease. Take THAT, Ganges!
We continued and came to some city steps where we met a man, Pasha: absolute skin and bones, in his seventies, begging for food. Jessie and I sat down on the steps with him and we began to talk. He explained how he had no food and had a number of medical conditions. Greg ran off to get him some food while I conversed with Pasha. It was heart-wrenching to hear his story- void of hope for a fuller life. However, by the time we had chatted for 10 minutes and fed him some good Rice pudding and a Chewy Granola bar I still had in my bag, he was all smiles- praising Lord Shiva. It was beautiful. Pasha asked where I would be traveling next: "Nepal and Calcutta", I answered. His face lit up, and his toothless mouth formed a smile: "Calcutta? I grew up there! I could be your tour guide! Take me with you!" The thought did cross my mind of just taking him along for the rest of the journey- but in the end, sweet as Pasha was, two American twenty-somethings transporting a 75-year-old malnutritioned Indian through the mountains of Nepal would most likely be a logistical nightmare. Politely, I declined Pasha's sweet, but difficult-to-execute offer.
HOLY SHIT!
Wishing Pasha all of God's blessings, the group left and made our way to the German Bakery to enjoy some upstairs "Houkka Lounge" style relaxing. After an hour we once again braved the "Holy Shit" stained streets of Varanassi to witness a "big deal" Hindu ceremony on the banks of the Ganges. On the way, the inevitable occured. I stepped in it. It. Yeah. It. I yelled out "Shit!" as if someone had inquired as to what I had stepped into. A young Indian man turned to console me: "No, it's good. It's a Holy Blessing- it comes from the Holy Cow." "Uhm... you're kidding, right?" I asked. "No, really, it's a blessing. Good luck", was his response. "I'm sorry, but this bull here does not make HOLY shit" I told him, pointing at a bull next to me. And I kid you not: immediately after I finished that sentence, the Holy Bull lunged with its full body at me. Luckily, I evaded him and ran up a few steps to safety, but it was close and totally unexpected. I guess the bull taught me a lesson.
We arrived at the ceremony and once again, our entire group was lost the entire time... but at least this ritual was not conducive to uncontrollable vomitting. Essentiially, 6 young men each stood up on separate platforms and held different gold vases or lit metal objects on fire and waved them around in synchronization. This went on for an hour and a half... and when we looked around and realized that literally NO westerner spectators were left in the crowd besides ourselves, and given the fact that we had NO understanding of anything we were watching, we decided head back to the hotel to beat the crowd.
BEATING THE CROWD
Unfortunately in India, you can't "beat the crowd". The entire country IS a crowd. If you want to beat the crowd you have to buy a plane ticket from Delhi to Des Moines, Iowa. Our small group of four quickly found ourselves trapped in the middle of the most insane amount of people moving through the streets of Varanassi I could possibly imagine. For us, the experience was comparable to a 5th grade schoolgroup traveling from Romania being dropped into the middle of San Francisco's Gay Pride parade. We were lost, a bit confused, and didn't know if we were gonna make it out.
Eventually (THANK GOD!) we found a Rickshaw that we all piled into- embarking upon the most wild rickshaw drive of my life. Narrowly avoiding masses of Indians people, Holy Cows, dogs, other rickshaws, bicyclists... the list goes on- and at the same time maintaining a pace with which you would have believed we were filming the Bollywood version of the Keanu Reeve's classic "Speed", I clung on tightly while being very impressed. Our driver managed not only to expertly weave through every obstacle, but also to pick up various "buddies" or "cousins" of his along the way.
And as we were just getting near to the hotel, of course, the rickshaw's tire blew out. AWESOME! We pulled off, and the driver informed us we would no longer be riding with him. DOUBLE AWESOME! We began walking... unsure exactly of where we were going. After a few minutes, another Rickshaw approached us and we hopped in, arriving safely back at the hotel. Phew!
At the hotel, the four of us ate dinner and debriefed about the day. There was ALOT of disbelief mentioned, as well as some good laughs. We all concluded that it was the most all-around intense day in recent memory. Oh, Varanassi!
Sunday, July 5, 2009
AGRA
Saturday, 4 July + Sunday, 5 July
JAIPUR JUMBLIES STRIKE!
The next morning I awoke with the bad taste of "Kambakkht Ishq" still in my mouth. I brushed my teeth, and then realized it wasn't just the horrible movie I had seen the previous night- I had come down with a case of the infamous "Jaipur Jumblies". If you have any type of an imagination, you can probably guess that mixing poorly cooked Curry Chicken with 100 degree heat in the middle of a country where cows and people both relieve themselves in creative ways all over every street translates into a wild ride for anyone's insides. The "Jaipur Jumblies" hit and I was out for the night and the next day, and then the next. In fact, Greg got a good case of them as well. Cuz that's what brothers do.
ON THE ROAD AGAIN...
Jaipur Jumblies and all, we piled into the Tata and drove on our way to Agra, home of the Taj Mahal. I tried to sleep the whole car ride, but it was rough. We arrived at a huge mosque on the way that we toured around with a local kid as our guide, but it was tough to enjoy with my stomach in the state it was, and with a constant barrage of sellers trying to get me to buy the same wooden chess set. Good news: Greg and I were given some sweet shawls to wear over our shorts, as only long pants were allowed- which made for some good pictures.
In the late afternoon, we arrived at Agra, checked in, and I checked out. I passed out for a few hours on the bed, and eventually Greg and I went to pick up dinner- I could only eat a small amount of egg fried rice. Then it was back off to bed again- big day in the morning.
TAJ MAHAL + AMERICA'S FREEDOM
We awoke at 5:30am to meet the sunrise over the Taj Mahal. This was a wise decision. Not only were there barely any people, the lighting was incredible for photographing the Taj, and it wasn't yet 300 degrees in the shade. In order to showcase our patriotism, and to bring glory to the shining beacon of democracy that is known as "THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA", Greg and I both dressed in three colors, and three colors only. Red, White, and Blue. Little did we know, these were also the colors of France, England, Cambodia, Nepal, and many others. But America is the most important anyways. Though the date was July 5 for us, we were intent on celebrating July 4 on American time- not Indian time.
We were met by the same mass of kids selling stuff, but it was manageable this time. We payed our $17/ticket (compared to $0.50 for Indians) entrance fee and were on our way. And it was unreal. The view of the Taj from the entrance arch is indescribable- it's a real life postcard. I could have stayed there for hours. But we had to press on. The form and construction of the Taj is impeccable- especially the perfectly shaped dome on top. The building has such a prominent presence- standing proudly as if it knows it's marvelous. It was totally beautiful.
The inside was underwhelming. I was expecting a grand interior space, and it's not. The roof is much lower than I had anticipated, the tomb in the center keeps visitors from experiencing the space, and the peripheral interior rooms eat out much of the main central space. But the outside is incredible.
After walking the complex for nearly 2 hours, we chilled out in front, and after a while we had a group of followers who wanted cell phone pictures with us. We agreed- if we could take a picture with our camera as well. By the time we took the shot, a posse of 15 smiling Indian dudes were standing in the picture. I tried, without sucess, to get everyone to say "AMERICA!" when we took the picture. Maybe next time.
SO thankful I got to see the Taj Mahal. A total experience.
JAIPUR JUMBLIES STRIKE!
The next morning I awoke with the bad taste of "Kambakkht Ishq" still in my mouth. I brushed my teeth, and then realized it wasn't just the horrible movie I had seen the previous night- I had come down with a case of the infamous "Jaipur Jumblies". If you have any type of an imagination, you can probably guess that mixing poorly cooked Curry Chicken with 100 degree heat in the middle of a country where cows and people both relieve themselves in creative ways all over every street translates into a wild ride for anyone's insides. The "Jaipur Jumblies" hit and I was out for the night and the next day, and then the next. In fact, Greg got a good case of them as well. Cuz that's what brothers do.
ON THE ROAD AGAIN...
Jaipur Jumblies and all, we piled into the Tata and drove on our way to Agra, home of the Taj Mahal. I tried to sleep the whole car ride, but it was rough. We arrived at a huge mosque on the way that we toured around with a local kid as our guide, but it was tough to enjoy with my stomach in the state it was, and with a constant barrage of sellers trying to get me to buy the same wooden chess set. Good news: Greg and I were given some sweet shawls to wear over our shorts, as only long pants were allowed- which made for some good pictures.
In the late afternoon, we arrived at Agra, checked in, and I checked out. I passed out for a few hours on the bed, and eventually Greg and I went to pick up dinner- I could only eat a small amount of egg fried rice. Then it was back off to bed again- big day in the morning.
TAJ MAHAL + AMERICA'S FREEDOM
We awoke at 5:30am to meet the sunrise over the Taj Mahal. This was a wise decision. Not only were there barely any people, the lighting was incredible for photographing the Taj, and it wasn't yet 300 degrees in the shade. In order to showcase our patriotism, and to bring glory to the shining beacon of democracy that is known as "THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA", Greg and I both dressed in three colors, and three colors only. Red, White, and Blue. Little did we know, these were also the colors of France, England, Cambodia, Nepal, and many others. But America is the most important anyways. Though the date was July 5 for us, we were intent on celebrating July 4 on American time- not Indian time.
We were met by the same mass of kids selling stuff, but it was manageable this time. We payed our $17/ticket (compared to $0.50 for Indians) entrance fee and were on our way. And it was unreal. The view of the Taj from the entrance arch is indescribable- it's a real life postcard. I could have stayed there for hours. But we had to press on. The form and construction of the Taj is impeccable- especially the perfectly shaped dome on top. The building has such a prominent presence- standing proudly as if it knows it's marvelous. It was totally beautiful.
The inside was underwhelming. I was expecting a grand interior space, and it's not. The roof is much lower than I had anticipated, the tomb in the center keeps visitors from experiencing the space, and the peripheral interior rooms eat out much of the main central space. But the outside is incredible.
After walking the complex for nearly 2 hours, we chilled out in front, and after a while we had a group of followers who wanted cell phone pictures with us. We agreed- if we could take a picture with our camera as well. By the time we took the shot, a posse of 15 smiling Indian dudes were standing in the picture. I tried, without sucess, to get everyone to say "AMERICA!" when we took the picture. Maybe next time.
SO thankful I got to see the Taj Mahal. A total experience.
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