Part II: American Princess in Mumbai, the Dohbi Ghat

Posted on April 10, 2012 by surfas-ing

When I explained where I wanted to go she looked at me so inquisitively I could almost hear her thoughts “laundry? of all things why laundry?”  Momma Boom was a little worried, so she did what any good mother would do. She fed me lunch and asked me again if that’s where I wanted to go; yes, the bible, The Lonely Planet, highly recommends seeing Dohbi Ghat (the largest outdoor laundry facility). It says in the bible that there is a good vantage point from the train station across the street to observe the thousands of pieces of laundry that pass through the operation each day including; the workers who do all the washing, wringing and hanging.

The driver and I headed into the city, I could tell we were getting close because I could see the laundry being hung haphazardly on the rooftops, the sidewalks and on any clear space.  Finally the driver stopped the car, got out and left me looking around at the huge bags of laundry, the large trucks, the lost chickens, the stray dogs and the BIG sign that read “Prohibited Area.”  He came back with two young guys and motioned for me to get out of the car. Armed with my cameras I stepped over a curb and entered into another world. There were hundreds of people washing, ironing and doing all sorts of cleaning of every type of clothing. My driver didn’t speak English and the two guides spoke about two words between them; I had so many questions that I could hardly compose a photo let alone walk around without bumping into something or someone. I think I walked around for the next 7 minutes with my mouth hanging open because you can do that when it’s only seven minutes. Yes, my tour was over before I had a chance to open my eyes and we were led back to the car only to be asked for 800 rupees, which is 50 more rupees than I paid to enter the Taj Mahal. I laughed and said something to the effect of “you’ve got to be kidding”. Suddenly the non-english speaking boys spoke more than two words and said that the price was 800 because I took photos. My response was that if I was going to pay that much that I would like to go back in, when they said no – I gave them 300 ruppees ($10) and jumped in the car. As we drove off I realized that the bible said nothing about wandering around the facility, only about a vantage point across the street. I think I was luckily to have see the behind the scene action, even if it was only 7 minutes!

I spent the next few hours in the back seat of a car, the driver whizzed around the city pointing out what he felt where important landmarks while I dozed off. It was one of the hottest days on record for the month of February so the back seat of the air-conditioned car was the right place to be. Before I knew it we were back in the comfort of the Juhu suburbs; I was happy to know that my laundry was being done, by hand, at Booms house. If you’ve sent your laundry out in Mumbai chances are it passed through the Dohbi Ghat – I’m just saying…

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Part I: American Princess in Mumbai, the Darvi slums

Posted on April 8, 2012 by surfas-ing

Dirty, hungry and tired I arrived to the Mumbai airport after traveling in India for almost a month. I had a rendezvous at the regional terminal with my friend, we’ll call him Boom, around 11am. Boom and I met at NYU, he is Indian and lives with his family in Mumbai. When we graduated this last spring, 2011, invitations were extended to all our friends to come visit Mumbai; little did they know I would cash in on that invitation sooner rather than later and show up extremely disheveled with a bag of dirty laundry. When we were finally reunited it was great to see a familiar and friendly face after so many months on my own!

For most people Mumbai is a hustling and bustling city, the last word on their mind is relaxation. For me it was just the opposite; I had a little taste of the hustle and bustle, a lot of relaxation and I was able to finally wear the dress I’d been schlepping for months. Boom, if you’re reading this I want to say thank you not only to you but to your family as well. Your mom took me under her wing like I was her own baby bird and made sure I was safe while I was under her care. Your sister is lovely and such a sweetheart, all of her city suggestions were wonderful. For a brief moment in time I really was an American Princess!

My first Mumbai adventure started off with a tour of the largest slum in all of Mumbai.If you’ve seen the movie Slum Dog Millionaire you’ve seen Darvi, or something like it.

I had randomly run into my new SF friends in the Mumbai airport, they had a 12-hour layover and decided to join me on the tour. Our guide, a personal assistant to the family, had never been to the slum so it was an experience for him as well. During our walk through the streets I realized I had crossed over an imaginary threshold on my flight; it had finally started to get (India) hot and there were actually mosquitos!

The slum visit was certainly a way to introduce myself to the city, we walked around for about 2 hours, first through the wider streets and then back through some of the narrow streets connecting the different areas. 

The buildings were permanent but looked as though they had been pieced together with duck-tape, any other materials available and ready to crumble with a strong wind. Business was as usual as we took a peek into their world of carts of garlic, men reading newspapers on the streets, kids playing with sticks and woman carrying large sacks on their heads. 

We walked among the neighbors, our skin and clothes like blinking neon lights, yet no one stopped us once for anything. We were stunned by how happy and content these people seemed although they were living in conditions that would make even the most impoverished American uneasy.

After the slum we drove down town to Colabra, saw the Gate of India and of course immediately got scammed by a guy selling large balloons. I thought it would be fun to have some for my brother, but when we opened the package we realized that the balloons were small and not large like the guy was showing. Seriously, I feel like just when I’ve learned their tricks I walk smack right into another one.

Ask any good India backpacker and they’ll tell you they’re either reading or have read the novel Shantaram, a very long and very dense book, mostly set in Mumbai. The main authors favorite haunt is Leopolds; along with every other tourist in town we enjoyed a cold drink and watched the afternoon slip by.

Our day of slums and scams ended in sheer decadence. We attempted to “freshen up” with a little baby powder, lipgloss and clean shirts – Boom and Dwani, Booms sister, took us to a seriously upscale establishment for some middle-eastern food, hookah and fancy drinks.

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A palace, a palm reader and a glorious lake – Udaipur, India

Posted on April 5, 2012 by surfas-ing

Oh Udaipur, you left a lasting an impression and are definitely one of the places I could have stayed longer but didn’t for reasons only a calendar demands. You brought me lovely new friends from San Francisco, a palm reader who told me about the future and the lake which glittered below the skyline.

Udaipur was enchanting and peaceful on so many levels; however, I have no crazy stories to report from this little town except it was a great way to end my time in Rajasthan. Our short time in Udaipur was filled with lux meals, cable cars, posh hotels and magical sunsets overlooking the lake.

We, my new friends and I, took a boat to a palace on the lake and had one of the most expensive lunches you can find in India. It wasn’t anything special, just sandwiches and an expensive boat ride around the lake (which made everything worthwhile). I know what you’re thinking, how do I meet people while traveling on the road? Well, these particular people I met on the train platform while on route from Pushkar to Udaipur. I saw them, the few Westerners, and practiced the rule of three while traveling in India – always ask the same question three times to make sure you’re where you want to be; it just so happen that this threesome had a local American Punjab so I knew I was golden.  As fate would have it, they were sitting one row ahead of me on the one and only air-conditioned train I would take in 7 weeks.  We started talking, it was love instantly and the rest is history.

Traveling out of a backpack for many months causes one to lower their standards far below a motel 6 and dream of the day when hot water isn’t extra, clean sheets are a given and the door locks with a key – not a padlock. Even though I’m pretty sure I hadn’t showered with shampoo in a few days The Leela Palace welcomed us with tabla singers, a refreshing glass of ice tea and a topnotch tour. If I can’t stay at one of the most expensive hotels I’ll take the next best thing, a tour of one of the most expensive hotels on Lake Pichola. To continue the feeling of living the high life I made it a point to visit the Palace. While I was in Jaipur I had skipped the palace because I was told the one in Udaipur was designed by the same architect and was much better. I totally dorked out, took the personal audio guide and wasn’t disappointed.

Udaipur, until we meet again…..

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Heebs, Hippies and Hindus– Pushkar, India

Posted on March 28, 2012 by surfas-ing

A gentle mix of  Boulder, Colorado and Haifa, Israel in a little Indian village really hit a soft spot. I don’t know if I was craving hummus or missing patchouli but the mixture was irresistible. One day turned into four and I got to know all the hidden corners of this little town barely on the map.

Heebs aka Israelis are widely known for escaping the motherland after their compulsory service in the army and paving the hummus path through India. Why India or better yet, why Pushkar? Because it’s cheap, a friend of a friend went there and let’s be honest there are lots of extra curricular activities widely available. There are falafel restaurants vying for customers, a chabbad house and non-stop chhhhhebrew being spoken at every corner chai shop.  I felt right at home since I had just left Israel and my own army experience.

 

There is a blurry line between the heebs and the hippies but the hippies are a breed of their own. These modern day hippies come to Pushkar as a place to manufacture, export and avoid 9-5 desk jobs back in their own homes. It’s a town hustling cheap handmade clothes, jewelry and other accessories down every narrow street. I felt out of place without any piercings, dreads or tats but all the people were a lovable. Men and woman alike wore leather fanny packs, I have to admit stylish and handy I almost took the plunge. Many of these people had babies and small children (in tie die), toting behind them saying namaste; I don’t know if the kids where also drinking and eating “special” treats but they were unusually chill and well-behaved.

Working on yourself isn’t hard when there is yoga, massage and reflexology practically being thrown into your lap. I found a yoga class that took place in an open studio overlooking a quiet field; the instructor gave adjustments of the poses as well as life lessons which can only be absorbed after a 90-minute class. I had a “typical” Rajashthani massage that consisted of an older woman directing me to undress and lay on a random matt in her house, unabashed I did as I was told and had an ok massage. Dr. Mattews, the reflexologist, prodded and pushed on spots that sent my nerves wailing – I paid to have it done more than once.

Then there are the Hindus, the natives who actually continue to remind people that they are still in India. There are the sadhus lining the lake praying and offering to the gods, the many temples hosting pilgrimages of people from around India and there are the weddings. I happen to be in India during marriage season. These people do it up, even the poorest. They dress in brightly colored saris, adorn themselves in henna and parade through the town clogging up the streets and playing music very, very loudly day and night. I got caught in the middle of one during the day and was so happy to finally snag a piece of the action in the daylight.

The blend of Heebs, Hippies and Hindus made Pushkar one of the most unexpected few days in India –go for the hummus, go for the special treats and most importantly go to see the fusion…oh yeah, there is a huge camel festival that is wildly popular but I was a few months too early.

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Pretty in the Pink City – Jaipur, India

Posted on March 24, 2012 by surfas-ing

A land of many flavors, jewelry, saris – a rainbow of colors to be exact; My first stop in Rajasthan was Jaipur. Somewhere between relaxing in Rishikesh and the Taj Mahal I realized that I needed to slow down my whirlwind pace of India and soak in a city. I was really digging the Mughal style architecture so when I heard that Jaipur was full of great places to see and was known as the “Pink City” I knew it would be love at first sight.  The only problem was the Pink City, isn’t really pink – it’s more like a burnt orange but I didn’t hold it against them. Jaipur is stocked with forts, palaces, museums and most dangerously things to buy! I ended up staying in the hectic jumble of Jaipur for a healthy dose of days, met some interesting people and had a few curious mini-adventures.

The Hawa Mahal is an extraordinary place to linger and catch at different lights because of all the stained glass, the punctures in the stonework and the mysterious honeycomb building. On a side note: I think if I was going to be part of a concubine, this would have been up there on the places to chill with the other ladies and wait for my turn.

Ornate tombs built for Kings

The floating palace

The Nahargarh Fort

Everyday I would walk from my guesthouse to the old city. I didn’t realize at first but one particular day I ended up on a route that took me straight through the muslim area where I was the only woman not covered and even worse I was toting around a camera and a backpack. I definitely got a few stares, shoved because I wasn’t moving fast enough on the narrow path and screamed at for taking pictures of old ladies; overall though the people were friendly and just as curious of me as I was of them.  I also had the sweetest woman thread my brows and give me a “facial” for only $3 – only in India!

I met a few local gem dealers, well actually they met me – I am apparently an easy target for the local sales pitch. I wasn’t in the market for any gems but after spending some time on the streets I couldn’t help but get the itch for a new scarf. One of my new gem friends had a friend (as they always do) who was in the textile biz – woah, lucky for me since I don’t know how in the world I would have managed to find one on my own… I spent a few hours lost in the friends textile showroom scouring through bedspreads, silk scarves, cashmere pashminas, pillowcases and other such items. These shops are like casinos, there are no windows so you have no idea what time it is, the colors and textures are mesmerizing and they ply you with so many cups of chai that you eventually become delirious and high on sugar. Once I was down for the count they milked me like an old lady at a slot machine, I just couldn’t say no or get up to leave with the fear of missing out on something fabulous. I’ll spare you the more gruesome and agonizing details of how I couldn’t make up my mind because there was just too many choices.  I will tell you that I wasn’t going to schlep a bunch of shit, I mean scarves, around for the next few months. I decided to put my faith into the Indian GPO (Government Post Office) and send my little nugget of gold home by sea. Let’s put it this way, the fact that this hand stitched fabric sack, dotted with candle wax seals and a tiny little piece of paper acting as postage made it to my parents house in under 2 months is slightly short of a miracle!

 

 

 

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The Taj Mahal – Need I say more? Agra, India

Posted on March 20, 2012 by surfas-ing

Did you know: The Emperor, Shah Jahan, built the Taj Mahal for his wife when she died giving birth to their 14th child? I guess third time’s a charm because “The Taj” is actually a Tomb for the man’s third wife; she sleeps dead center of the structure far below the ground. After being imprisoned, by his son, the Emperor also died and was put to rest beside his wife just off center of her tomb. How romantic!

I don’t think a first time jaunt to India would be complete if I didn’t see the Taj Mahal. Yes, it’s touristy and yes it’s over priced (750 Rupees = $25) but it’s the Taj Mahal after all! I arrived to the backpacker’s ghetto in Agra late in the day, checked into an overpriced guesthouse and made my way to the closest rooftop restaurant I could find. I had my first glance in the distance, through the trees, of the Taj around sunset and although the sky was hazy the magnificence of seeing one of the greatest pieces of architecture was inspiring. I sat for a while mesmerized as the monkeys jumped from building to building and the cows were herded through the streets below me, this was one of those places that I always wanted to see in person and I had finally arrived.

I rose well before sunrise the next morning, as I wanted to catch the Taj in the morning light. After patiently waiting in the queue for tickets and then for security I passed through the first of two entry gates; the Taj was framed so perfectly between the second immense gate that it took my breath away and I wished at that very moment that I could keep the memory of how I felt with me forever. It didn’t take much before I was pushed out onto the main platform where hordes of other tourists were starting to take photos of themselves. People were doing everything imaginable; trying to catch a photo midair, pretending to touch the top of the minarets and other silly poses that only tourists can think to make. I stood for a long second and just admired the elegance and beauty of the structure; the presence around the Taj was still calm, the trees still engulfed by the night air as the sun hadn’t peaked above the walls and the swarms of people had yet to stir from their slumber. I slowly made my way closer and closer to the building noticing how the perspective changed as well as the light as the sun began to rise behind my back.

When I was close enough to touch the building I stood admiring the marble work that took 17 years to complete, the building only took 5 to construct. The inside of the Taj was just as intricate and elegant, built with such craftsmanship that only an emperor in love could conceive. 

I spent some time wandering around the grounds taking photos from different angles and being suckered by a young kid. He showed me all the “good” spots to stand and where to capture the Taj through various arches and then proceeded to ask for 200 Rupees. I think I gave him 50 since I hadn’t asked for his advice and wasn’t really paying attention.

When I heard my stomach rumbling and caffeine withdrawal headache starting to creep in like the sunrise I headed for my rooftop and enjoyed the Taj over breakfast. I was able to see the Taj from a distance at sunset as well as from another palace but nothing would compare to that first experience when my breath stopped and the world stood still for that one moment of awe.

 

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You are what you eat…Edibles of India

Posted on March 17, 2012 by surfas-ing

Don’t eat snacks from strangers on the train, be wary of anything off the street, make sure the mineral water hasn’t been compromised…with so many warnings for eating in India I wondered how I would pack enough peanut butter to survive the duration of my time          (5 weeks, which became 4 but then ended up being 7). For those of you who know me well, you know that when it comes to food I’m up there on the list of persnickety eaters. I grew up with a mother who despises onions, a father who gags at the sight of asiago cheese, a brother who thinks fries and burgers are the end all be all of food and a dog who turns his nose up at anything but gourmet puppy chow. Peppers, turmeric and god forbid curry weren’t just out of the question but words that weren’t in the Surfas dictionary. It wasn’t until I flew the coop and moved to the melting pot that I broadened my pallet, found some foodie friends and started experimenting in my own kitchen. As far as Indian cuisine was concerned before leaving I had some Indian take-out at work, eaten in curry hill once or twice and had visited the crazy Indian restaurants on Second Ave. but nothing, I mean NOTHING could prepare me for what was to come. One of my biggest worries before leaving on this incredible journey was “What will I eat and how will my stomach hold up?” Well, I was in for a gastrological ride when I arrived in India.

First, I don’t (didn’t) eat spicy food. In India, whether it’s the North or the South you have your choice of spicy or really fucking spicy. I stopped asking for “not spicy” within days because even when I asked for not spicy, received the ambiguous head bobble as a reply, I still got spicy. Not spicy to me and not spicy to the locals proved to be an ocean of difference! Besides my mouth feeling like I had instantly become a fire-breathing dragon nothing seemed to disrupt my stomach, which had typically been like a delicate flower ready to fall to pieces at a moments notice.

On top of the spicy factor I typically steer clear of wheat (i.e. breads and pasta). I’m not celiac, wheat just makes me feel shitty and let’s face it if it’s between toast or carrots I’ll pick the carrots 9 times out of 10. Well, In India most meals are accompanied by naan – thick bread, chapatti – thin bread, puri-deep fried bread, paratha, phulka…the list goes on and on and on. They use the various types of wheat goodness to sop up the “gravy” aka sauce in lieu of utensils, oh yeah – remember to only eat with your right hand. I thought trying to explain not spicy was hard, trying to explain no wheat was impossible – I threw in the towel, rubbed my hands with a little purel and hoped for the best.

My favorite part of the food in India, besides the masala chai laced with sweat sugar, ginger, cardamom and other mysterious flavors were the desserts. Thankfully I left my tight going out jeans in New York otherwise they would have surely stopped fitting after my many samplings of sweetness. The Indians love their sugar that’s for sure; one of my favorite desserts quickly became gulab jamun. GJ is like a hole of a donut, fried and then soaked in cane sugar – served hot of course!

 

With my newfound stomach of steel I started playing Russian roulette at meals by ordering dishes with only a tidbit of knowledge at what they may or may not contain. After a few weeks I started to actually appreciate the flavors and come to enjoy the experience of sweating out spices; they say you’ve really found India when you start to smell like an Indian, well folks – I think I found India.

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Learning Lâcher prise: Rishikesh, India

Posted on March 12, 2012 by surfas-ing

After being in Northern India just over a week I realized a little secret about traveling (in India) that no one had thought to reveal; traveling is slow, cumbersome and often requires massive amounts of patience. I wanted to see it all but I quickly learned I had to make decisions about my route and not look back, this was not an easy task. Not going to Varanasi, one of the holiest places in India where Hindus go to either cleans their spirit in the Ganga (Gaaan-ga aka The Ganges River) or to cremate their family members, was one of those decisions. While Varanasi sounded like an incredible sight to see and a 17-hour train ride sounded even more delightful I decided instead to take the beginner route of holiness and head to the start of the cleaner, less rambunctious end of the Ganga. On route to Rishikesh I made a stop over in Hardiwar, where the Ganga starts and  flows from the Himalayas to check out the scene in their holy Ghats. And truckers don’t be fooled…Hardiwar is up there on the list of really holy places, all of the same rituals are preformed in the Ganga which are preformed in the Ganga at Varanasi.

First I visited the top of the mountain and the temple that overlooks the river before spending a few hours roaming around Hardiwar checking out the spiritual Ganga action. The act of people thrusting themselves into the rushing river and holding onto chains for support immediately engulfed me; I stopped for a while to just sit and watch. I observed a slightly younger woman as she helped her elder shamelessly undress and enter the water to let the water flow over her dark brown wrinkled and saggy body. There were several groups of men with shaved heads who sat in circles; they took blessings, said several prayers, lit torches and then entered into the cold rushing river. I observed a young couple as they posed for a picture while making a blessing by pouring a white liquid into the river. When I headed inland into the narrow streets just off the river I stumbled onto one of the most sacred rituals in the Hindu religion, which is when the family members cremate the bodies of the recently deceased. I didn’t actually see a body, but the fire was still burning and the remnants of the ceremony still lingered. To say I stood out like a sore thumb, while I tried to be discreet with my large camera, would be an understatement – I was shooed away from several groups and approached by every beggar for money, every child for a snap and every tout trying to get me to donate to the Ganga cause.After I had my fill of the burning bodies, the precarious dips in the Ganga and the ruthless beggars I headed a little further up the river. Dubbed the “Yoga Capital of the World” Rishikesh was put on the map many moons ago by The Beatles (they supposedly wrote most of the White Album at one of the first ashrams) and has since been turned into a village swarming with local sadhus, new age hippie mystics and people like me just trying to get in a few days in of the downward dog. Across the foot bridge, tucked away along the winding milky colored Ganga river, I found Swargashram (small village in Rishikesh) and realized the town was just my speed; I didn’t have an exit plan and I quickly settled into the seductive solidarity.I drank sweet chai and ate muesli with curd, fresh fruit and honey while sitting on the balcony overlooking the river. I hiked with new friends along the mountain ridges while passing through small homesteads stopping along the way to try and test the waters of meditation. I spent an afternoon photographing a large wedding cake tiered temple and laughing at the monkeys steeling the ice creams from bewildered passerby’s. I learned to netty (nose cleans) without completely drenching my shirt with authentic Himalayan rock salt.  I took long yoga classes from a sadhu dressed from (shaved) head to toe in all orange while monkeys tried steal our shoes. I learned to take showers using the Indian bucket method. I talked for hours with new friends about our dreams, our lives and the future while basking in the sun. Mostly, I learned to adopt a French saying that my friend shared, something that would help me make my way through India “lâcher prise” – let it go.

 

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Green before “green” was in…rocky & recycled : Chandigarh, India

Posted on February 29, 2012 by surfas-ing

Besides the architecture, there isn’t much to see in Chandigarh – in my opinion that is. Woop-d-do, they have the largest rose garden (supposedly) in Asia – it was hard to waft in its beauty among the strewn trash, the hoards of locals and the buds stolen by greedy lovers. I was told though that if I made it to Chandigarh I absolutely mustn’t miss the rock garden. Being a Colorado girl I was thinking oooh, a rock garden something like Garden of the Gods http://gardenofgods.com/home/index.cfm?flash=1 or better yet a place to hike around. Nope, nothing of the sorts. This guy, Nek Chand, started building his fairy tale “rock garden” in the 60’s from all things recycled. What a hippie! He started building in a small area of a property, that wasn’t his, and over time it grew and grew to 12 acres. When the government discovered his illegal project they almost shut him down until they realized he had created a tremendous work of art; he was given a grant and workers to help finish parts of the work.

 As we walked through the maze of walls built entirely of old electrical sockets, screens of clay pots, imaginary animals, human like forms made from wires and trees with exposed roots constructed from concrete we couldn’t help but think – Was this guy on LSD?

Each time we turned a corner through the labyrinth we entered into a new area with a different feeling. There were dry swimming pools made entirely of mosaics; upon closer examination the pieces were shards from dinner plates, saucers and coffee mugs with the handles still attached. After walking through a series of short passageways we were pushed out into a grand open area with 30-foot high walls, stadium seating and a river being fed by a nearby man-made waterfall. There were so many people snapping photos I was sure someone was going to end up in the mucky pool of water.

My mouthed gaped open each time I ducked under a new passageway or opening. I had to keep reminding myself that one person built the majority of this sanctuary with his own will and hands.

 The third phase of his magical land is still being worked on today; the newer parts, built by workers, are  not as romantic as the earlier areas completed by Nek and feel a bit sanitized.  However, the newer areas still carry a whimsical flare with funny mirrors, swings, and built-in aquariums.

Feeling stoned ourselves, surprised at every turn; we walked out exhausted and elated. Three hours had passed when we finally emerged from the imaginary land back into the semi-sanity and reality of India.

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An ode to an architect: Le Corbusier Chandigarh, India

Posted on February 27, 2012 by surfas-ing

Chandigarh, India the first planned city

Large buildings made of concrete and glass

Only an architect will find it pretty

The grid makes it easy for cars to pass

Massive in scale his signature style

Woven tapestry’s on the wall

Dramatic shapes in the air

Bright colors to add a smile

Doors that pivot and are tall

For India this city is rare

 

 

I met the greatest French woman, Caroline, in Chandigarh. She wore orange crocs, everywhere! We met in the tourism office above the stinky bus station; she was getting the low down on Chandigarh and I was weighing my options (per usual) about whether to make Rishikesh or Varinasi my next stop. She is a reformed architect living on a boat with her not husband husband. We explored and tired ourselves in Chandigarh while discussing the perils of architecture and how much we both would prefer not to work for a living.

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