Jumping Jaipur is where i am!

Well, well, well. Another long awaited post (or so my mother and grandmother tell me!) has just begun. I'm writing from Jaipur, the capital city of Rajasthan (another province in India). Well, what a story do we have here. Dharmasala proved to be such a quaint and peaceful village. We actually stayed 6 km away from 'the' DHarmasala at the tourist hangout McLeod Ganj, on a ridge a little higher up on the mountain, beside the Dalai Lama's residence and the current location of the Tibetan Govoernment in exile. Our lazy days were filled with mostly eating, laughing with new friends, more eating, getting involved with more Kashmiris (we can't seem to avoid them at any cost!) and visiting Buddhist temples around the area.

Our first night in McLeod Ganj (M.G) we happened to meet a British trio from Bristol who had also been scammed by Naz in Delhi yet when refusing any more of the company's 'services' were treated EXTREMELY badly - from people walking and running on the roof of their boathouse in the middle of the night to scare the bejesus out of them, to being excommunicated and not being included in any of the other customers' activities (including the big party/feast at Bashir's house). We had some stories to swap over dinner that night alright. That day we also managed to meet a lovely Kashmiri selling shawls who embodied the true hospitality and warmth that others (namely the Karnai family) severly lacked. We had tea (I've never drunk so much tea in my life) while we waited for the rain to stop pouring. Other days we met our Israeli friends at a Tibetan cafe with a melancholy owner and his absolutely ADORABLE white fluffy puppy (he was still mourning the death of this puppy's sister - a customer dropped it and because she was so young it haemorraged and died.. poor thing) and beer gardens and rooftop terraces sipping hot lemon tea with ginger pieces (although that is the healthiest way to be that still didn't stop me from getting a cold. In Rajasthan. In this heat! Argh!)

We arrived in Agra after a very very long train trip (20 hours - the train was delayed and it was SUPER slow) and we were met by Kate, a British girl we met in Srinigar who is travelling with us for the next two weeks, and our driver, Kuljeet, a Sikh sweety who is our driver for our Royal Tour of Rajasthan. And how royal is it. For what we payed for (which was really so reasonable and not so expensive in temrs of convenience) we are staying in gorgeous hotels with hot water and lovely staff - sometimes I say "How did we get this?" But I know why. And so do you. It's sick. Bashir still says to me "So, when am I seeing you in Goa?" Sick sick sick.

Agra is only a stop to see the Taj Mahal. It was as majestic as it is in the pictures, and I will put some on when I next have the chance. The story behind it is so tragic and romantic - the Sultan built it for his wife to enshrine and commemorate her forever. Sigh.

Anyway, I must be off, the next installment will hopefully be tomorrow. Shabbat SHalom to all, and be safe.

Picture Perfection - not!

So, it's showtime girls and boys! Some scrumptious photos for your enjoyment. Instead of blabbing on forever and ever (as I have done in the past couple posts) I shall just list the photos and let you know about the location, perhaps even a little story....

1. The Trekkies
Me and Zuni (aka Nechama back at home) cuddling upto avoid the chill. It got to minus at night time, and so my furry jacket (next picture) proved to be quite useful.









2. Furry Jacket
Giving a cheeky grin!













3. Zuni, Myself and Remi aboard Raja and Sultan














4. Zuni and myself in front of Visha Lake (our final destination of the trek)















5. Remi (our guide), Zahur (we called him Pokerface as he couldn't hide his emotions during the endless games of Rummy), Manzur and Rashid cooking up a storm!



















6. The Trekking Gang all together!















7. Bashir's party preparations














8. The meat mallet production line at Bashir's house














9. Slaughtering of the goats before our eyes - the Halal way of course!














10. Kashmiri peak hour (just a glimpse!)



















11. Kashmiris smiling for my camera



















12. The Boathouse...
















































We're leaving our quiet little oasis of Dharmasala today for Agra to see the Taj Mahal. This is such a special place - I recommend anyone that is considering travelling to India to visit this hill station. It puts you at peace.

Kashmirimiri

So, now back to the Boathouse. What the hell were Nechama and I involved in. Man. Because of Bashir's good feelings towards me we were invited to a feast he held to thank God and to commemorate his late father. The day before the feast we had the privilege of visiting Bashir's house to see how they prepare the food. What we did indeed see was the Halal slaughtering of two goats, the livers/stomach/gizzards/furs of the already slaughtered sheep, and ten men sitting on the opposite side of the yard in a row with meat mallets, tenderizing the meat. Pots were bubbling with yellow and white and green liquids (saffron, yoghurt and spinach perhaps?) but the mood was unusually subdued and methodical. Inside the house there was some chaos going on - people looking for eachother, for other utensils, serving tea, finding more carpets to roll out beneath the tents pegged in their yard. I have never seen an animal slaughtered before. And i think, to be quite sure actually, I don't want to see it in the future. The water that followed along the drain by the house ran red. Like the ten plagues.

The feast the next day was a treat. To say thankyou a small group of tourists (Nechama, myself, a British girl Kate with whom we are travelling Rajasthan and an older Danish couple) brought lollies from the local store and shared it with the scores of children running around the place. Once they all got their fare share, some adults approached us and asked us for some sweets as well. Even the men who spent the night cooking the feast asked us for some - which we gave them gladly.

I think that's th eonce thing that I don't think I will get used to in India. The caste system. Or no, perhaps not the caste system, but by the way people (Indians) who have travelled to the West, and have experienced freedom of choice and abolishment of slavery in other countries, still treat their servants with no respect at all. And i think it hurts when one becomes friends with Indians in a lower caste. As soon as someone from a higher caste comes along and has the right to order our friends around - then it becomes EXTREMELY uncomfortable. We especially became good friends with our guide, Remi, our waiter Shaban, and our driver, the gorgeous looking Fayaz (who was the only one our age and played pop music (along with Kashmiri trance) in his jeep). And when someone like Naz's brother (you remember Naz? The oily travel agent from Delhi who sent us to Srinigar from a previous post? Well, his brother is just as oily. And doesn't like it when we don't find his jokes funny and can't really get into the jokes we share with the rest of the group) comes in and the dynamics shift dramatically - it's a real shame. I suppose I ought to get used to it, but I know it's going to be very difficult. I know I even feel so uncomfortable when Pani Mirka is cleaning up around me - I feel I have to help her (and I do, Mum :P). I think it's all about respect. Respecting and appreciating those around you, no matter their relationship to you.

I'm getting a little too sentimental there, pardon me. Now, I haven't written a word about the Trek. I've mentioned the Boathouse a couple times, but not the Trek. Well, we gained Remi's and Fayaz's trust and hope for a good time during the trek. Nechama and I ventured out into the Himalayan mountains for a four day/three night trek to the Lakes Krishna and Vishna, in the direction of the Pakistani border. (I wasn't supposed to tell you that, in case anyone got worried, but now I'm safe here in Dharmasala out of harm's way.) It was Nech, myself, Remi (guide) and three horsemen who took care of the food, the horses, the equipment and the tents. Their names were Manzur, Zahur and Rashid. Manzur was only trekking with us to replace his brother who usually travels with Remi and he wasn't born to be a trekker for the rest of his life. His understanding of English was the best and he could also read and write which was much more than anyone else we had met (aside from Bashir and those of that echelon). I will try to add photos asap, when I can get to the computer that holds them (it's been busy these past couple days).

We hiked through mountains and herds of sheep and cows and gypsy villages (where we were invited in for tea a couple times - I must admit I'm not so partial to sheep's milk. But it is rude to refuse hospitality, and so, like a good girl, I accepted everything gladly. This incident also occured in Bashir's house where we were invited for dinner on the first night of our stay in Srinigar. Bashir kept telling us of his mother's magnificent custard, and that we must try some. Well, when it was served, and his mother served very large portions, it tasted of scrambled eggs and watery sugar/maple liquid. It was awful. Nechama couldn't bring herself to finish it, but there I was, quickly shovelling it down my throat so the faster I ate, the more I didn't have to endure - and when asked- "do you like it?" I replied "Of course! I wouldn't eat it if I didn't like it." Urgh.)

We played cards for hours on end (Rummy, mostly) when the weather became freezing (it startedto snow as we were walking back, and most nights it was minus degrees) and learnt some Kashmiri words and sayings. The horsemen called Nechama 'Zuni' after the moon (she was very very white, and then during the trek she got burnt and became quite pink) and also Lo-Kariel, which mean an Auto-Rickshaw that carries fruit. Why? Because she kept falling over like a Lo-Kariel, this way and that - nothing stopped her from falling. We had such a wonderful time - it showed me that I can cope with high altitudes and cardio stuff (even though I haven't exercised in god knows how long!).

We're going to part ways now, I have spent too much time letting you know what's going on right now with me, and it's a gorgeous day outside. So toodle doo and goodbye to you! And if you like what you read, or have anything to say about it - give me a buzz! Stay safe and Shana Tova

Shana Tova! Happy New Year!

Shana Tova to all, by the way. I hope this year brings everything you want it to bring - along with lots of successes, happiness, and a year of health and peace.

Wow. Has Dharmasala affected me that bad? :P Just kidding. This town is absolutely beautiful. It is so relaxing, so quiet yet fascinating at the same time. There is so many things to learn, people to meet - the colours of the fruits in the markets, the shawls dyed magenta, torquoise, olive, marmalade. The smells of Indian, Tibetan, Israeli and Italian cuisines ( you can get pretty much anything you want around here - perhaps except for Chinese, it's a sensitive topic around here). Nechama and I have met some lovely Israelis who are very down to earth and find Nechama hilarious - it's funny how I tend to meet people much older than I. They're all in their late twenties and are friends from work - they worked at the airport together - yes, they were those who asked you questions like "Why do you know Hebrew? WHo packed your bags? Where did you spend your time in Israel? You live in Melbourne? What school did you go to?" And it was interesting comparing notes on the Israeli system of profiling and the American/British/Australian method.

All of us were quite disappointed by the Rosh HaShanah service and meal provided by Chabad on Friday night. The Rabbis were out of touch with their audience, and, like Chabad rabbis like to do, they kept talking and talking and talking and telling more stories and more stories and talking and ooh, maybe we'll make HaMotzi now on the bread, and talking and talking and yes, let's wait to dip the apples - well, to cut the story short, Nechama didn't eat since lunch at 12 30. By the time of any sight of food it was already 8 30. (We were told to come at 5 30... ahem.) So Nech was ravenous and when she gets hungry and when she's hungry she becomes extremely hyperactive. Which, I must say I'm sorry for, was quite difficult for her, and most people were speaking Hebrew around her and she couldn't catch it. The best thing about the dinner was (aside from meeting the chilled ISraelis) was the chicken. I didn't realise how much I missed it. And here I go again talking about food. Jesus.

We wanted to wait long enough to taste some of Pazit's honey cake (one of the Israelis baked it the day before at Chabad) but we just had enough of stories about God etc (I know, I sound like a real heathen, especially during ROsh HaShanah, but when I didn't want to concentrate on intensive listening to the Hebrew, Nechama couldn't understand, and our Israeli mates were bored out of their mind by the 'bullshit' (their words) - it wasn't the most condusive environment. So we went back to Pazit and Eyal's room and had some of the honey cake she brought from Israel. Now, that's style. The rest of the night was lovely. So I completed most of the customs - i ate apple dipped in honey, lots of deliciously sweet pomegranate seeds, yuk gefilte fish (Mum yours blows this one out of the water!), Tzimmes and honey cake. While it can never compare to the extravaganza Nana puts on every year, it was another new and interesting way of spending the Chag away from all the family.

Enough stories to write a novel...

The Boathouse.

Now here is a story in itself. Each day we piece more and more of the puzzle to reveal an intricate and tangled web of lies, deception, influence, corruption and family politics. Even this morning, here in Dharmasala (we travelled again yesterday to another town in another province - this hill station houses the exiled Tibetan government and is the centre for all things 'spiritual'...

Dharamsala attracts many Jews in general and Israelis in particular. It is especially known as the center for spiritually oriented groups, most of which deal with meditation and energy healing. Many of our fellow Jews—'a holy people and a nation to G-d’—find themselves in monasteries and other places of idolatry studying and practicing things that oppose Judaism. From my own personal experiences I have learned that to have the maximum impact it is crucial to meet fellow Jews at the place of their spiritual search. This is the main reason we have established the Chabad house in this so distant location. - Rabbi Dror Shaul, Chabad Dharmasala

- this is where we're spending ROsh HaShanah, amongst the 'idol worshippers' and Jew Opposers.... woot! We'll wave our Tibetan prayer flags at the sounding of the Shofar.)

Anyway, where was I...

This morning I waved goodbye to Nechama at 7 30 and took advantage of an extra hour of sleep (she's an early riser, and I, naturally, like to take advantage of sleeping in an much as possible, even if its only till 8 30) and she went awandering the town and had tea with the manager of our hotel, who, as it turns out, is ALSO Kashmiri. They were discussing the filthy deception and cheating of tourists by the Kashmiri Mafia that was The Boathouse. Our Boathouse. But don't be alarmed yet. We, due to our special influence, were treated most delightfully, and actually weren't cheated at all... But more about that soon.. First, PHOTOS!!! I'm sure you're dying to see, eh.





Now, back to The Boathouse. We took the opportunity to go to Kashmir on what was a very good deal - flights, accomodation on a nice boathouse, brekkie and dinner included - what could go wrong? We were met at the airport by Bashir, who, we found out later, was the manager of the Travel Agency we were using in Kashmir. Once ushered into the Boathouse, we were given a full breakfast of eggs and Kashmiri bread and tea and biscuits and fruits and preserves and butter. "You eat breakfast and have a rest" - we were dead tired as Nech was still jetlagged and I hadn't slept so much in the previous days - "and then we can discuss what you can do here in Kashmir. Yes?" Bashir said to us. Ok, sure thing, anything goes once we rest.

After our brief snooze, Bashir met us in the dining room of the boathouse and got straight down to business - informing us about available treks in the Himalayam mountains, where else we want to go in India - "perhaps we could organise you a package for here and Rajasthan as well?" We were open ears - there's no harm in listening. Soon in about five minutes Bashir had a neat package sorted out for us including everything from the treks to camel safaris to hotels to transfers to trains to god knows what else. And the special price? Ahem. No way. We were NOT paying that ridiculous sum.

After some tears and some harsh bargaining we managed to squeeze a very reasonable amount for the package from Bashir. Later, we discovered the 'real' reason for our special price.

Bashir is in love with me.

Mind you, this man has a wife and a young child with autism and is 34 and very unattractive and Muslim (and he knows I'm Jewish - hello? Culture clash?) but apparently it's the done thing. Yes, that's right - the done thing. In Kashmir, and, I've heard across most of India, Western girls are viewed as possessing one thing - the freedom to sleep around. As more and more Kashmiris/Indians are exposed to Western culture, the more they see the green on the other side. And, while gaining the confidence of the guides and servants we began to learn about the ins and outs of such 'contracts' - the men don't love their wives, most of the guides and servants only see their family once a month (if that) - the men want something, and the girls want things too, according to them. Our guide for the trek we did (I can't believe I haven't even reached that part of our adventure yet!) became our close friend and was able to trust us with information and expression of his feelings – a freedom which wasn’t very easy around the prickly environment of the Boathouse. He now is in love with both his wife and a Swiss girl. But he is a realist as well. He understands that he lives between two worlds, opposing traditions and values, and he's just trying to make the best of it. I suppose. It's a very hard life in Kashmir. Aside from Bashir and his family (more about that later - I know, the suspense is great, isn't it!) who are filthy rich (and filthy being the operative word) most Kashmiris live in extreme poverty and because of the caste system it's very difficult to make a better life for yourself. One of servants/waiters, Shaban - I also gained his trust during our discussion of God and faith and learning more about Islam - used to own his own business and have some money for himself. He became very sick and spent all of it on medical bills, etc, and now he can't achieve the lifestyle he once had, and works as a waiter - he calls himself a servant - we told him he's not a servant, he's our friend - on the Boathouse.

It's such a difficult life. How lucky we are. How lucky.

Incredible India

The post you've all been waiting for? Where is this girl? Is she still alive? Has India consumed her whole? Has she melted into the populous landscape crammed with humans, rabid dogs, wily rickshaws, cows, herds of goats/sheep, gypsies, rubbish and ponies? And that was only the traffic during Kashmiri peak hour!

No, I'm still here, still alive, exploring the ins and outs of Kashmiri culture until yesterday, where I boarded a jeep for a fourteen hour drive down to Amristar, the Sikh capital that lies in the heart of the province Punjab. But before I let you know about the beauties of the Golden Temple that makes Amristar so special, let me fill you in on what has been going down in Sarah's world for the past ten days. Phew. We have a long way to go.

My first day in Delhi was interesting, to say the least. I met Nechama in the dark of our hotel room and promised we'd have to talk right after I slept for a couple hours. I hadn't slept for over two days (awake all day thursday/thursday night/friday (in transit)/friday night) and was completely and utterly exhausted. Mind you I only did get three hours of shuteye, and then we were off to explore India's capital city.

My first reaction was of a mixture of things - the streets weren't as dirty as I had been warned, there weren't as many people as I had expected, and the heat wasn't so strong. What happened?? But soon, as we neared the centre of Connaught circle, the men began to hassle us, the beggars were doing their job, and all we wanted was to find a place selling prepaid Indian sim cards for our mobile phones. We were led from a crowded Telephone store to another quiter backdoor gig, and then when the storeowner (it was more like a corner crammed with telephone cards nestled between two bigger shops selling spices) asked us for our passports and id photos we became quite hesitant. (Little did we know that this is mandatory for prepaid sim cards here in India. Or perhaps maybe for Foreign Nationals.) SO the helpful guy from the first Phone store took us to a nearby travel agency, and he said they might have some sim cards left over from other tourists. This is where we met Naz.

Naz welcomed us in, and we were quite weary about this whole get up, but to be honest I was anxious to leave Delhi as soon as possible and begin exploring the rest of this country, so I was willing to listen to what Naz had to say. "Where you guys from?" "Australia." "Aww, alright vegemite! Hola Hola Coca cola!" He said with an oily smile... gross. He was young, spent some time in Oz a couple years ago ("Aw, I lived in Fizroy and Box Hill.. you live near there?" "No, St Kilda." "Aww yeah! The Stokehouse, roight! Yeah, I loved St kilda. BUt I lived in Box Hill. Yeah, alroight vegemite.") So we listened to what he had to say (and got an Indian sim card for our cell at the same time) and soon we had a trip planned to Srinigar, Kashmir for the next three days. Kashmir, for those who might not remember, was an extremely disputed territory between India and Pakistan - militants were smuggling in weapons and grenades - it wasn't the safest place in the world... But that ended with Pakistan's President Musharraf (thank god) and now 'the problem' (as Kashmiris call it) has gone and its safe and quite. What does Kashmir have that both India and Pakistan want? The breathtaking Himilayan Mountains... that's right, Nechama and I were about to spend ten days in the Himlayas... wow.

That afternoon we took a tour of Delhi with someone from Naz's company - photos will be on the way. And that night we enjoyed one of the most delicious meals in India so far at Naz's house. His servant cooked it for us (the caste system is still difficult getting used to) and we ate on the floor with our hands. OUr first real meal in India, and here we were eating at someone's house, eating homecooked meals and learning another way of eating entirely. There's a certain method of scooping the rice and pushing it into your mouth with your thumb. Since I am left-handed, this is sometimes an embarrassing question I have to ask my host if they mind (since my right hand is retarded) and it's always been ok. My way of eating with my hand actually proved quite successful when last Sunday we were invited to the house of the Kashmiri Manager of the travel agency for an annual feast he provides for his family and friends. The food was full of saffron that happened to smear everyone elses faces except for mine. Maybe I'm just too polite? Mum, you would have been proud. One older man next to us, a tourist from Denmark, managed to get the stuff all over his mouth and cheeks and even his nose! Then he proceeded to make Nech and I laugh till we cried for he kept calling himself a chinaman for all the yellow all over his face. He looked a hoot.

(By the way, Kashmiris slurp their drinks and soup, to the point that my mother would walk ouit in absolute disgust. But since I have learnt so much from our slurping escapades around the Ramler family table, I have managed to be the quietest tea-drinker in Kashmir. Another gold star for me! Yay!)

The next day we boarded a flight to Srinigar, where once we landed we were taken to these houseboats on Nageen Lake. Only once I spoke to my mother I realised that this was also the setting for the beginning of Salman Rushdie's novel Midnight's Children, and the way he describes it (and the way it is ) is absolutely magical. The houseboats were first used by the British when they had their influence over the area, but it was acutally the Mughal empire that ruled over this part of India, and the Brits weren't allowed to own any land. So they built houseboats that sat by the banks of the Nageen and Dal Lakes. Our bedroom overlooked the lake and we could watch the small boats (Shikaras) ferry people across the lake. Every morning the flower man would come past our boat as we ate breakfast on the roof, and try and sell us flowers and seeds to take back home. Once he got the hint that we weren't going to buy a thing, he woulod bring us gorgeous purple flowers every morning as a present. "Still no want to buy seeds?" I couldn't tell him often enough that I couldn't bring anything like that into Australia. We also encountered Mr Delicious, a man selling fudge brownies and cookies and walnuts covered in chocolate and lemon icing. We bought some to try and they were actually disgusting. No offence, Mr. Delicious. A man processing film and all things KODAK would also pass us by each morning. His Shikara was bright yellow with the red KODAK splashed across the side. So this is where were stayed for the most of the past ten days. Picture it. I'll come back later to let you know on the characters of this place. Right now - is just the backdrop.

In transit...

I'm not usually one to complain about the high level of security measures airports are taking nowadays - I fully appreciate their efforts and thoroughness (i suppose) in their checks... however, I now LOATHE Heathrow's security 'precuations' (which most of their 'random' checks are a load of rubbish anyway) because they are just time wasters for both the personnel and the passenger. I can't tell you how many articles I've read in the wake of the thwarted terrorist attacks comparing Israel's security techniques of profiling compared to the random ass plucking out of who knows where and, oh, do you mind taking off your shoes as well sir, technique of other Western airports. Mmm, so random I get checked EVERY time.

Anyway, enough ranting about that. So, to be honest, I didn't really write about anything on my last post. And, I haven't really written about anything during my time spent here in Israel. But that doesn't mean that I haven't been having the most wonderful time. Actually, the lack of writing means that I don't really have much to whine about. For most of my time I spent in Midrasha, and I suppose writing about that would be like writing about the same old stuff that goes on in Melbourne. And, as any writer must question when putting their thoughts out there -who cares??
I made some amazing friends from both the States and Canada - making me even more excited to try and get there as soon as possible. I know, sad isn't it. I haven't even finished one trip and already I'm planning to go on another. But that's just me dreaming. Ha. To be in Israel in the summertime is absolutely divine. Oh my gosh. Heaven. So many people strolling the streets late at night, the beaches are packed, the seawater is warm enough for your toes... The last couple weeks I spent visiting family and friends in the north and getting my stuff ready for India.. Well here I come. this is running out (the net) and i used my last pound. I'll do a catch up from a more afforabel computer in Hodu. Wish me luck! xxx