Ding, ding, ding… The Golden Temple (Amritsar): Round 2

Posted on February 21, 2012 by surfas-ing

After lunch and a rest I was ready to brave the streets to see the temple during sunset and evening the light. I took a bicycle rickshaw earlier in the day and decided since I had nothing but time I would see Amritsar by foot; I laced up my walkin’ shoes, set out into the streets and started my journey. What I quickly realized was that there aren’t really sidewalks, streetlights, crosswalks and best of all the town also seemed to lack any traffic rules.  I looked both ways and tried to gauge the traffic several times yet I found myself feeling like I was in a human game of frogger. I was not ready to admit defeat as I watched the natives scoot across the street with ease through the invisible cracks in the traffic while every time I stuck my foot out to test the water my leg suddenly had a mind of it’s own and coiled back to safety. So, how did the chicken cross the road you ask? This chicken followed closely, very closely, as a local woman approached and without hesitation stepped out into the mayhem. I made sure she was uphill to the frenzy of traffic and blazed across the street at her side while holding my breath and praying to the local gods. I was psyched and then instantly deflated when it occurred to me how many more locals I would have to find in order to actually make it to my destination and wondered if hailing a rickshaw so early would be considered a KO (knock out). I found a girl who took me under her wing and dropped me off, practically unscathed, at the front door of the temple. The only beating I received was when she realized I was much older than 20, unwed, and gasp didn’t have ANY babies!

I already knew the drill with the shoes and washing so I cruised right into the temple just in time for the sunset. Not only was I seeing the temple literally in a different light but I was seeing the people and rituals differently. I sat and watched as some of the Sikhs immediately dropped to their knees and bowed to the Temple while others only bowed slightly with their hands in the prayer position. 

I observed how some followers were sitting alone deep in concentration while the temple reflection bounced silently on the holy water.

I sat watching the glittering temple as day turned to dusk, the colors became muted and the water slowly slowly lost it’s mirror like qualities.

I checked out the inside of the temple when the line died down and stupidly realized that the music I had been hearing all afternoon was live from inside the temple. Worshipers threw coins, bills of money, flowers and sweets and the priest used a large broom to sweep the offerenings towards the choir.

For dinner I joined the other thousands of pilgrims at the free kitchen, Harmandar Sahib. The kitchen is open 24 hours a day and serves roughly 40 to 50,000 people any given day. I was handed a metal tray, bowl, spoon and ushered into the large mess hall.

A traffic director motioned me to a spot on the floor on a tattered runner; I barely had time to look around when another man came around with a large bucket and dropped some yellow bean stuff into one of the compartments on my tray. Another man gave me some brown stuff, another a chapatti (a pita like bread), another sweet rice and another filled my bowl with water. I realized that people were being sat in an orderly fashion, from the back of the room to front in long rows. When I was finished I stood up, dropped my tray for washing and practically tripped over a man slicing potatoes.

When I stopped to take a picture of the mass preparation area a friendly Sikh with a bushy beard, almond shaped eyes and blue turban tapped on my leg and motioned me to have a seat and help the cause.

I was immediately handed a dull knife, a log stump cutting board and a stack of potatoes; after a while we were out of potatoes, but not out of a job. We slid over to the garlic department and I peeled garlic until my legs started to tingle and I began to understand the term “sitting Indian style”. After an hour of garlic peeling my new Sikh friends bought me a delicious cup of Nescafé, made sure I found my shoes and a hailed a tuk tuk since there was no way I was going to brave the streets back to my hotel!

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Getting my feet wet, The Golden Temple (Amritsar, India): Round 1

Posted on February 18, 2012 by surfas-ing

Sick, tired and ready to stay inside my cozy room at the Hotel Honk Kong in Amritsar I lethargically dragged myself out of bed. My journey from Delhi on the freezing overnight bus left me with little motivation. However, it had been far too long of a journey to not see the one thing I had actually come to see, The Golden Temple; I took some cold medicine, a deep breath and found a bicycle rickshaw waiting outside. 

A scrawny man with ragged clothes, a bad hair dye job and only 8 teeth hailed me right out of the door. I hopped into his chariot and we were off through the maze of crowded and loud streets of Amritsar. When we got to the bridge I had to get out and walk up, he was no Lance Armstrong so I obliged. Then when we got to the railroad crossing I was again hustled off my chariot to duck under the gate. While several people were ignoring the gate, I looked both ways and realized that the gate was closed because there was in fact a train coming. My prince charming made it across just in the nick of time and I followed once the train had passed.

When we finally arrived at the gates I frantically began to search my bag and all my pockets for my little money pouch to pay the 50 rupee ($1) fare and I couldn’t find it anywhere. On the side of the road, with every eye watching me as they passed I scrambled to find my money. Horrified that we would have to go back to the hotel so quickly and repeat the journey not once but twice more I sighed and tried to explain that I didn’t seem to have one cent. Prince charming only had a few magical words for me “no worry, no worry. I wait, you look and come back.” I must have had a puzzled look, as my faces usually give away how I’m feeling, and he repeated his mantra with a little head bobble “no worry, no worry.”

In my Dayquil haze I was off to stash my shoes and cover my head. I watched as the people first washed their hands, and then walked through not one but two small pools of water before entering the main gate.

I respected their lead and walked through the first of doorways where I finally saw the glimmering Golden Temple surrounded by the pool of holy water.

I started following the flow of people as they walked clockwise around the pool on the large marble deck lined with stripes of red velvet and straw runners. I didn’t take five steps when I was stopped by a group of pimply faced boys in turbans asking “which country you?” and “one snap?” I obliged and kept walking to admire the building, listen to the peaceful music and watch as the men undressed to dunk themselves in the water.

The paparazzi was everywhere. I was like a popular movie star trying to walk through the mall on a Saturday; me with babies, me with woman and children, me by myself and even people who weren’t asking to take snaps where pulling out their cell phones and giggling as they captured my photo from a far. Eventually the novelty wore off, for me at least, and I had to start declining requests.

I didn’t go into the temple because the line looked too long and I didn’t want to keep prince charming waiting. Plus, I knew I was going to return in the afternoon to experience the temple in the afternoon light and sunset.

Just as he had promised my chariot was waiting and somehow in the little English he conveyed he was going to take me somewhere else. I had no plans and happily agreed. I visited a garden around the corner from the Temple that was a shrine to a massacre and mass suicide – uplifting. After the garden he offered to buy me a cigarette and then took me to a cheesy museum where I had no money once again to pay the 10-rupee fee. Prince Charming paid and waited while I looked at the large scale diorama depicting several brutal wars which the Indians have apparently fought. Once we were back to the hotel I asked the price for this ½ day excursion? He said “your choice” or something to that effect. I grumbled, not knowing what that meant and ran up to my room grabbed a 500 rupee note since I didn’t have anything smaller. 500 rupees is about 10 bucks, his face lit up and I actually thought he was going to hug me. I collapsed on my bed for a nap and some food; I needed energy for second round of the The Golden Temple!

Stay tuned for Round 2: amazing sunset photos from The Golden Temple!

Posted in Amritsar, India | Tagged , , , | 5 Comments

I almost married a Bedouin, stories from Jordan…

Posted on February 15, 2012 by surfas-ing

I spent one day in Eilat before heading into Jordan to see Petra. I had planned on hitchhiking (just kidding mom) to the border, taking another car from the Jordanian side and then just winging it from there but after a few discussions in Eilat I realized that maybe a planned tour was a better idea. While practicing my español with a group of Argentinians, we crossed the border and two hours later we were trekking into the Petra National Park. Petra was amazing; we walked through the red rocks that had been gently sliced apart over the centuries by floods.

Horses, camels and carts carrying tourists passed us often, but I felt like it was a shame to not experience the royal passageway on foot.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The path to enter the area winds around widens and narrows in several spots until the end when it opens up to the main facade built directly into the massive stonewall.

We spent most of the afternoon meandering through the valley and then doing a U-turn at the end to walk out.

My new Argentinian friends were only doing the day trip but I had opted to stay for an extra day in the Wadi Rum Desert. At some point during our late lunch it occurred to me that I was going into the desert, with a stranger, to sleep in a tent, in the cold. Oh, did I not mention that when we hit the summit of the road to Petra there was snow? Yeah, it had snowed the night before and it was brisk during the day. I figured there must be heaters of some sort, they wouldn’t bring people out to the desert and let them freeze, right? Anyway, I was half joking with the Argentinians about getting kidnapped and forced to marry a Bedouin.  We exchanged emails and asked that if he didn’t hear from me within 48 hours to contact the US Embassy. We stopped for a pit stop and our driver said that this was where we were to part ways.  Sure enough a young Bedouin with a long brown skirt, long tunic top, white head wrap and jeep picked me up. I said ciao to the Argentinians, took a deep breath and got into the jeep. Abdulla spoke English really well, which was a relief because we drove and drove. First we were on the regular road then he turned off and we were on the sand, with the tumbleweed, with no lights, no signs and seemingly no other people. When we arrived at the “camp” I realized that there were no other guests.

This is when I thought for sure I was going to be forced to marry the Bedouin and live out the rest of my life in a tent with sand perpetually in all my crevices. We had some tea and a fire and watched for shooting stars because when you’re in the middle of the desert, with no electricity, in the middle of the Middle East what else is there to do? At this point Abdulla seemed to think that I wanted to make out with him, which I didn’t. At the time I thought it was hysterical that this kid was trying every play in the book, eventually I had to be straight and say “it’s not you it’s me…”!

BTW – My tent did not have a heater but it did have a bunch of blankets and I knew if I got really cold there was a Bedouin just a few tents away.

The day in Wadi Rum desert is magnificent; it’s like Utah, on crack, but even better!

There are wild camels

hieroglyphics

large red sand dunes to run down

and amazing vistas as far as the eye can see.

Driving though the desert was glorious, it was like having the most delicious red velvet cake that you want to savor but also want to devour all at once. There is an incredible energy in the desert that made me want to stay; but as all good things must eventually come to an end I was shuttled back to the Israeli border with only my memories, the red sand in my shoes and the photos which do not do Wadi Rum justice.

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Republic Day + Wagah (Pakistani) Border

Posted on February 12, 2012 by surfas-ing

I was told I absolutely must not miss going to the Wagah Border while I was in Amritsar. The border patrol, both Pakistani and Indian, put on an over the top performance every day when they close the border. It just so happen that I was there on one of the biggest National Holidays, Republic Day. Republic Day seemed to me a lot like 4th of July; they celebrate the independence from Britain. I was given two options of how to get to this shin dig 30km away: a. take a private taxi for more than my hotel costs for a night or b. take a local auto rickshaw for two bucks. When I arrived to the spot where the local rickshaws depart from I quickly found a guy who had one last space to fill and graciously gave me the back seat next to an elderly couple. I tried to get comfortable on the little bench just large enough to sit on at an angle with my toes hanging over the edge. I took cues from the woman sitting next to me as she grabbed the frame above her head and used her other hand to hold her sari to her face. The first 30 minutes were amusing as I watched out the back, wide-eyed and proud of myself for going local. We passed horse drawn carts and men on bicycles carrying loads 5 times larger than their bike. The motorcycles driven by men in turbans with dark aviator glasses as well as trucks belching black exhaust fumes whizzed by us like we were the cow chewing on grass. The crowded city became small villages with woman selling oranges on the side of road, then quickly the villages became fields and eventually we were in the countryside.

We finally arrived to the border and I was never so happy to see Pakistan. I hopped off the back of the little clown car and 10 others followed. The rickshaw consists of four rows, if you count the second row a real row. The “second row” is about 6 inches wide, your back is to the driver and your knees overlap with row number three. Anyway, it was a mad dash into the stadium and one of the creepers from my ride wanted to be my escort. Luckily the men were split from the woman and I lost him in the crowd. Once I went through security I found the VIP section (foreigners are considered VIP’s at this event) and secured my seat.

 

The first part of the show was put on a by what appeared to be school kids. The kids sang songs, performed traditional dances in brightly colored costumes and even did a re-enactment of the Indians succession from the Brits. Then the fun really began. They passed out popcorn, dimmed the lights and the announcer came on….not quite, but they might as well have. Grown men started high kicking, stomping their lavishly decorated boots and flinging themselves towards the border in a semi- militaristic fashion. There were loud horns; whistles and bullhorns while each side performed their choreographed show so dramatic you would have thought they were competing on a reality TV program.

Just when I thought it couldn’t get any more outlandish they flung open the gates and did more saluting and stomping in unison with the Pakistani brigade! After about 10 minutes of high-stepping and other shenanigans they artistically brought down the flags and theatrically closed the gates. After the crowd died down I found my way back to the clown car for a slow ride home in the dark thinking about how there are so many mouths to feed in India (as well as in Pakistan) yet this is how the government chooses to spend their resources each an every day.

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Temples, God’s and my first third eye

Posted on February 7, 2012 by surfas-ing

Who knew, well I guess someone, that the temples in India are adorned with psychedelic mirrored mosaics, men who appear to be woman with 10 heads and 4 hands and wedding caked shaped building towering into the sky?  Clearly not me because I probably would have come to India a lot sooner if I knew that one could go on a psychedelic trip while totally sober.

I’ll be the first to admit – I know nothing about Hinduism, their gods, their temples or anything in between.

My first night in Delhi, right after I was ripped off but when I was still blissfully unaware that I had been ripped off, we passed what appeared to be a nightclub since it looked like it could be some hot spot right out of the Meatpacking District. I asked the person driving if that was where we were going, he just laughed and said it was a temple. A temple? The entrance to this get-up wasn’t a door but a large mouth with large teeth welcoming people with a queue, red carpet and on the top was a large monkey lit up like it was the Clark Griswold’s Christmas decorations. I was amused, excited and a little perplexed at the fact that I was utterly clueless.

I quickly learned that temples in India come in all shapes, sizes, colors and layers all fit out with various gods, bells and other accoutrements. Being as I’m a nice Jewish girl from a nice Jewish family the last thing I expected was to offer flowers, coconuts or better yet money to any god other than the one I already knew. Even more so I never thought I’d be the first to whip off my shoes, accept sweet candy blessings from the hands of stranger or receive the ubiquitous forehead adornment. Yet, within the first hours after arriving I lost my virginity to all of the above. I did think twice before going barefoot because as they say “when in Rome…” and I’ve already had my fair share of little sweet candies that look like white raisins as well as yellow, red and sometimes orange smudges on my forehead. I really can’t wait to see what’s in store during my travel through the rest of this mysterious land as I don’t doubt that there will be more temples, more gods and plenty more third eyes.

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Sabbaba…Bomb detection, bomb shelters, a few bomb weekends in Israel

Posted on February 5, 2012 by surfas-ing

I arrived in Israel during Hannukah and two days before Christmas; instead of running to the first store for a sufganiot (special Hannukah donut) I had some really fun dental work done – Happy Hannukah to me! Not the best or most ideal way to start any day or trip for that matter, luckily I only had one direction to go after the drilling. With a little help, and a smile I found the city bus from the dentist to the main bus station in Tel Aviv where I made my way to Jerusalem. I didn’t know heads from tails when I got to the Jerusalem main bus station so I did what any New Yorker would do, I asked the first policeman to point me in the direction of a cab. With his heavy accent, he said “cab, I do not know a cab but get in….we find you a cab”. Get in, I thought? To your police van? This would NEVER happen in New York. He sensed my hesitation and repeated “get in, I find you a cab.” I thought to myself for minute “he’s police, cute and in a huge police van – what could happen?” I hopped into the front seat, my bag was occupying all the space available on the floor so my legs were crammed up to my chin. Once I was situated in the seat and managed to close the door we were off out of the bus station. I took a quick peek at the back of the van, instead of seats or an empty paddy wagon I saw a machine and a bunch of high tech equipment. “So, what’s that?” I asked, as I nodded my head in the direction of the large piece of equipment taking up most of the back. Nonchalantly he said, “dat is my robot, he’s for bomb detection”. BOMB DECTECTION – WTF???? Calmly and I’m sure with what I thought was a cool response I said “ahh, bomb detection hu?” He proceeded to explain there had been a suspicious package at the bus station – yada, yada. After a few minutes and a little conversation he said he would drive me to the hotel but if he got a call he would have to leave me on the side of the road. Needless to say we made it to the hotel, no urgent calls or at least if he did have a call he let someone else respond.  Sabbaba!

After arriving in style I spent the first weekend, the 4th and 5th nights of Hannukah, with my Arizona cousins who happen to be traveling in Israel. I crashed their synagogue tour, got a nametag and freeloaded for 2 days at their nice hotel before heading to the army. In two quick days we celebrated Hannukah, Shabbat and wandered the cold and rainy streets of the old city on Christmas eve, trying to catch a glimpse of midnight mass. Sabbaba!

New Years weekend came quickly after our first week of volunteering. The only problem is December 31 is not a very big deal in Israel because Rosh Hashana is the celebrated New Year. I didn’t let that little fact spoil the weekend; I checked out Tel Aviv, the new modern wing on the art museum and chilled by the beach.

Luckily, we managed to find a party or two to ring in the New Year till about 4am. Sabbaba!

Since we were already in the North me and 3 other guys planned a weekend in the Golan. Haifa, Akko, Safad, and a few stops on the way. Everything was going swimmingly until the heavy rain and the day started to fade on Friday afternoon. What we didn’t know was we had chosen a very religious area to spend the weekend and Shabbat was quickly approaching. We rerouted our plans to stay at the Soldier house in Tiberias; the soldier house is not a house that a soldier lives in but an inexpensive hotel like place for Israeli soldiers to hangout when they’re off duty. As I was gazing out the windows at the Kinnerat I realized that the windows and main door of the kitchen/computer room were really really thick like 15” bomb shelter thick. Oye! Saturday proved to be more difficult since we hadn’t stocked up on Shabbat provisions and when you’re with 3 hungry boys this can become a problem very quickly. After hiking around some ancient ruins even I was starting to feel a bit faint, we eventually found an open gas station. Did we think to get gas when we were scarfing down pre-made sandwiches, packaged hummus and bamba? Nope, and about 3 hours later we had a more serious problem than being a little hungry; we were in the middle of the Golan and running on fumes. When we thought we were totally SOL we finally found a gas station, only to be further flustered by the fact that we couldn’t read the pump instructions. No worries, I hailed another car for help and we were in business. It was pure comic relief most of the weekend and when we got back to the base on Sunday the four of us needed breathers from one another.  Sabbaba!

A lovely sunset shared over the Kinnerat.

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India…I don’t even know where to begin!?

Posted on February 3, 2012 by surfas-ing

I’ve been in India almost two weeks now, I made my way from Delhi—>Amritsar—>Chandigahr—>Hardiwar (only a day) on my way to Rishikesh. It’s been a whirlwind adapting and everyday is a learning experience.  I’m finally feeling relaxed in Rishikesh and I’ve been able to write and more importantly think. Rishikesh is close to the start of the Ganga (pronounced GONG-ahhhh) River and it’s very hippie dippie with lots of yoga, ashrams, spiritual guides, Ayurveda, healthy non-spicy food, massage and of course cows! Where I’m staying there is only one place with wifi and I couldn’t get a connection; I have a backlog of posts that I’m hoping to get out today!

India has been so many things it’s almost hard to sum it up into a few short words. I’ll start by telling you that the first few days in Delhi felt surreal, like I was in a movie. The first time I had this feeling of being in a movie was when I first moved to New York. Every turn I took the things I was seeing, hearing and smelling didn’t seem like they could possibly be real. It’s a very hard feeling to explain, you just have to either understand or accept that I’m not crazy. I arrived to Delhi in the middle of the night, which was probably a good thing. We passed the big fancy hotels on the way from the airport, so when we turned onto the small street and started passing shanty’s and cows I had a feeling of – oh shit, where am I staying and can we turn this vehicle around to find me a room at the Taj?! My room smelled funky and the window was basically blacked out so when I finally woke up all I knew was that it had to be daytime because it was really loud outside. I was a little scared to leave the room, but I got up and got ready. The second I rinsed my toothbrush with the sink water I remembered that you’re not supposed to drink the water and contemplated whether it was safe to use the brush again. I figured one less thing to carry is a good thing (even if it’s just a toothbrush) so I promptly tossed it.  I stepped out of the security of my little hotel onto the narrow alley unsure of what I was about to see. I followed the noise and once I passed the urinals attached to the wall the stench of piss pushed me into the thick of the main bazaar. I was greeted by wandering cows, skinny dogs, hoards of people, rickshaws – tuk tuks – motorcycles and bikes coming in every direction. I didn’t know where to look first; there were people selling everything from basmati rice to blankets, kids cooking fried foods, old men boiling chai, young men chopping fish heads and wrinkled old ladies hocking shiny bangles.

A first time to India wouldn’t be complete without being scammed, so that’s exactly what I did (in hindsight, of course). In my haze of little sleep, little food and even less water in the preceding 48 hours I walked the dusty streets trying to avoid things that looked like cow poo and headed towards the metro where I was told there was a bank. On the way to the ATM, a young guy approached me and said he wanted to practice his English. Rule number one, when someone approaches you in India and gives you a line like “I’m a student and I want to practice my English” be alert. I tried to shake the kid, but he was persistent. I broke the cardinal sin of never telling anyone it’s your first time to India (rule number 2) and when I said I needed a map he showed me right where to find one….in a travel agency office claiming to be part of the official tourism department. Within three minutes the agent wanted to sell me a trip around India. All I wanted was some cash, some food and maybe a map.

I managed to get out of one travel agency only to find myself in another agency just down the street. For some reason these guys seemed less scamy and more honest. Rule number three, when someone says trust me repeatedly you should definitely NOT trust them. I wasn’t planning on getting a trip in India but I was so freaked out about scams and trains and dirty everything that having a booked tour for the first week or 10 days was sounding like a really good idea.

So much happened between the time my credit card was swipped and when I actually left Delhi that I could write a novel. Everything unraveled when I was supposed to go on an overnight train from Delhi to Amritsar and somehow there weren’t any tickets available. I agreed to change my plan from the train to the bus and I ended up on an overnight sleeper bus. Besides the man banging on the windows every two hours to announce a different stop the bus had no heat. I put on almost everything I could find and after freezing for 10 hours I realized that my organized trip wasn’t so organized.

I’m now on my own agenda, off the tour, finding my own way through this crazy fucking country. I’m trying to not get scammed, trying to not be rude when people ask for snaps of me and me alone, trying food that is totally foreign a waaaay too spicy for my delicate system, trying to learn the culture and trying to let things go when they don’t go accordingly because it’s India after all!

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Tank conspiracy near the Golan Heights

Posted on January 26, 2012 by surfas-ing

I tried to steal a tank, ok that’s not completely true. I colluded to steal a tank but apparently they don’t leave the tanks just sitting around; finding a tank was harder than you might think (all things considered). My cohort was another volunteer, even with his perfect hebrew and my charming smile we were at a loss on how to jump a tank for our little joy ride. Day and night we conspired and just when we were about to give up hope the sea split and our prayers were answered!

One day when I was meticulously lubing wires, deep in my thoughts, in walked a group of head honchos. I could tell they were the big wigs by the amount of bling adorning their shoulders, the finely pressed uniforms and the air they brought with them through the unit.  As they passed my station it didn’t take much before I was talking to one of the guys with not one but two falafels on his sleeve. FYI – They are not really falafel, that’s just what the soldiers call the high-ranking symbol (it looks more like a marijuana plant if  you ask me). Anyway, I seized the opportunity and asked him what it takes for a girl to drive a tank and before I knew it this major or general or man with many falafels was giving the order for a tank excursion!

A few days later, armed with helmets and excitement, we were caravanned down to another part of the base to get a tank tour. We thought we would see some tanks, maybe get some quintessential pictures around the tanks instead we were in for a serious treat. Our small communication base was part of a larger base; unbeknownst to any of us we were living and working directly above the place where they fix ALL the tanks for the Israeli army. This is no ordinary lube, oil, filter station either. They take the tanks completely apart, run a plethora of diagnostic tests on the engine, remove the turret and completely over hall each tank every few years. We went through the huge warehouse on our VIP tour to see the process from start to finish; with giddiness of kids at the playground after a long winter we climbed around as well as in and out of the tanks.

When we thought it couldn’t get any better we hurried out back as the crew hoisted the turret off the main body of the tank. We all watched in awe and appreciation as the massive machinery was detached and lifted into the air. The roar of an engine marked the finale for our tour; directly behind us one of the drivers revved up the engine and gave us a show with one of the finished tanks.

Even though there are now eight or nine woman only tank crews I was not allowed to drive. Satisfied none the less my cohort and I put off our joy ride until further notice!

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Straight from India…

Posted on January 23, 2012 by surfas-ing

To quote an email I received from a friend just a few days ago while, BTW, I was still in Israel. “Right about now I imagine you’re pissing yourself in India.  It’s so overcrowded and dirty.  How do they handle the food?  Do they handle the food?  Who’s been handling this food?  Its just…its just that, its India.  India!  I mean India, of all places!”

Today I did almost piss myself, but not really. After a 9 hour layover in what some might call hell I arrived in Delhi at 1:40am. I had a whirlwind of a day, to say the least, but exactly 24 hours after landing I’m totally ready to get this party started!

Yes, it’s all the thing I was told; it’s crowded, loud, there are weird things I had to step over on the streets and beyond all else it’s hectic – shit, is it hectic!. But the smells were inspiring as well as suspicious,  I ate with my hands without hesitation not once but twice and my taste buds burst into the flames each time, I bought new genie pants for $3 because my  jeans have crotch holes, my new friends told me my name means couple or pair in Hindi, I danced at a nightclub and took a little cab back to my home and I saw beautiful colors and shapes at every turn that make me excited for another day in this crazy place they call India.

Posted in Delhi, India | Tagged , | 4 Comments

Lube jobs, helmets and a uniform…my life on an army base in Israel

Posted on January 15, 2012 by surfas-ing

I switched bases for my last two weeks of volunteering, I was in the Northern part of Israel near Tiberias. This base is a non-combat base like the medical base near Tel Aviv but there are more soldiers who actually work  and live on the base. Thus, there was more eye-candy for pumas like me — ha, they are a mere twenty waaaaaaaaaay too young….that’s why I chose to keep my eye on the more senior officers. The communication base was a small area part of a larger compound; we were doing all sorts of things communication-ish. The soldiers are trained to fix radios, phones, helmets, antennas, cables and I’m sure a bunch of other stuff I don’t know about. My first week I was in the lubing cable station; I basically sat for four days  lubing and cleaning cables with silicone. Not only did I have to guard the silicone with my life but I’m a quick learner and I moved up to using the massive sealing machine. Needless to say, I was deemed the lube job girl and jokes were prolific. After a week of lube jobs, I needed a break so I spent the final week becoming an expert helmet repair technician; sanding, painting, gluing velcro, tying hooks, zipping zip ties, and using the heat gun.  I plan to add both these skills to my resume when I decide to re-enter the working force!

The food at this base was one step up and one step down from the first base. I say one step up because we actually had pretty decent lunches. I became very fond of the chocolate milk, you had to drink it directly from the plastic pouch. I also liked the white creamy cheese spread with the consistency of sour cream that could be doused onto anything. The step down was we were served directly at the table rather than buffet style. I realized about 3 days into our time in the North that my germ phobia had seemingly subsided because there was massive double dipping going on and I wasn’t bothered. When the different items were served it was every soldier for himself and forks were repeatedly used in different dishes after being used to eat. Apparently, a community dish without separate utensils is totally common – but then again so is taking money and then serving shwarma without gloves or hand washing. I guess in Israel they have bigger things to worry about than double dipping!

Only seven of us took the journey to the North, but it was a lively group. There was the Brazilian token gay man who snorted profusely when laughing, a tall 21 year old Aussi who is now Israeli and about to start his own IDF service, the soulful surf bum/chef trying to figure out his place in the world, the Texan turned Bostonian with hair that takes longer to primp than any girl I know, a bite-sized South African who is highly competitive and takes jabs whenever the opportunity arises & the other girl – she came to Israel for the first time a few months ago and is now living the Zionist life in Jerusalem. We had two funny Madrichot.  Katan, a smart and introspective girl about to finish her army service; she lives a shomer negiah (modest and religious) life, a lot of proxy hugs and high-fives from the guys. Smooch, a sassy and opinionated brut with an answer for everything. They are actually great friends which added to the  group dynamic. The duo were our camp counselors; they made sure we were where we needed to be, translated conversations, and created interesting evening activities.

Evening activities ranged from learning about different places in Israel, the history of the State, games to learn Hebrew which involved playing twister like sports and mock conflict resolution situations. Katan and Smoosh kept us in line and made sure we didn’t do anything that involved steeling tanks or not otherwise  IDF approved.  After the sanctioned activities we played A LOT of card games, the Israeli game Rummikub,  stole each others things for shrink wrapping purposes, shot the shit with soldiers and generally hung out.

There was a massive amount of “hangin’ out” in the army. Not just between the volunteers, but particularly with the soldiers. The Facebook could be found being worked on in every station at any given moment, smoke breaks were regular, visits to the shekem (bodega type store) happened almost religiously and general grooming were ongoing including but not limited to; eyebrow maintenance, lipstick application, and hair braiding. I was amazed at first how lax, unproductive and unmotivated these kids – I mean soldiers really were. Then it dawned on me that when I was their age I was having one party after another, worry about which frat party I was going to attend the following weekend, sleeping till noon for a 12:30 class and thinking about what I wanted to do once college was over. These kids are forced to be in the military, given mundane jobs for 2 or 3 years, not to mention they make a paltry $100 per month. Of course they are bored, brain dead and probably ready to scream. They have to do whatever it takes to survive their time and if that means drinking 2 liters of Coke a day, smoking 10 cigarettes or checking their status on FB then by all means….keep up the hanging out and keep your M16’s facing down and the bullets in a separate pocket!

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