I am so tired.
It is 3 a.m. and I'd
Like to go home now
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
INDIAN MEN
Before leaving this wondrous country I have to make a couple of comments regarding Indian men: they all seem to be fascinated with themselves, their hair and their facial hair. All the guys Peaches and I have encountered during our trip were in some way interesting from a beautician's point of view. Indian men, no matter how rich or poor they are, all seem to be very aware of themselves and their place in society and then there's the hair....In every social strata they take great pride and great care of their hair to the point of seeming really natty and somewhat fastidious. They touch it a lot, smooth it constantly, toss it when it's long, and they also color it, which is kind of weird. Especially when the older men seem to use a type of henna that obviously covers grey but also give their hair a surreal orange tinge, in certain cases faint in other arrestingly bright.
I don't know if it's because, having really black hair in most cases, they start to go grey prematurely, but many use hair coloring and it becomes a little strange especially when it contrasts with the facial hair. Now this is really fascinating: I have never seen, other than in my great grandfather's portrait or those of Kaiser Wilhelm, mustaches like the ones on the Indians: handlebars galore! Many different kinds: from discreet mustaches to totally wild ones and sometimes beards to go with them...and in certan cases a particular style that makes them look like lions with mane and everything.
Women with their long straight down-to-there dark hair are positively boring....but the guys in India seem to be spending a lot more time on themselves regardless of their place in society.
Peaches and I have amused ourselves ogling a couple of lookalikes that were in our hotel in Kovalam: we had Indian Elvis, for example, and a guy who was a dead ringer for Russell Brand...as I said hair and facial hair...what a winning combination!
I don't know if it's because, having really black hair in most cases, they start to go grey prematurely, but many use hair coloring and it becomes a little strange especially when it contrasts with the facial hair. Now this is really fascinating: I have never seen, other than in my great grandfather's portrait or those of Kaiser Wilhelm, mustaches like the ones on the Indians: handlebars galore! Many different kinds: from discreet mustaches to totally wild ones and sometimes beards to go with them...and in certan cases a particular style that makes them look like lions with mane and everything.
Women with their long straight down-to-there dark hair are positively boring....but the guys in India seem to be spending a lot more time on themselves regardless of their place in society.
Peaches and I have amused ourselves ogling a couple of lookalikes that were in our hotel in Kovalam: we had Indian Elvis, for example, and a guy who was a dead ringer for Russell Brand...as I said hair and facial hair...what a winning combination!
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Taj Mahal to NYC in 30 Hours...Give or Take a Few
It is incredible to think that, a mere 30 hours after today’s misty morning visit to the amazing Taj Mahal, we will be back in New York!
Our visit did not disappoint. The Taj, built over 22 years beginning in 1631, is worthy of its reputation as the world’s great Monument to Love. The mughal emperor Shah Jahan built the Taj Mahal as a mausoleum for his third and favorite wife, Mumtaz. In fact, the name "Taj Mahal" is a contraction of her full name: Mumtaz Mahal.
The structure, an octagon posed on a square features three onion-shaped domes (typical of Islamic architecture) and a minaret in each of the four corners. The entire building is made of white marble adorned with intricate carvings and inlaid previous and semi-precious stones, inside and out.
Although we didn't even attempt a sunrise visit due to the layers of fog, we lucked out and got a sunny day by the time we arrived at 9:00 a.m. We also thanked our lucky stars and tour operator for scheduling our visit for after the holidays; We were told that there were waits up to four hours just before and after Christmas Day!
Monday, January 4, 2010
I Hate Cows
I knew I hated cows one day when, I was probably nine or ten years old, I was playing hide and seek with other children in a farm near Verona and I jumped from what I thought was a hayloft onto another lower hayloft only to fall through the hay and into a chute that fed directly into the dairy with all the cows. There I was sitting on a pile of hay with cows all around me who were looking none too pleased to see me in the midst of their lunch.
I know cows are usually fairly stupid and placid animals ( if you do not count the bulls in Pamplona), but all these different types we have encountered here in India seem to know exactly that THEY are the ones who are running the country.
They are everywhere and they cross the streets, even the highways, any time they damn please getting traffic to grind to a halt when you’re already trying to avoid the cars who do not seem to know how to keep in their lane or to use an indicator. The cows are the Indian equivalent of New York rats, they are a pest, they forage through garbage, they are everywhere…the only difference is that you can easily run over a rat, while with a cow you get the short end of a stick in an accident.
Any journey in a car in India is significantly made longer and more irritating by the presence of these horned, uncaring, ubiquitous, large moving targets. If the Indians choose not to eat them I move for building large temples devoted to them and therefore keep them in enclosures where people can feed them, worship them, whatever….and don’t even get me started on their large dumps….
Final Stop: Agra
One thing is for sure: After spending nearly an hour in a car to traverse approximately 15 km in Agra, I will never complain about LA traffic again.
Today we drove from Delhi to Agra, site of the Taj Mahal. Although only 200 km away, the drive takes 4-5 hours because of the insane traffic in both cities, as well as the usual lack of real highway and constant previously mentioned road obstacles, mainly cows, goats, pedestrians, rickshaws, et al. The drive would have taken just under three hours, were it not for the standstill we encountered as we approached Agra. Bobo and I were just about ready to pull our hair out.
Thankfully, the traffic had subsided by the time we checked into our hotel and ventured back out to see the Agra Fort, which features incredible views from afar of the fabled Taj Mahal. Unfortunately, a dense fog has set in here in the north of India, wreaking all kinds of havoc and making our photos rather hazy. We're quite sure we won't get a sunrise tomorrow, but we hope to explore the Taj Mahal in all it's glory a little later in the morning (we won't miss the early morning wake-up call) when the fog lifts a bit.
To be continued tomorrow with photos!
Today we drove from Delhi to Agra, site of the Taj Mahal. Although only 200 km away, the drive takes 4-5 hours because of the insane traffic in both cities, as well as the usual lack of real highway and constant previously mentioned road obstacles, mainly cows, goats, pedestrians, rickshaws, et al. The drive would have taken just under three hours, were it not for the standstill we encountered as we approached Agra. Bobo and I were just about ready to pull our hair out.
Thankfully, the traffic had subsided by the time we checked into our hotel and ventured back out to see the Agra Fort, which features incredible views from afar of the fabled Taj Mahal. Unfortunately, a dense fog has set in here in the north of India, wreaking all kinds of havoc and making our photos rather hazy. We're quite sure we won't get a sunrise tomorrow, but we hope to explore the Taj Mahal in all it's glory a little later in the morning (we won't miss the early morning wake-up call) when the fog lifts a bit.
To be continued tomorrow with photos!
The Power to Stop Time
This morning, we were awakened by a phone call from our hotel front desk informing us that our taxi to the airport had arrived. I had set an alarm for 8:00 a.m. and it had yet to go off, so I was more than slightly confused. The call startled me from a deep sleep, and since the room has massive, light-blocking wooden shutters, you can’t exactly blame me from being a little chronologically disoriented. My confusion was further complicated by the fact that when I looked at my iPhone, it read 3:10 a.m. Curious, indeed. I then looked at my wristwatch for confirmation: it read 2:45 a.m. (I had set it to local time upon arriving in India.)
“What time is it?” Bobo inquired.
“Well, my phone says 3:10 a.m. and my watch says it’s a quarter to three. It definitely feels like we slept more than three hours, though.”
Perplexed, I went to the bathroom--which is partially outdoors--because I had to pee and also to see if it was light out.
“Well, it’s definitely not three in the morning,” I confirmed upon my return.
“Call the front desk and ask what time it is!” Bobo directed, a slight hint of panic in her voice. We had a flight to catch, after all.
Upon confirming that it was, in fact, 8:45 a.m. and that our taxi was, in fact, waiting for us, we shifted into fifth, got dressed, brushed our teeth, zipped up our luggage and moved out at top speed. I still have no idea why my iPhone--which sets time based on GPS--would somehow reset itself to another time zone while I slept. My wristwatch stopping made even less sense; As soon as I stood up I realized it was working just fine. Just as I was beginning to formulate theories in my head about my X-Men-like mutant abilities to bend time, I realized that perhaps I had been just a wee bit disoriented when looking at my wrist, and perhaps I had misread it, and perhaps it did actually say 8:45 and not 2:45. Damn you, early morning dyslexia.
Of course, the ability to bend time would only really come in handy if one were very good at controlling it. If it just caused you to oversleep and miss your flight, it would be no fun at all. Nonetheless, I think it makes perfect sense to come up with a good superhero name for myself at this point in time.
“What time is it?” Bobo inquired.
“Well, my phone says 3:10 a.m. and my watch says it’s a quarter to three. It definitely feels like we slept more than three hours, though.”
Perplexed, I went to the bathroom--which is partially outdoors--because I had to pee and also to see if it was light out.
“Well, it’s definitely not three in the morning,” I confirmed upon my return.
“Call the front desk and ask what time it is!” Bobo directed, a slight hint of panic in her voice. We had a flight to catch, after all.
Upon confirming that it was, in fact, 8:45 a.m. and that our taxi was, in fact, waiting for us, we shifted into fifth, got dressed, brushed our teeth, zipped up our luggage and moved out at top speed. I still have no idea why my iPhone--which sets time based on GPS--would somehow reset itself to another time zone while I slept. My wristwatch stopping made even less sense; As soon as I stood up I realized it was working just fine. Just as I was beginning to formulate theories in my head about my X-Men-like mutant abilities to bend time, I realized that perhaps I had been just a wee bit disoriented when looking at my wrist, and perhaps I had misread it, and perhaps it did actually say 8:45 and not 2:45. Damn you, early morning dyslexia.
Of course, the ability to bend time would only really come in handy if one were very good at controlling it. If it just caused you to oversleep and miss your flight, it would be no fun at all. Nonetheless, I think it makes perfect sense to come up with a good superhero name for myself at this point in time.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Om, Shanti Shanti
Five days in Kerala is the perfect amount of time to get back into yoga, which I practiced three to five times a week in New York over the summer. I have yet to find a place in LA that I really like, so my yogic habits have lapsed a bit, but I'm always happy to see that it's just like riding a bicycle. After a day or two, I was doing headstands once again (see the photographic evidence.)
Yoga Nazi, a tiny sprite of a woman named Divya, is fond of saying things like, "Breathe deeply, relax compleeeeeeetely...Breathe deeply, relax compleeeeetely...Breathe deeply, relax compleeeeetley. Now stop breathing." It's really hard not to laugh sometimes.
I also happen to love the little ditty she sings for us at the end of class. It goes something like this:
"I relaaaaaaax my toes. I relaaaaaaax my heels. I relaaaaaax my calf muscles...ankles...thigh muscles. I relaaaaaax my buttock muscles...hip region...pelvic area. I relaaaaaax my kidneys....liver (except when she says it, it sounds like "lih-where.") I can't quite do it justice with the written word, since you can't hear my bad impression of her accent, but you get the picture.
Friday, January 1, 2010
Food, Glorious Food
For those of you who were loyal Peaches readers during the first incarnation of this blog, you have probably realized a notable absence in this version thus far: full and detailed descriptions of each and every meal eaten.
If it is not already obvious, I am a proud foodie. Certainly there are a handful of things I will probably never eat (brains come to mind, no pun intended) but there are only three things I've tried that I actually dislike the flavor of: papaya (tastes of vomit), beets (taste like dirt), and ketchup (just disgusting.) I'm proud to report that in addition to recently retrying ketchup, (yup, still hate it) during this trip I tackled both my papaya and my beet phobias. I had a piece of papaya a few days ago at breakfast, and while it remains my least favorite tropical fruit, I will admit that it is tolerable. Last week at Devi Garh, Bobo (also not a fan of the beet root) and I drank carrot-beet juice, and actually enjoyed it.
Anyway, onto much more exciting details of delightful Indian delicacies. The variety of food is, as one might expect in a country so large, incredible. Delicious lamb stews and kebabs in the north, aromatic coconut curry prawns in the beaches of the south, and tender, flavorful veggies just about everywhere. The food map of India very much resembles the geographic map of India; Food in the northwest of the country tastes more like Middle Eastern fare, whereas the spicier stews and sauces that flavor foods in the south resemble dishes I sampled in countries like Thailand and Cambodia.
In fact, it was while backpacking Southeast Asia that one of my travel companions, Fritz Ravine, bestowed upon me the epithet of "lady in the street, freak at the buffet." I. Love. Buffets. And last night's New Years' Eve gala here at the Leela Kovalam was a buffet to end all buffets.
A good buffet is like a culinary version of those choose-your-own-adventure books I used to read as a kid. If you start out with sushi, you might move onto BBQ lobster; If you begin with homemade pita chips, hummous and giant capers, you have a nice segue into veggie kebabs. You never really know exactly where the buffet will take you, and each trip up to the table is like a new chapter in an ongoing quest for satiation.
This buffet had it all: from calamari to cucumber salad, pasta to palak paneer. There were entire sections of this buffet that we did not even have the time to explore, much less the stomachs large enough to sample. Dessert stretched the entire middle section of tables, and featured triple chocolate mousse cake, pistachio napoleons, tropical fruit mini-tarts, yule logs of all colors and flavors, and a make-your-own-sundae station.
The delicious feast, coupled with entertainment that included fire-eaters, a Bollywood dance troupe, a bellydancer, and a live DJ, made for a fantastic New Year's Eve on the beach under the stars.
If it is not already obvious, I am a proud foodie. Certainly there are a handful of things I will probably never eat (brains come to mind, no pun intended) but there are only three things I've tried that I actually dislike the flavor of: papaya (tastes of vomit), beets (taste like dirt), and ketchup (just disgusting.) I'm proud to report that in addition to recently retrying ketchup, (yup, still hate it) during this trip I tackled both my papaya and my beet phobias. I had a piece of papaya a few days ago at breakfast, and while it remains my least favorite tropical fruit, I will admit that it is tolerable. Last week at Devi Garh, Bobo (also not a fan of the beet root) and I drank carrot-beet juice, and actually enjoyed it.
Anyway, onto much more exciting details of delightful Indian delicacies. The variety of food is, as one might expect in a country so large, incredible. Delicious lamb stews and kebabs in the north, aromatic coconut curry prawns in the beaches of the south, and tender, flavorful veggies just about everywhere. The food map of India very much resembles the geographic map of India; Food in the northwest of the country tastes more like Middle Eastern fare, whereas the spicier stews and sauces that flavor foods in the south resemble dishes I sampled in countries like Thailand and Cambodia.
In fact, it was while backpacking Southeast Asia that one of my travel companions, Fritz Ravine, bestowed upon me the epithet of "lady in the street, freak at the buffet." I. Love. Buffets. And last night's New Years' Eve gala here at the Leela Kovalam was a buffet to end all buffets.
A good buffet is like a culinary version of those choose-your-own-adventure books I used to read as a kid. If you start out with sushi, you might move onto BBQ lobster; If you begin with homemade pita chips, hummous and giant capers, you have a nice segue into veggie kebabs. You never really know exactly where the buffet will take you, and each trip up to the table is like a new chapter in an ongoing quest for satiation.
This buffet had it all: from calamari to cucumber salad, pasta to palak paneer. There were entire sections of this buffet that we did not even have the time to explore, much less the stomachs large enough to sample. Dessert stretched the entire middle section of tables, and featured triple chocolate mousse cake, pistachio napoleons, tropical fruit mini-tarts, yule logs of all colors and flavors, and a make-your-own-sundae station.
The delicious feast, coupled with entertainment that included fire-eaters, a Bollywood dance troupe, a bellydancer, and a live DJ, made for a fantastic New Year's Eve on the beach under the stars.
AYURVEDIC BLISS
It's official, I feel like some kind of food! After arriving at The Leela in Kovalam ( Kerala) Peaches and I decided that these four days were going to be dedicated to improve our sleep deprived selves...so we booked yoga sessions and ayurvedic treatments at the Center in the hotel which is supposed to be the best in the region.
The yoga is great except for the fact that we do it around sunset time and therefore we have to cover ourselves in mosquito repellent in order not to be eaten alive. The instructor is a little limber South Indian thing who chants and orders us around in positions that make me feel like a pretzel! Peaches, who is a little yoga maven, knows the actual Indian names of the positions the yoga Nazi calls out, I basically fake it, keep and eye on Peaches and copy.
The ayurvedic treatments are great except they make me feel like food: yesterday I was basted like a turkey in different types of oil that, at one time, were literaly, liberally, dripped on me from my forehead on. I did sleep like a baby though, with no dreams, which the ayurvedic doctor says it's good, on top of declaring that I was made of air and water ( I have no idea if that's good or bad).
The next treatment was a "powder massage" where I was massaged head to toe in something that looked and smelled like the barbecue meat rub from Costco. Properly tenderized I was again rubbed in oil and then given something that looked like pesto in a beautiful brass jar to scrub myself in the shower. Needless to say my hair needed about three shampoos to go back to its usual non-oily state.
I am eagerly awaiting the next two days to see what comes next:Bobo alla Catalana? Aglio, olio e peperoncino? Baked, fried? Who knows......
The yoga is great except for the fact that we do it around sunset time and therefore we have to cover ourselves in mosquito repellent in order not to be eaten alive. The instructor is a little limber South Indian thing who chants and orders us around in positions that make me feel like a pretzel! Peaches, who is a little yoga maven, knows the actual Indian names of the positions the yoga Nazi calls out, I basically fake it, keep and eye on Peaches and copy.
The ayurvedic treatments are great except they make me feel like food: yesterday I was basted like a turkey in different types of oil that, at one time, were literaly, liberally, dripped on me from my forehead on. I did sleep like a baby though, with no dreams, which the ayurvedic doctor says it's good, on top of declaring that I was made of air and water ( I have no idea if that's good or bad).
The next treatment was a "powder massage" where I was massaged head to toe in something that looked and smelled like the barbecue meat rub from Costco. Properly tenderized I was again rubbed in oil and then given something that looked like pesto in a beautiful brass jar to scrub myself in the shower. Needless to say my hair needed about three shampoos to go back to its usual non-oily state.
I am eagerly awaiting the next two days to see what comes next:Bobo alla Catalana? Aglio, olio e peperoncino? Baked, fried? Who knows......
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