First, you know that suitcase? The one he was asking 900 ru for? Well, #1 British Airlines lost it. Or whatever. I have to find it in NYC today on my way South. #2 When I went back to get it (without my t-shirt!) he asked 1200 ru for it!!!!!!! It’s so hard to bargain down to 700 ru when someone starts at 1200 instead of 900. More of the same bs. Of course, I called him on it, but he thought I was hilarious.

The team came back together again to pack me up (and more coming this a.m.!). I was wrong, I do have a memento of India across my face–my allergy got worse and now the rash is over my face! Yea!

My cell phone has chosen this time to die (though it is long overdue). I”ll try to fix it today, but please bear with me. I can see people calling, but I can’t pick up or return calls… Arghh! I guess you could signal by calling, then I could stop the car and call you back….hmmmm…

Last minute packing this a.m. then in the road (to fix the phone, to pick up Max, to find my bag…).

I really feel great today–it was so nice to sleep in my own bed last night, even just for one night.

Amanda

I’m leaving India tonight at 2:15am. I am very sad to be going. For Bombay, I’ve only begun to begin to know the city. And it’s a great city to know. Really bizarre and rich. I wish I could figure out how to get NDTV and the Times of India in the US. I’m very involved in tracking several news stories right now. Outlawing Dance Hall Girls (not even strippers–they just dance!), Outlawing Plastic Bags (the cause of the monsoon devestation) and the Buildings That Keep Falling Down (3 in the last two days). And for India–I haven’t figured all that out yet. I know I want to come back. And I’ve pretty much planned the trip out.

I understand now (and for the first time) why someone would want to get a tattoo. I feel like something in me changed, and I wish there were an external sign that it had happened. Right now all I have is an allergic rash, weight loss, and a sunburn. Wouldn’t a Ganesh or OM across the forehead be a clearer signal? Alas, with blood-borne diseases and poor hygenic conditions here, it probably won’t happen. But now I understand.

I’ve got to go buy another suitcase for all the stuff I bought. I’m not going to pay more than 700 ru for it (he’s asking 900–I’ve been scoping it out).

I know I have more India stories waiting to bubble up to the top, and I intend to use this format to continue “processing” my trip. Be forewarned.

Now, of course, for those of you interested in the next adventure…to Mississippi!! I’ll be driving cross-(half the) country with my White German Shepherd, Max, starting on Saturday. We’re headed for Columbus, and I start at Mississippi State University on Thursday, the 1st. One week away!

ACP

Readers:

I wasn’t going to publish this, but I’ve been working on it for two days (date this one the 24th). I’m pretty sad about leaving India, and though I’m sure there’s more to tell you (like about the “Italian” restaurant made for the tourists that’s filled with Indians, or my experiments with “drinking the water” because I desperately wanted a “Sweet Lime Beverage”). I’m sure I’ll be posting things as I remember them. So take this for what it is–just me struggling to make my trip make sense.

Gender and India

Before I went to India, I was warned (by every book, person, program, etc.) to dress demurely, cover myself completely, “de-sex” myself effectively, so that men wouldn’t harass me (verbally, physically) as I traveled in India. This was the “Eve-teasing” I referred to in an earlier post. And I’ve had my share of harassment–nothing fatal. Even in the unisex outfits.

But part of the fallout I hadn’t anticipated was being taken advantage of financially by men (and it has been men) in India who are in a position to do so–vendors, hotel clerks, train functionaries, etc. Not Indian men in general (who I have found to be generous and kind). Bullied by these types who can take advantage, I’ve been given bad prices, I’ve gotten the bait and switch with hotel rooms, and I’ve had prices double and triple what was agreed on. In all these situations, I’ve felt my “power” was gone. And they knew it. My sense of entitlement is almost gone. I’m a visitor in this country. I’m a woman. I’m adapting. I’ve prepped myself to be deferential in India–dependent. For my own safety.

[MEN: Imagine you go to a country and you are told not to be masculine--not to do anything overtly manly. That women might degrade you for it or threaten your safety (and you believe this). You shave all your face hair. You wear gender-neutral clothing. You speak softly. Then, try to bargain with a train conductor who wants a 1000 ru bribe so you can sleep that night. You need your arsenal of manly weapons, don't you? Especially in unfamiliar and very challenging situations.]

Yesterday after arriving from Goa on an overnight train (that I had to bribe the conductor to get a bed on), I arrive at the YWCA. My foot looks infected, I’m bruised, my neck only turns one direction and I’m sunburned. The YWCA is a fantastic almost luxurious place to stay. They feed you breakfast and dinner, and you get to meet other travelers. The clerk says he only has a double and its 800 ru. Which is a hellovalot of money for a split (with another girl). I agree on the room and price, however, and since it’s too early to check in, I go off and when I return to the hotel I find they’ve put me in a room with THREE other girls for the price I paid. A double is more, now. But I am not a quad-girl.

Explaining I had paid for a double, we went around and around. It seemed like yet another bait and switch, and it was one too many. I had a complete meltdown. I almost feel sorry for them. I meditated. I did deep breathing. But we did not come to consensus. They forced me to stay last night (wouldn’t refund my money) and isolated me in a double by myself. Which is what I wanted anyway–but it was horrible. Pyrrhic victory.

So…I spent a long afternoon pulling the pieces of myself back together. I got the sand off me in a very long very hot shower (the bathroom alone was worth 800 ru). Got some antibiotic cream on my foot. I found my iPOD at the bottom of my luggage. I put on my M.I.A. album LOUD (t-q msp) and danced around the room. Emboldened after about 4 hours, I decided to go out and be myself for an hour.

I put on a shirt I bought at the beach (b/c all I had were granny clothes), rolled my travel pants up (I don’t have a lot of options here), made my hair long and poofy, and set out with my iPOD blaring (risking it getting stolen, I know). With the iPOD, I didn’t have to hear the cat calls. I was able to walk down the street as though I were in NYC. Looking for what I wanted, not having to make eye contact with every single man who wanted attention. I found a laundry and dropped all the sandy stuff off. I could hear the hissing, but it was muted. I got my good city-stare on. I only talked to the people I wanted to talk to–and they took me SERIOUSLY. They told me what I wanted to know. Immediately. They even laughed at my jokes. I easily ignored everyone else–I couldn’t hear them!

Next I tried to buy some stuff. Between the iPOD and the tiny beach shirt (did I mention it has an evil eye across the front?) I bargained all of them down–leaving the table if I didn’t like the price and ignoring their pleas to return. I haggled–loudly. I laughed at their prices and offered half what they were asking and got it. I even got money off in a “price fixed” shop. Triumphantly ignored all the leering salesmen. And they were HAPPY if I stopped. Thrilled to be bargaining with me.

Obviously this had to do with me, and my change in my attitude. And that was based on feeling like myself. I felt triumphantly like myself. It was such a relief not to have the weight of upholding the reputation of non-Indian women anymore. Or for that hour.

The best reaction came from a very old woman. I could tell she totally got the evil eye/sexy shirt thing. She looked me in the face and gave me the best, knowing laugh.

I believe that the idea is that these men are afraid of women’s sexuality and power. Right? Women have to cover themselves so not to arouse the man’s passion. And that’s supposed to be okay. But for me, any sense of myself has part to do with my appearance. When all of that is suppressed, I think it would be difficult for anyone to act with power.

I got some great deals. But I bought a big skirt and a demure-ish top to wear today. The skirt is so hard to get around in–I’m trying to project confidence, but I’m hobbled! I could tell the difference. Back to scorn. Back to whistles. And back to no one understanding English. It’s okay, though. I have yesterday. Talking to the clerk again, I held my ground and I didn’t apologize. I have to stay for two more nights at the YWCA, so that was tough–but good for me to get a backbone, as Gran would say.

So we live to fight another day. And I had lots of fun today with buses and found this great organization called W.I.T. “women’s india trust” (www.wit.org.in) that had all these fabulous things to buy for people. And the proceeds go to the organization, which helps “less fortunate women secure a better future.” Their factory was destroyed by the floods, so they are in a bit of a crisis. Anyway, I spent a lot of money there. And that was because the bus attendant pushed me off at the wrong stop. Lemonade!

See you soon!
ACP

Caveat: My “experiment” was conducted in the most touristy part of Bombay–Colaba. So it wasn’t as crazy as it may sound on first hearing. I see tourist girls with fairly similar tops occassionally.

Well it turns out I’m not very good at sitting in one place right now (and I have been here three days). Palolem has begun to bore me! That and I can’t sleep. The fishermen are having a festival to thank God(s) for their catch, and they set of fireworks as part of that. All night. Behind my hut. And then the generator blew. Like a gun. Behind my hut. At 3am–no fan… So, I’m off to the market and then off for the 15 hour overnight train to Mumbai. Where there will be plenty to do, and one hopes, plentiful electricity (the only city so far…).

How Paradise was Lost:

Yesterday I camped out on the far end of the beach with my stuff and sarong to hang out and go swimming. I just get out in the water when I turn to see this huge black (mynah?) bird come along and start trying to steal my stuff. The wetnaps went first. So I’m running around like a lunatic, yelling at the bird, when a couple comes up to see if I’ve had trouble with a black and white dog. Which had charged them. I’d seen the dog, but as I do with all wild dogs roaming here, I shoo’ed him away. He checked me out but moved on. Heartened that I wasn’t bitten, I made some more attempts to swim while chasing the birds away. Then it began to rain. Hiding under a boulder, I played in the sand for a bit before giving up on the whole beach thing. Pulling my sarong from a rock (where it was drying!), I flicked over a foot long green and black hissing rearing snake. Triangle head–absolutely poisionous. (THE SNAKE!)

Thankfully a fellow from Germany came along so I could share my find. He and I walked back to civilization together–sure in our conviction that the snake was very poisonous. Not really a temptation–but pushing me toward one…

…in that I head straight to the Organic Health Food Restaurant (yes), because I haven’t had fresh fruit or veggies (a no no for the tummy here) for weeks, so I’m ready to try them in Goa at this healthfood place–but no go-a! (That was for you Mom!). I just couldn’t force them down. (Tempted by the fruit but ultimately unsatistfied.)

AWARE now (!) that I am just bored to tears, I’m heading back to one of my new favorite cities to get back into that good (if dirty) energy. Also to get back to the silk market.

So I will write you next from Mumbai–I’ll make it there tomorrow morning sometime.

Amanda

There is so much to say. To begin, you may recall that I specifically requested to be in the “Ladies Compartment” as it was recommended to me as a way to avoid difficult situations in the co-ed sleeper car. It turns out that the “Ladies Compartment” is a sort of cattle car for women, and through some colossal misunderstanding, I thought it was a sleeper car and that I’d reserved a “top bunk.” The “cabin” consisted of hard wood-slatted seats with metal racks above them. I was lucky to get a metal rack, since it meant I didn’t have to sleep on top of one of the other women or on the floor.

In my immediate area, there were about 15 women. If you thought that the Ladies Compartment was going to be genteel and reserved–ha! Don’t let the saris and chador fool you–these women can scrap. You should have heard the screaming and punching and pinching at 2am. As I am not able to understand the language (Urdu, I think), I did not quite understand what they were saying, it was something to do with luggage. With the bodies crammed into the luggage racks, there wasn’t much in the way of room for our bags. I slept with mine under me. One of the scrappers had already been trouble for me, also regarding luggage. She had originally claimed my space with a scarf for her bags, and poked me several times to try to get me down (poking is not uncommon here–but generally it’s beggars and shopkeepers–and the poking is fairly gentle). The other women yelled at her until she stopped (they had told me to get up there). Sleeping on the grate was not pleasant, but the chance to be in such an intimate setting with those other women was something I will never forget.

When it was light, I came down from my grate and we all watched the countryside go by. Many of you know that it was one of the things I wanted to do most–watch India go by through a train window. Ahdhra Pradesh close to Hyderabad has enormous (building-sized) boulders strewn across an agricultural/tropical, flat landscape. The boulders sometimes had auto-sized boulders perched on top of them. The land was dotted with strange concrete-block villages that were fascinating to observe one after another. I even saw one building under construction. There was definitely a sense that these people were in a different place financially and maybe spiritually than those in the slums of Mumbai.

I had been thinking of travel days as “lost,” but I no longer feel that way. My train experience was every bit as rich and stimulating as my trips around Mumbai. I will not, however, be returning to the ladies compartment. “Eve teasing” would probably result in fewer bruises than my night on the grate.

To be fair, the men of India have been nothing but kind and respectful of me. On my way here (to an Internet shop that has already lost power once), a guy in a phone shop notice me looking around and called me over from across the plaza to ask me what I was looking for. Then he gave me detailed and accurate directions. And earlier today, a member of the “Tourist Police,” Nagaraj J. Gould, came over to me at Charminar to tell me there were 26 of his division all looking out for me at the tourist locations. He was so earnest. Those are just a couple of nice examples. It happens all the time. I’m definitely not blending in, though. Today anyway. I think people were speaking to me in Hindi/Urdu because they don’t speak English!

My new hotel room in Hyderabad (pron. Hydrabad) is like a palace and just $11.67/night. I’ve never appreciated towels and sheets before, but it is so difficult to carry a towel with you–and so difficult to dry them along the way. And there is Room Service! There is truly something to be said by traveling somewhere between student/hostel life and group tour life. I was so tired when I got to the hotel after my long train trip (15.5 hours, did I mention?) that I ordered the South Indian Thali, which I’ve had once more now. Little pots of curry and other delicious items. You mix the pots with rice in the middle of a large tray and eat the rice with your fingers. If you are South Indian. I did that today when I ate at a community table with a big family at a restaurant near Charminar, and they were very impressed. And upset that I wouldn’t eat the raita. Yogurt, alas. Golub Jamen turns out to be dairy-free, super-sweet and scrumptious! So fun to have a non-dairy treat. Anyway, I will forever return to the Taj Mahal Hotel (though I’m in the ghetto part–they wouldn’t let me in through the front, I had to go get my room through the Taj Wah! portion–but it was cheaper). I think I was very very dirty after my train ride yesterday.

I’ve seen Charminar, the Mecca Masjid, and the bazaars around today. I tried to walk there (again with the walking), but I think I keep converting km and mi the wrong way (math is hard!). Six miles one way, I think. I was almost there when I gave up and got an autorickshaw. I was really too hot and yucky to enjoy it all properly by the time I got there. I tried to figure out the buses, but they remain a mystery. I know bus 1 goes from Charminar to my hotel. And that bus 66g goes from Charminar to Golconda Fort. But I couldn’t figure out when they might be arriving to take me there. The autorickshaw was only 25ru (50 cents) in the end. I gave up on Golconda Fort for tomorrow. Charminar and Mecca Masjid were relatively unremarkable. I’ve got pictures, but I’m not really an “architecture” person. More of a “shrine-by-the-side-of-the-road,” “boulders-on-boulders,” “sewing-machine-shop-in-the-middle-of-the-road,” “silk-saris-at-a-bazaar” kind of person.

The markets around Charminar, consequently, were acutely interesting. I bought two silk headscarves thinking I’d be able to get into the mosque (no, and I had to take off my shoes and walk on pigeon droppings through the whole thing). There is a wholesale pearl business, and it looks like I could get a double strand (17″/18″, 5-6mm, dark peach) of very high quality Chinese fresh water pearls for $282.56. If I needed pearls. Maybe in Mississippi I will need pearls. Hard to say. Mother was going to give me some for graduation, but I asked for a vacuum cleaner instead. Damn dog hair.