One thing that stinks about travelling in a place like India is that everyone speaks English, but almost nobody speaks it well. Therefore, they don't really humor my Hindi, and I have to repeat myself at least 4 or 5 times before anyone can fully understand me in English. The funny thing is, I don't have to repeat it slower. I just have to repeat it rapid fire a few times. This strange custom made the purchase of my Bangalore-Mangalore train quite an entertaining endeavor.


Anyway, lots to update. From my train, I got into Goa state fine, but managed to oversleep and pass my stop for Anjuna. I ended up in South Goa instead, so I just made my way to Benaulim, a beach recommended in Rough Guide, and for good reason. Just look.

I spent a couple days there hanging out and listening attentively while a bunch of local boys tried to educate me on the finer points of cricket.... but all I walked away with was the knowledge that it was a sport that did not involve mallets, and that I would probably never watch with any genuine interest... oh, and also this photo. The horizon isn't straight, but I thought it looked cool. Also, the cricketers couldn't wait to show off for the camera.

From there, I made my way to Anjuna in the north- known to be one of Goa's top party spots. For everyone who knows me at home, I think it would surprise you to know that until I reached then, I hadn't partied almost at all (and in fact, hadn't had an alcoholic drink) since my birthday in Tel Aviv. It was nearly 2 months without any booze, and it felt almost nice--- my body felt great and my pocketbook felt even better... the only part of me that felt horrible was my soul, which was slowly dying day by day. Goa fixed that.

On the way, I met a cute Aussie couple whose photo I'll post here. Poppy and Tom had been traveling for near 21 months when I met them. What makes this particular pair remarkable is that after all that time on the road, they didn't seem at all blasé to places or people. Each place was still interesting and unique, and each person was still worth getting to know, even if it was clear the relationship would only last a day or two. They were even nice to touts. I don't mean nice in the, "No, thank you" kind of way, which frequently becomes automatic... but nice in the, "It's lovely... but I don't think I'm interested... thanks for showing me though!" way. How odd! Anyway, in the Aussie tradition, they drank and partied super hard, and we had a ball until near the end of the first week of Dec, when they left for Mumbai, and I ventured south to Gokarna, Karnataka.

I'm not going to write a lot about Gokarna except to say that it was paradise. That's basically it.

From Gokarna, I was off for Hampi, where I spent 4 days or so doing yoga, relaxing, and taking photos like this one. My sweet German anarchist friend is quite the photographer. Look at how long my legs look! I hung out for a few days with an entertaining mix of Dutch, German, and Finnish folk before I started to get ants in my pants. I left for Mysore shortly thereafter.

I'm going to wait to write about Mysore, since I'm not sure if my recent intestinal drama can be blamed on my street fish there, or whether it's something else. All I'm going to say is that I'm glad I didn't know anyone in the city for a few days. I was in pretty sorry condition.

Anyway, I came back to Hampi shortly thereafter and think I will be here for a day or two more before going BACK to Anjuna for some holiday merry-making. Let me leave off this post (and perhaps the year of 2009) with this photo.


Merry Christmas everyone~!

I don't think anyone else will have any interest in reading this, but I wanted to record it for my own sake...

I was laying in bed this morning trying to go back to sleep, (which was impossible because it's so damn hot, but if I use the fan, it oscillates WAAAAAY too quickly, and I'm afraid that it's just going to fly right off and chop me to pieces...) and I was thinking that I'm too hung over to do anything properly today, but that I'd be bored if I just laid around. Then, I remembered this guy named Tim I met in Maderas, Nicaragua, who said something I found funny at the time, but have remembered ever since with increasing fondness. He said something like "Some people aren't meant to do a lot with their lives. I think I'm one of those people. I'm never bored~ I'm always happy wherever I am." Then I remembered how he would hang out at Maderas doing nothing but sitting with his boombox, listening to music and whistling and having a ball just sitting there... like, all day... no joke.

Tim spent a combined total of a year at that 2 restaurant, one hostel "town" in southern Nicaragua, and was so content just fishing and surfing and listening to his boombox every day~ and even though I didn't know him all that well~ I think the image of him on that bench listening to Jo Manji's "Beyond the Sunset" and whistling will stay with me forever.

I'm here at 8 months, and I'm reflecting on all the people I've met and realizing that the world is fucking awesome. People are funny and interesting and moving and unpredictable, and no matter who you're with- you can always have fun if you've got the right attitude. I spent the whole morning just dicking around and comparing white hairs with the Nepali guys at my hotel and having a ball doing it (even though the hairs are coming in with increasing frequency), and even though I get homesick sometimes~ I'm the happiest I've ever been in my life.

Anyway, that's all I wanted to record. When you have those moments where you look at your life and think about how god damn lucky you are to have the things that you do, it's important to remember it.

This blog is turning all crappy.

I haven't been organized enough to put down a decent entry in months, so I'll try now, even though my tummy is feeling all fluttery. I wish it would just turn into full on food-poisoning. This half and half nonsense isn't working out.


Anyway, I left Rishikesh about a week and a half ago- originally intending to go to Manali, but somehow ending up in Delhi instead. It actually didn't matter too much WHERE I was going as long as it was somewhere warm with a lower concentration of hippies. I also wanted to go somewhere where I could continue to study Hindi. My teacher in Rishikesh was really quite good, and cheap as well- but he started taking to kissing my face when I understood a concept quickly, which was set off my creepy old man siren. Is this an Indian custom I don't know about? Was curling up and running away culturally insensitive of me? I never know. Anyway, here's a picture of the Ganges river at sunset. Beautiful, ain't it?


So, like I said, I ended up in Delhi, staying in a hostel with the most idiotic management ever. I'm used to people asking me if I'm from Korea/Japan/China, etc etc etc... but when I say that I'm not, and produce an American passport, you should really stop asking me how to say things in Korean. I DON'T FUCKING KNOW. There were also always bits of potato in the bathroom sink. I found that to be gross. Anyway, I finished up my Christmas shopping in Delhi and managed to send them seconds before my train to Agra with a couple of cool girls I met in the station the day before.


Amy and Leslie were an interesting duo. I can't remember if I gave them this address for this blog, but I'll write about them anyway. Amy was a Northwestern graduate swimmer who had been living in China for 3 years and spoke (what sounded to me like) fluent Mandarin. Leslie was a Chinese native who loved to extoll the benefits of drinking hot water. It was a funny couple of days. Here we are at the Taj Mahal, acting silly. This photo was actually taken on the first try- props to the small English woman behind the camera.

They were a good pair to travel with for a couple of days, but the two of them continued on to Varanasi. Ordinarily, I think I would have gone with them- but I'd started to really suffer from the pollution. When you start to sneeze car exhaust, you know it's time to leave. So, I went with them to the train station, and bid them farewell... not really knowing where I was headed next. I originally tried to get on a train to Bengaluru, with zero success. I'm not sure how much I like this whole "buying your ticket in advance" bullsh*t. How am I supposed to fly by the seat of my pants if there's someone walking around checking that I have the appropriate papers? Fie on your papers! Anyway, I decided to just let the man with the completely indecipherable English at the ticket kiosk determine where I should go- sometimes it's just easier that way. Anyway, the bastard put me on the waitlist for the Goa Express. WL #399. Basically, that means that I'm paying Sleeper prices to sit in Unreserved (4 thousand people to a car with about 2 wooden benches for the 38 hour train ride from Delhi to Goa). I also had an 8 hour wait before my train was supposed to depart. While I waited, I met a funny little Punjab boy named Praveen. He taught me my numbers in Hindi. Ever been chastised by a 11 year old for not being able to say "ket-thaaliis" correctly on the first try? It's very humbling. Anyway, after he and his mother took off, I started talking to a French woman named Kristen. Every now and again, when I feel my natural American pomp flagging, when I'm tired and my stools are watery, and all I can think about is having just one goddamn cheeseburger, I meet someone who inspires me and reminds me that it's not for nothing. "Be Brave!" she said, "You WILL find a seat on that train, the conductor will see you, and you will give him 200 rupees, and you will sit and have a wonderful journey!" I didn't really believe her, but after an hour or so of soaking up her positivity, I satisfied myself with knowing that 38 hours on a wooden bench with my backpack on my lap wouldn't KILL me. Maybe give me back problems, maybe my legs would rot and fall off, but it certainly wouldn't kill me. No no.

About 15 minutes before the arrival of my train, I decided to wander about and somehow ended up in front of the notice board. Lo! Who got a seat by magical 400-person lottery? Sam M.F. Chu! Lookee!


It was a great journey~ the people in my compartment were clean and courteous. As we went further south, it got warmer, and I slept well. Some blind musicians came on the train, and I listened to them rock out Hindi pop tunes as the chai-wallah came around with hot tea to compliment my dinner of biryani and samosas. Furthermore, around 11pm, when everyone crawled into bed, the one bar I had left on my MP3 player held strong for hours as my train barreled into the night.

Quick post

OK, in India now and liking it quite a bit. Rocked out at a religious festival and think I might actually have an interest in Nirankarianism. The whole worshipping Baba Ji thing is odd, but then again, a lot of it makes sense. Also, there is free food. I like that.

Couple days ago, took leave of the two sexy Finnish guys I was travelling with and made my way up north to Rishikesh, where every hippie-dippy staff-toting yogi from 'round the world has congregated to sit in their yoga studios and talk about peace and then go outside and treat the locals like shit. Seriously.

Anyway, heading up to Manali soon to get my zorb on before heading back down to the beaches. I'll post photos soon...

my back...


this sleeping on trains business has got to stop.

India in 10 days (roughly)

So here's a rundown of things happening with me.

- Headed to India on the 10th of November. I have my visa in my hot little hand and I'm raring to go. The Visa, however, is only for 3 months, single entry. This is bullshit. It means that I need to leave the country (oh and get a visa to whatever other country to do so), reapply, then come BACK. One thing not mentioned anywhere--- if applying for an indian visa in ethiopia (oh my god i hate this computer... fuck spelling and grammar), even though you pay 250 birr MORE than anyone else, you will get only half the amount of time and entries. No exceptions. Fucking stupid.

- STA travel is retarded. I keep emailing them to ask about extending my insurance and buying a flight so that I can prove onward travel when I land in Mumbai. No one has gotten back to me. I want to give them money and they can't even get their shit together enough to take it. OR, they e-mail me back with a phone number to call. THERE ARE NO PHONES. THAT'S WHY I'M FUCKING EMAILING. .. so I'm not sure what I'm going to say to the immigration officials. Either that, or I need to buy a ticket from somewhre else,.


OH MY GOD THIS COMPUTER SUCKS. I CAN' T WRITE ANYMORE>

TREVOR

Trev, I hope you still read my blog every now and again.

These fucking shitty fucking Ethiopian computers won't let me do ANYTHING. I can sign onto facebook, alright, but forget trying to read anything in my inbox/write on peoples' walls/update my status. Oh, and no messenger, no Yahoo, no Gmail Chat, and DEFINITELY no Skype.

Anyway, so I got your message about there being something incredibly important in my facebook inbox.. I just can't CHECK my inbox to see what it is.

I wasn't planning on updating, but hell,... why not? I just finished my first week of teaching English in an Ethiopian school. Observations:

1. I don't hate children as much as I thought I did. Some of them are really, really cute. I have actually taken a liking to one or two in every class. I know it's wrong to have favorites, but they live in Ethiopia, for God's sake. They already know that life isn't fair.

2. Western children are spoiled brats. "Waaah... Billy has better video games than I do" ... "Waaaah... Jimmy took my toy", "Waaaah... I want clean water to drink!" ... ALWAYS complaining. These kids here, in my grade school, play soccer with a deflated basketball. 50 children. One sad little crushed basketball. And you know what? They don't give a damn! They run around playing with it all day long, only stopping to blow it up every now and again. I'm not sure if it's awesome or heartbreaking... but I'm leaning towards awesome.

I will write more next week. I just logged on to tell TREVOR... I CAN'T READ YOUR MESSAGE IN MY INBOX. EITHER PUT IT ON MY WALL, OR SEND ME AN EMAIL.

That's all.