Long time, no write...

So now I'm back at home. It's been a while since I punched those keys in frustration venting about my loathing of these machines. But I'm back - to fill you in on those last few weeks, and some reflections of my time abroad - throughout the year.

United States, England, Greece, Israel, India.
Wow. What an adventure.

Where to start...

I'll backtrack a little, and catch everyone up on my magic last couple weeks in India.

The Magic of Hampi

My first afternoon on the "other side of the river" (as labelled on the menus, apparently its close to official) took me to visit a nearby lake. We had met a friend of Nechama's close friend in an internet cafe (My, it's such a small world out there) who invited us both to swim at sunset. Nechama wasn't feeling the greatest and had a snooze, but I felt like some exercise and walked the four kilometres through massive antiquated pillars and isolated villages and fields dotted with labourers and herds of sheep and cattle and stray dogs and girls with short haircuts wanting to slap me high fives with blue ribbons and school uniforms and there i was in my thongs and aladdin pants and john legend pumping on the ipod and a bottle of water for the cool.
This walk was one of the most picturesque and calming walks I've ever experienced. Everything was so beautiful in the late afternoon sun - all was golden. By the time I arrived at the boulders lining the lake, the local police were ushering the few Israelis lapping up the sun to leave, as once the sun sets the Indian men frolick at the lake and cause disturbances for other tourists. But Daniel (our new friend) and I took a short dip in the green water, enough to freeze our socks off and become scared of the potential crocodiles smacking their lips hungry for their next meal. (I recounted the crocs Nech and I saw in the lake at Ranakpur, Rajasthan, which made us both a little nervous). After drying off I was offered to ride on the back of one the group's bicycles - I refused, for having the back of a bike up my ass isn't on the list of things I'd love to experience - I also wanted to walk home in the pink dusk (my favourite time of day).
I was halfway home when I was offered a lift by a fellow Australian girl I had met the day before, and, since it was near dark, I hopped on the back of the scooter as it wheezed throughout the hills back to the guesthouse. But, alas, I have the greatest luck, and thinking that I had already done my exercise for the day, had no idea what lay ahead.

Her scooter broke down. And we had to push it up hills back to the shop. Fun.

I suppose now that I remember my time in Hampi, I did quite a lot of exercise, it kept me quite fit. I like it. Walking to the lake, pushing scooters up hills, cycling through the hills on the other other side of the river (I'll get to that soon), walking up the million steps to the monkey temple... phew! The most exercise I had done the entire year!

That night out new Aussie friend of a friend Daniel invited us to a party he was hosting, and we met a new group of Israelis who became our pals for the rest of our stay in Hampi. Two of the group are Indian Israelis, two play guitar, and they all play Yaniv, a card game which is quite addictive. And one looked like a gay sailor during our shabbat meal (he was wearing a blue and white striped top and white pants. White pants people - in INDIA! How did they survive?) They were all so lovely. We ate Hummus and drank Turkish coffee with them and argued philosophy all through the night.

One day during our stay in Hampi Nechama and I rented bicycles to ride throughout the green hills and explore the 500 yr old ruins and temples along the way. Well, we didn't realise how much work it was going to be! This time we pushed our bikes up the hills (even the rickshaws had trouble with the steepness - it wasn't just our unfitness!) and took some breathers in the shade of the temples. They were incredible structures.

We had just gotten off the small boat from the main side of the river when we notived that it was just near sunset. We quickly scrambled to the Monkey temple to get prime veiwing and happened to meet the Israelis from the previous night. Together we schlepped up the millions steps to this supposed gorgeous vantage point. But not without some excitement. We were on our way to a monkey temple, for Christ's sake!

At the head of the contingent was a random Israeli hottie (whose name eludes me) who began to shriek. What the? A grown man shrieking at... a monkey. The monkey was sitting there having all the time in the world to nibble on his banana. Now, why on earth were we frightened of the monkeys? Rabies, of course. I had already been in one Indian hospitcal, and I had no intentions of returning to another one. The Israeli hottie ran down the stairs, past us girls and hid behind Nechama. Then Kobi, a typical arrogant and wonderful Israeli, grabbed a tree branch (complete with leaves and insignificant twig branches) and climbed up the stairs to confront this monkey who was in our way. Kobi hissed at the monkey, and the monkey looked at him for two seconds, dropped its banana, bared its fangs, opened its mouth wide and hissed back... ARGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

We ran for our lives.

What to do?! We wanted to go up to that temple, quick, before the sun set. The only two guys in our small group, Kobi and Nameless Hottie, stupidly thought that more bananas might appease this rabid monkey. DUH! I don't think so! But no, nobody would listen to two Australian girls... We don't know anything. After taking the plastic bag of bananas out of a backpack the feral monkey lunged for the bag and we all yelped and ran down some more steps. Let's just say we were scared shitless.

We were soon rescued by an Indian boy perched on a higher rock who shooed the gathering group of monkeys and allowed us to complete the exhausting climb up to the temple. Whoa.

So that was a little bit of Hampi, people. Hope you liked it. xxx (more's on the way...)

Mental note - Sarah is fabulous!

You see, I did write a post. A wonderful post. An update in a most atriculate manner detailing the magic of Hampi. Oh yeah. That was a couple days ago, before I lost all patience with computers here in India.

There I was, happily typing away, pounding so damn fast on those keys to the sounds of John Legend, remembering my times back in Hampi. On and on and on and on - wonderful post, if I may say so myself. But then again, they always say that about things that are 'lost'. And so, suddenly, the computer switched off. It just went brain dead. The power was still working - it was only my computer. Problem computer.

And I wanted to kill it.

All lost. Everything. I could try and write it out again, letting you know about the peachy pink sunsets we enjoyed perched atop a monkey temple, or relaxing with a guitar and card games with our Israeli friends, or hiring a bicycle and huffing and puffing about the temples strewn amongst the hills of Hampi. I could tell you now about the trance scene in Goa, the constant doof doof, aging hippies twisting out on drugs on the beach on lazy sunny afternoons, spending Shabbat meals with Chabad.

But I don't have much more tolerance for computer around here anymore. So i'll write a longer and more descriptive post later on. Peace.

Ani Lo Medaberet Ivrit - Maspik!

Achoti! Achoti!

Apparently I look like an Israeli.

Mah Nishma! Achoti! Sababa! Ma Inyanim!

That doesn't bother me so much.

Maybe because Both Nechama and I have crazy curly hair. Or that perhaps we look like dirty cheap Israelis with our flashy blue and pink shitcatchers (or aladdin pants, for the shopkeepers), our chirping anklets with bells on them, and we want things for cheap. Hum.

I have been eating Hummus every day though. For breakfast. Shame there's no herring and smoked salmon in India. Then I'll really feel overdone.

We're in a gorgeous village named Hampi, a town strewn amongst Hindi ruins that are over 500 years old. The first two days we spent on the Hampi Bazaar side of the river, in a crumbling guesthouse surrounded by Kashmiri shops selling the same wares. We were too exhausted from our travelling, so we've decided to get some rest before exploring the temples of Hampi by bicycle. Yes, that's right kids. Sarah is going to ride a bike again. What, first time in four years? Uh oh. I thought I had to leave my fitness behind when I finished trekking in the Himalayas. Now what's this about bike riding?!

This morning we moved over to the other side of the river to a more relaxed and friendlier cluster of guesthouses and restaurants showing nightly movies. Oh, and 85% Israeli. Hence the Achoti! Achoti!

I could get used to it.

On the way to Hampi

We made it! We have finally left the building! I am writing to you from Hampi, Karnataka (a state away from Kerala, for all youse following my travels carefully along the map) but boy, did it take forever to get here. As depicted in my previous post, we had trouble leaving Varkala. We just didn't. Spending $1.50 per night on lovely accomodation, we had some interesting encounters during our stay. The first, as also described in Nechama's blog (www.porgylovestruck.blogspot.com) was the Kerala Coffee House Boys. These suave but cute Keralan boys lived the life - working short hours waiting tables at the hangout 'Kerala Coffee House', drinking themselves silly in the late hours of the night, performing as the Cheeky Monkeys (acoustic versions of Hindi and old classic Rock songs), and, of course, gorging on innocent Western women during their spare time. And oh, the drama! Since we had been in Varkala for quite some time, we learnt the leanings of such boys, and warned a woman that lived in our guesthouse to be wary. That's all. What a ruckus did that cause! Nechama had both the drummer of the Cheeky Monkeys and the 'girlfriend' confront her about this alleged warning, and we recieved some dirty sneers from a group of French women, all who were involved with these womanisers. Not that we have a problem with the womanising - we just wanted to inform these ladies that they weren't the first (as the boys always promise) and nor will they be the last.

But let's just say that when we left Varkala, we left some unexpected broken hearts. Whether it was a Kashmiri salesman who simply sold Nechama a bracelet, or a Nepalese waiter in my favourite restaurant (this was all unknown to us until our final day - where secrets always unravel in despair)... And it was time to leave.

So we left! The breezy train ride from Varkala to the traffic hub of Cochin was an easy task, we were just warming up to a long and gruelling journey ahead.
a fifteen hour journey. on a bus. a local bus. crammed with sweaty, spitting Indian men. and we, two lovely white women travellers. fun. did i say, fifteen hours?

An overnight journey is always difficult. But this one I believe was one of the most challenging journeys I've ever experienced. Sitting on a hard bench, being squashed by the conducter as he collects the new passengers' fares, attempting any sleep, constantly stepped over by other passengers (usually Indian men wearing local garb, which is a towel wrapped around their legs... I'm sure very fashionable, but I didn't want to have a bar of it as they hopped over my legs), behind us was a man resembling Elephant Man, making putrid noises with his mouth which sounded awfully similar to vomiting, however there was no residue (only dry retching -we're in the clear!)... and all of this happened in the first hour! I don't have to elaborate on the next fourteen...

We arrived into Banglore (the capital of Karnataka) dishevelled and absolutely exhausted. I was miserable, overtired, and all I could think of was the first place to get a bed. Once we finally negotiated a reasonable price for half a day's rent, I went STRAIGHT to sleep. One thing everyone should know (if not, learn quickly) : nothing, NOTHING gets in the way of Sarah and a good sleep. Otherwise she turns into Fruma Sarah from Fiddler on the Roof, howling and screeching :D a role I know well.

That evening Nechama and I decided to go all out and splurge at a swank Chinese restaurant - entree, main and even dessert (yes! toffee apples reminiscent of Silky Apple days!) - at a round cost $12 (and yes, the service was wonderful). We were warming ourselves to another overnight journey, but this time it was in luxury - a 'deluxe' bus to Hampi.
*Deluxe - upholstered seats that push back to a semi'lying position. True style. I was in heaven.

So yes, now I am Hampi - another Holy city of India, not necessarily searching for any spirituality, just here to have a look around and have a good time. Coz that's what it's all about.

Totally addicted to... Varkala

I did promise pictures - but alas, not today.

Every day Nechama and I tell eachother we're leaving Varkala the following morning. It's time to go. Really, we should move on. We were supposed to leave this paradise on Sunday, onwards to Periyar (a wildlife sanctuary and surrounding tea/spice plantations) but our itinerary keeps changing with the weather. What keeps us here at Varkala? The weather has been pretty awful - heavy rains and grey clouds and milky seas and some more rain. The beach isn't as calm or as inviting as Goa - the waves crash above our heads and after five minutes I'm ready to get out and sunbake (in the few minutes of sun we have). The current is very strong and I feel that I have just completed a work out each time I attempt to swim. The shops that line the promenade (if you can call it that - perhaps a boardwalk made of rock that hugs the cliff face) are filled with the same junk as every other one we pass over. Colourful bags, sequined shoes, bedspreads, pashminas, trinkets galore - same stuff, different store. So why the hell are we here? Still? After more than a week?

It’s the people, man. And, as they say, it’s the people that make the place.

When we arrived to Varkala, the village on the cliff was quite empty. We recognized some of the regulars, some people I remembered from Cochin… We enjoyed the sunshine – although during the hottest times of the day, I would bury myself in the shady cool of internet cafes and cafes, striking up conversations with the random Indians that worked there. But now, after a week and a half, we seem like old timers, waving to shopkeepers and waiters and other tourists. Regulars. Ha.

Each night we agonise over what we feel like eating for dinner - Thai? Italian? Keralan? One night we opted for a cooking class in the Kerelan style of Thali - and ate our products for dinner! Curried vegetables, Tuna Moli (a sweet vegetable gravy with fresh tuna), Coconut Cabbage and a fried vegetable which is only known as Lady/Witch Fingers? A little like zucchini. Mmmm. Man, that's all I ever do is write about the food. One restaurant makes incredible Thai food and Nechama and I keep going back for more - last night we were so ravenous at 9 30pm we raced to the cafe, didn't even bother sitting down or looking at the menu and ordered ourselves a great dinner. We've become a little too 'regular' in this place as well, making friends with the Nepalese Hebrew-speaking waiters - it's hard not to, since the village is so small.

Talk about routine. After dinner we meet up for drinks with a gorgeous British couple, an Assyrian Swede, an Irish couple, and a Kerelan journalist who now works in Dubai. It varies from night to night, but each day we keep telling each other that yes, tomorrow we'll leave, tonight's our last night - but we end up staying, can't be bothered packing up - lethargy at large.

I think we might leave tomorrow. Or the next day. Who knows.

Lazy Days

Ok Alana and Mum, here is another post for your veiwing pleasure... But I like the comment encouragement - keep it up! Well, to be honst, i can't really write much about where I am at the moment, for that is in Verkala, still in Kerala (the state), on a beach. Amen. The guesthouses and huts and restuarants are on a rocky cliff overlooking the sea, and the beach is a couple hundred steps below (only fifty, but when you walk up it after a long day in the sun with sandy wet feet squidging in thongs, it feels like forever). Life around here consists of lazy afternoons reading Douglas Adams, and deciding where to go for dinner. Thai or Italian? Indian or Chinese? Tough choices.

So let me get back to Cochin. Far more exciting. Cochin is a city/village that one can lose oneself in. And if it hadn't been for a time limit, well... my new address could have very well been Fort Cochi, Cochin, Kerala, India... at least for another couple weeks. The pace is slow and lazy, the sunny afternoons melt into pink dusks and the fish is just so tasty! Yes, that's right, I thought I was fished out in Greece, but no, Kerala has the best fish in all of India (which should be easy, as its one of the few states on the coast of the Arabian Sea). How did I spend my time in Cochin. Well, one day I organised myself on a day trip to the infamous Backwaters of Kerala. These are tiny canals and rivers that bend between villages and lush jungle - it was so peaceful and relaxing on the houseboat that I fell asleep! Since I missed out spending overnight on a houseboat with Nechama and the Brits we met in Goa, the daytrip was my special time. Pity though, that the rest of the group was made up of couples - and I was the only single traveller! Each couple would whisper between themselves, careful not to disturb the quiet. We ate lunch of banana leaves and drank the milk from coconuts freshly cut from the palms in front of us. It was a nice relaxing day.

The next day was too hot to walk around, so Nechama and I indulged ourselves and had tea at a gorgeous teahouse named Teapot. Now, this shop was so tastefully decorated, the layout and menu so nicely designed, that we felt that we were transported back to Melbourne, or Europe, or America. It was wonderful. When Nechama asked the owner if he had spent any time outside India, he said no, that he's never left Kerala. Well. We met somebody yesterday from Fort Cochi and when enquiring about Teapot, apparently the owner had spent quite few years abroad. You never can know what people are really like around here. Or anywhere, I suppose, but I feel that I'm not as lied to in other places as I can be here in India. Not that I mind. For I'm lucky I've been long enough here to catch them out. It's the package tourists that come from Britain for a two week splurge in India and then shipped back home that really get caught out. We met some Brits that were on their way to Thailand via India - they wrote Nechama an email saying that they found Thailand to be SO MUCH CHEAPER than India... What the?? Even Vietnam is cheaper than Thailand, and India's cheaper than that!

But I'm not here to talk about money. It's all in the attitude. As I will explain to you now.

I never really finished telling you about our wonderful travelling partner throughout Rajasthan. She was a Brit who constantly compared India to England. Yes, that's right. It's impossible to compare India to ANYTHING! Especially England. Worlds apart. Perhaps the only thing in common with the two countries is cricket. But I guess thats what most Commonwealth countries share. And i think i'm beginning to like the game. (Gasp!)

So our new friend was roadtripping around Rajasthan with us- but she didn't have the right attitude. That's all it is - what makes or breaks a trip. Apparently religion and religious symbols intimidate her (then what the hell is she doing in India?!?!!?!?!?) and she doesn't like to be pressured or have people invade personal space when touting... Erm... Welcome to South East Asia, baby. To cut a long story short - we ended up in a hospital in Udaipur, babysitting this clueless toddler. After eating all the same food, sharing the same snacks, we tried to rack our brains how she got sick and we didn't. Especially this young un here with the sensitive tummy.

And you know what? It's all about the attitude.

Oh, and luck.

Udaipur was beautiful though - the palaces, the markets, the hotels in the middle of the lakes... Labelled the most romantic city in Rajasthan, I wholeheartedly agree - it was absolutely beautiful.

Next time - I promise pictures.

Coochi Coochi Cochin

Why India indeed.

I've since returned the the "Country that God Gave" (according to the many slogans wallpapered on the walls of churches and schools around here), far away from home.

Far away from the surreal surroundings of my time in Melbourne.

Our family's strong closeness defined my life. Friday night dinners will never ever be the same. But nothing will ever be the same. Not for me, not for my mother, not for my aunty, not for my cousins, not for my Zaida. He was everyone's uncle, everyone's friend. He had a special name for me - Denise (Da Niece) Kim Sarah Hannah - and the day I was born he stopped horse riding. (Aparently. Ruth told me they went riding on their honeymoon. And i danced at their wedding. Hrm.) He filled me in on the ins and outs of the Hecht family when my mother just couldn't remember. He invited me into office to share lunch when we bumped into eachother at Beth Weizmann. He was always there to help us and support everyone in the family. He was David. My Uncle David.

I also want to thank all of you who helped our family throughout this tragedy. Thank god I have never been in this situation before, and it was so incredible to see and experience the magic of our friends and community during this time. I don't think I will ever forget your support.

But now I'm back in India, in Cochin to be exact, and it still feels surreal. I know that it shouldn't and that man, I couldn't wait to return, but now that I'm back - every emotion I suppressed has found a little hole in my skin from which to pour out. Or seep. It depends on the time of day. It's also difficult to return to a place that it challenging to travel in, after becoming comfortable with the everydayness and ease of Melbourne life. In Melbourne i never have to worry about the water I use for my toothbrush, nor of squat tiolets, or bug infested beds (well, that depends on how often I clean my room!), or people that want to cheat you. Life's easy, and that's the way we like it.

But life here in Cochin in easy as well. I have now met up with Nechama and it's wonderful to be on the road again. Cochin is a city in the south of India, in a state named Kerala (famous for the Keralan backwaters - little canals through lush jungles). It is quiet, quaint, and very beautiful. The houses are painted in fabulous yellows, greens and pinks - some are over 200 yrs old, built from the portugese era. Bouganvillea billow from the high walls and the cracked paint while school kids in blue uniforms play cricket in the parade grounds outside my first hotel. Life is slow here in Cochin. I like it.

On Friday I went out and about in the area - my suave rickshaw driver Sabu took me to the laundry where men and women wash the clothes of nice hotels. Rows and rows of white linen bustled in the wind, while men slapped teeshirts on the ground to get all the dirt out. I also visited a ginger factory, where the produce is exported all over India, and even to Japan. It smelt amazing.

But my most memorable moment of Friday was Friday night - Shabbat. God had a good idea when he created Shabbat. I think it's a most perfect method to measure the weeks - and also, its a very special time for family - whether it be one's own, or the Jewish family. The reason I am in Cochin is because of its Jewish history. Once upon a time, thousands of Jews lived in this area - it's disputed whether they arrived during King Solomon's time, or after the destruction of the Second Temple, or if they are part of the ten tribes that King Nebuchadnezzer transported when carving up the kingdom after the destruction of the First Temple. Or they arrived with the merchant trading in India. One thing that we can all agree on is that there is a strong Jewish heritage in Cochin - and I am infatuated. This is what led me to the oldest synagogue in the Commonwealth - it's over 500 years old. (It sure beats Ballarat!) One must take their shoes off before entering, not beause of any holiness etc, but because the floor is made up of hundreds of Chinese porcelain painted tiles - and no two tiles are the same. The oil chandeliers are from Europe - and I was very much reminded of the shules in Tzfat, Israel.

So where shall I begin...
It was bucketing down - a very fast and fat rain, the most annoying - and my rickshaw driver dropped me at the beginning of the street that leads to the shule. After arriving absolutely soaked, I was told that there weren't enough men for a minyan. The leader of the tiny community opened the Aron Kodesh for all of us to see, and then hurried to close it. He was hungry, and there was no time to waste if there wasn't any prayers. Someone poured some wine into plastic cups, and an Israeli said Kiddush on the Bimah. The wine was awfully sweet and somewhat fizzy (?) and most people left soon after that. I was soon talking to an Israeli/Indian girl who invited me and another British couple to her and her husband's home for Shabbat dinner. Boy, what a night.

The husband was born in India, his mother is a Pardesi, a White Indian Jew (apparently there's three different types, a little like Ashkenazi and Sephardi) and he made aliyah to Israel more than twenty years ago. He returned to India seven years ago because his mother was very old and getting quite sick. His wife was born in Israel, but to Indian parents - and they both speak Hebrew, fluent English, Hindi, and some other Indian dialects that have eluded me right now. Their home is decked out in 'Jewish' attire - lots of Hamsas, prayer posters, Breslev 'Nachman' slogan stickers, pictures of Moshe and Rav Kook. He slaughters his own chickens for he doesn't trust the mashgiach of the current Shechter, he makes all his own liquers and spirits (and proceeded to make me get drunk even before we started the meal. "Here Sarah, you must have more of the Irish cream I made. I made it - everything in this house is 100% kosher, and you must drink - its Shabbat!") and he is a very devout man. It's incredible. So far removed from the POlish shetle life I am used to hearing about.

Ok, I must run. Will elaborate later. God bless. xxx

Why India? (not a real post either)

Since returning unexpectedly back to Melbourne due to the tragic passing away of my Uncle David, not only do people keep asking me questions, but with each question I have one more for myself. The most common question that I am asked is - "Why India?" Exactly. Why do I want to leave my family again, and why would I want to a country like THAT? And that's a toughie to answer.

I was contemplating writing about this surreal week and all the challenges my family faced, but I'm not sure if that's appropriate for this site. This blog is my travel diary, and I feel that while I want to express to you readers (even though most of you are my family!) about how much I love David, and how much I miss him, as well as the pain and grief my mother, aunty, grandfather and cousins are experiencing - I don't think that is my place.

Why India?

I suppose living in the cushy comforts of Caulfield it's quite difficult to see why any normal Jewish girl should want to leave and complete her GAP year in a country that is supposedly infested with filth, diseases, poverty, unhealthy food, rabid animals, drugs, gurus, and, heaven forbid, israelis.... I understand that my reasoning for returning to this paradise won't suffice - but I this is an integral part of growing up and making decisions for oneself. Moreover, I really love that country. No, not to live Nana, don't worry, but the Indian people are enveloping, their culture seductive, and the land is a fascinating terrain to explore. I don't know when I'll return to visit again. As this week has reminded all of us - who knows what's around the corner.

Can we backpeddle a little?

Ok. Now here's a REAL post. I promise. Now I have all the time in the world because this sun is just too hot and (as displayed in the previous post) it's just making me crazy. Where shall I start? Currently, we're still here in Arambol (we don't really want to leave) and Nechama and I desperately need this week for rest and relaxation. The past month had been so busy, and at times so stressful, that Nechama's immunity levels went down and she became ill (she's all fine now, except for a little sunburn). So this place is perfect for us. Each day we try a new restaurant, and introduce Israeli food to our non-Jewish companions (which they now LOVE) and talk on the beach by candlelight until the early hours of the morning. Quite some paradise.

The first day here we hired some scooters and explored some of the jungle/village area surrounding Arambol, and spent the afternoon on a deserted stretch named 'Paradise Beach'. It was nearly that, with the lapping waves and the fine sand, and except for some local Indians that began shooting birds in the sky (that scared the hell out of us - a shotgun on the beach? what the?) it was a near perfect day. And that was just the first!

But what I did miss out on telling you about was of our experiences in Rajasthan and Mumbai. I know that I must be repeating myself over and over again. But now with more detail...

Our camel safari in Jaisalmer was a special night as well. Waving goodbye to our driver (he wanted to join us, but we needed a break from him) we trotted off into the sunset on our camels - and I had a beast of a camel. He was HUGE. But not only was he a good size gamal, he couldn't control his bowels. First I thought maybe he just had fruity farts, but after a while (and being told by Nechama) I realised that my lovely beast and I have something in common - unpredictable tummies! Thankgod I have been ok so far. So we watched the sunset sitting on sandunes, taking glamour photos of ourselves in the pink and purple light, and then made a fire to give us some light in the dark. But in the end we didn't really need a fire, for the moon was nealry full, and it lit up the entire sky. It was so luminous it was difficult to even see the stars!
After eating dinner out under the diamond sky (and it was delicious too - I'm not the biggest fan of Rajasthani food, a little too dry and overwhelmingly spicy (and not in the good way) but this was tasty!) the boss of the camel drivers/camp took us to a nearby village where traditional Rajasthani dancers were twirling around a fire. Nechama went by motorcycle, an Kate and I bumped along on a cart pulled by a trotting camel. It was so much fun, with the wind whipping about us under the bright night sky. We were the only Westerners around (which has chanegd dramatically since arriving in Goa) and the only other tourists were drunk Indian men dancing with the Rajasthani dancers and making delightful fools out of themselves... If only ther wives were about....

That night we slept under the stars and the next day headed back to Jodhpur for one last time. In Jodphur we attempted to explore a Maharaja's palace that was converted into a hotel - and what a majestic hotel! The museum housed some lovely art deco pieces, and the entire building was an interesting combination of art deco, mughal and 19th century british architecture. Not that I know anything about it - but it kinda worked. Sort of. It actually was a little bit gross in size and style. But I wanted to see the hotel, a place where guests pay US$1400 a night for a suite, or more, so we pretended that I was interested in looking at hotels for my parents who are planning to come to India in December. Yes, I know, that sounds pretty far out there, but I told the lovely lady who stopped us in the main lobby that "My parents are interested in coming to India, but unlike myself (we were dressed in sloppy teeshirts and fisherman pants) they are looking for luxurious hotels to make their stay more comfortable. It's their thirtieth wedding anniversary, and I want to give them a special present during their stay in India." I even gave her some artificial dates of my parents expected arrival (thanks Mum and Dad!) and we found ourselves wandering through some corridoors of this exclusive residence. I'm sure she knew that we were bullshitting, and there was a waiter in the restaurant who gave us a smug look as if to say , "Yes, I've seen you allll before, I know EXACTLY what you're up to!" but we were glad that we had the opportunity to have a little bit of a sticky beak.

That night in Jodhpur we went to the Marwar Festival, a gig put on by the Rajasthani Tourism Department displaying traditional Rajasthani dancing and songs and turbaned moustached men singing off key. It was quite enjoyable, boring at times, but wherever we go, there's always an adventure to be had. First we sat in the local area at the back, but we couldn't see the stage and we kept receiving looks and jeers from the Indian men.
**(Side note - Indian men can be such perverts. Well, not perverts, but when they see Western women, most of them, just see sex objects. It's quite sad. While the women are expected to be demure and modest and keep to the rules, the men have no rules - just don't bring home the tourist to your wife. But you get used to it after a while and use the advantage to bargain or find out a yum place to eat. Yes, that's all I care about. Food. But the food here is INCREDIBLE! I love it! Sure, you can get crap food, and sometimes we have been unlucky. But I'm trying to work my way through the Punjabi cuisine (my favourite type of Indian food... its what we know back home as Indian - full of flavour, full of spice)- we'll see how it goes.)**
Then we sat with the Western tourists, but after watching a dance and a half we were a little bored and hungry. So we ate these lovely dishes off the side of the field - but spicy as hell! One was bread with this vegetable curry-esque (sabji) called pav bhaji, and the other was dry noodles, tomato, coriander, saffron, masala, chips, and peanuts called puri, and it was so tasty we went back for more. So there we were, sitting by ourselves devouring this delicious cheap eats, and some boys are sitting near us, and, of course, ask our names and where we're from. We responded politerly, and then one friend left and returned with three icecreams. He handed an icecream each to us, said "Have a good night" and left. That's all. No more conversation, no innuendos, nothing wanted in return. yum! unexpected, but free icecream! we stayed until the fireworks display was over (i LOVE fireworks... thankgod I'm in india where fire crackers go off ever couple hours at night!) and made our way home. But accompanying us back home a group of Indian college students (all boys, of course) decided to join us. "Where you from?""What you study?" "Are you sisters?" Do Nechama and I even LOOK like sisters?! They were harmless enough, but we decided to take a rickshaw back home (we were walking along the road) when the group turned into a mob of teenage boys. But we are superwomen. We can handle anything. Almost.

From Jodhpur we drove to a Rainforest hideaway resort called Ranakpur. Ranakpur really doesn't have much, aside from a lovely dam, gorgeous rainforests, and a Jain temple thats over 1000 years old. Maybe I'm wrong about the years, but I'l update it if its incorrect. But this temple was breathtaking. So intricate, such detail, walking through the complex in bare feet, our soles skimming the cool marble floor while we took ridiculous photos of ourselves in yoga poses. But Ranakpur was where our lovely roadtrip turned a little sour...

no time for that now. will update soon. love to all. shavuah tov. xxx and yes mum and dad, i'm still alive ;P

(not a real post)

Written about half a week ago...

Man. What a day. What a couple days. What a difference a shower can make. Man.
Nechama and I arrived in a little beach village in Goa, named Arambol - such a stark difference to the bustle and craziness of Rajasthan and Mumbai. Life turns much slower here - and I think it's what we both need.

We're currently staying in a tiny room above a German bakery a little off the beach - no hot water, but we do have a lovely fan that makes our lives that much more comfortable. After the refined treatment we have recieved during our roadtrip of rajasthan,we are going to be 'slumming' it during these next two months - and boy am I excited! No, seriously. This is the life.

Written this morning on an empty stomach...

This place is too seductive - we might never leave. The relaxed and sleepy pace of Arambol, the endless stretch of sand and warm clear water - how can you go wrong? We met back up with the British trio we bumped into at McLeod Ganj (Dharmasala, in the north of India) and now have a chilled little group of brits, irish, aussies and the lone argentinian.

I'm going to get some lunch now... i'll be back.

I Love Mumbai

I've lost twelve kilos. Yes, you heard me. Twelve kilos. Can you believe it? I can.

I spent two hours today at the Mumbai general post office arguing over the customs declaration of my precious baggage. Two hours filled with pleading, grateful smiles, batting eyelids, millions of questions as to why I can't just send home my old clothes and books and for the supervisor(who was standing there overlooking our arguments) - but, the end result was pleasing. I finally shook off those terrible twelve kilos. Ahh, now my backpack is wonderfully lighter (albeit still a little heavy - i don't want to know how much all my bits and pieces weighed before we arrived to the GPO).

I am in Mumbai/Bombay - one of my favourite cities in India so far. This incredible metropolis has it all - the sophistication, the slums, the thudding heat, the chaotic traffic, the suits bustling to work every morning, the crowded markets filled with junk and vegetables and jewellery and kitchen utensils, the department stores, the glitterati of Bollywood - and I love it. Nechama and I have been taking a slower pace since arriving here as we are both pretty run down after some little adventures that has taken us hostage over the past few days like a bad dream we never awoke from. But first I should backpeddle a little and explain briefly what I have been up to for the past couple weeks.

From Pushkar we went to the Blue city of Jodhpur - in which a maginificent fort (and within it extensive museums) dominated the landscape. In nearly every city from Delhi to Udaipur there are forts built by the Mughals - which can get sometimes quite repetative. But the fort in Jodhpur was worth it - we explored the tiny corridors and hidden rooms that were sectioned off for preservation purposes (we can't read english, we say in israeli accents!) and the rooms filled with mughal art and armory (yes, still with the swords) - trying to get that perfect photo for this post. Shame I cant put any up now, but it's coming. It will.

Jodhpur is called the Blue City because the rooftops of the houses of the old part of Jodhpur are painted this bright colour that form a blue sea. It's gorgeous - much more impressive than Jaipur (which is called the Pink city - but isn't really that pink... more like a burnt terracotta).

My gosh my memory is fading - so many things happened in so many days, they seem to melt into one another and when the time comes to write it down and share it with you, it all eludes me.......

In Jaisalmer we toured this ornate havelis (houses built in the 19th century for wealthy and/or important people, i put up pics and explain better later) and also endeavoured a camel safari... how appropriate that my camel had bowel issues, we trotted and heaved ourselves along the indian desert for a couple hours listening to the harmonies emitting from behind me (and smelling his 'perfume'). We watched the sunset atop some sand dunes and slept in the 'million star hotel' under the night sky... ok, i'm rushing now because nechama and i want to avoid this crazy documentary film maker we met this afternoon at a market who took us out to lunch and wrote his email address for us in invisible ink. Yes, i know i sound like i have drunk too many special lassis, but I will update this post asap... and describe to you the bad dream... wow, do i sound dramatic. keep you posted xxx

Purring in Udaipur

A post filled with stories, so she asks. Well here you go Alana, I'll try and cram as many interesting incidents into this one post wihtout boring the shit out of you, and also without incriminating myself... ahem.

I'm am writing from a gorgeous city named Udaipur, and I must admit it is one of the most beautiful cities of Rajasthan, and perhaps for most of the trip (excluding Dharmasala. That was magic. But enough about that!) It is (what a surprise, like Dharmasala) a hill station set in the mountains of this province, Rajasthan. The terrain varies across this province - from dusty polluted cities, to an oasis in the middle of the desert (Pushkar) to camel safaris in the sand dunes of the real desert, to this hill station of Udapiur, and all its majestic palaces.

But stories, she asks? Ok, let me pull some from the furthest corners of my memory... Pushkar evoked a series of different emotions from Nechama and I. This was the place we spent Yom Kippur - I find fasting difficult in Melbourne, especially towards the last couple hours - but here? In Pushkar? In the middle of a frickin desert? No water? What the? We arrived the day before the festival, and shopped within the sprawling marketplace and got cheated by Brahmin 'priests' promising blessings for our family in return for a nice donation. "But I don't believe in your god" - that doesn't work either, for "everyone's gods are the same -it's just different ways to reach up there" was the reply. Laden with flowers, rice, red and saffron coloured powder I threw caution (and the 'gifts') into the holy water of Pushkar. I understand that I prombably commited idolatry, but in my heart I didn't believeI word I was saying. The ideal situation the day of Erev Yom Kippur. Such a heathen I've become.

The meal before the fast was relaxed and comforting - most of the Israelis wore white and we ate in the back garden of the Chabad shule. The services were quite nice, a little different from Shira Hadasha but what can you do.

But stories - hrmm... that night we met up with an Indian who we previousdly met in Jaipur. He was a funny guy, 31 years old but acting like a little boy - he had just discovered alchohol three months ago. Now he's on a mission to drink for the next three - because "it's so much fun!" Excited and jittery like a toddler discovering a new toy, we learnt that he had smuggled meat and whiskey into the town (as Pushkar is a very holy city, no meat, alchohol or eggs are allowed to be brought into the city). He revelaed to us that six years ago he used to read palms, and then proceeded the read Nechama's palm... We have never been so freaked out. So apt, and we gave nothing away. I am usually quite cynical in situations like this - but when he was massaging her neck to get the 'bad energy' (or STRESS) his hand became white and his arm numb. It was freaky!

Ok, gotta run. Thinking of you all xx

Roadtripping Rajasthan

Living it up on the Royal Tour of Rajasthan... I swear we are being spoilt rotten and I LOVE IT! So. Where to start. It's always a problem of finding out where to begin, because the days seem to melt into one another and I can't believe I've already been in India for four weeks. Nearly. But still, four weeks. Long time, man. So, where did we really begin...

Agra, aside from hosting the majestic Taj Mahal and a lovely fort (there's forts in every city around here) didn't have much more appeal, and so we quickly left after taking one hundred thousand photos of the Taj to be on our way to Bharatpur. Bharatpur, you say? Where the hell is that?! Almost nobody we've met has heard of it, but its a village in the middle of nowhere that houses a UN Heritage listed National Park and Bird Sanctuary. And now I can't believe I can't remember its name. Against my instinct we went to the Bird Sanctuary in the late afternoon (I remembered from feeding the birds in Port Douglas that the best time is in the morning... I should learn to speak up more, eh) but we managed to spot some lovely owls, mountain lizards (they're few and far between), spotted deer, turtles, antelopes and a heap of cows (but what's new, we're in india!)

The next day we made our way to Jaipur, where we spent the afternoon at the Amber Fort, exploring the many hidden corridors and openings to give way to spectacular views. It was the end of a special Hindu festival (a couple days before Disharra/Ramen) and the fort was crammed with people - women in saris of lime, magenta and saffron, kids shouting and ducking in between the adults. The heat however made it a little unbearable to stay more than an hour - by the time we reached the bottom of this spectacular fort we were wet (like we had seriously just taken a shower) with perspiration. I will put up some pics of this when I get the chance ( I know I keep saying this, but time is short around here.. when I arrive in Goa I will have all the time in the world..) That evening we met a New Yorker who had been lied to by yes, the one and only Nazir, the travel agent in Delhi. Enraged and shaken at being scammed (for New Yorkers are too smart to be scammed!:P) we bought some drinks and some takeout and had a party in our hotel room. Cheap whiskey (AUD$1.10!!) and beers aren't for the light hearted in India -the bottle shops close early and we had the make the most out of it!

The next day we explored the City Palace in the suffocating heat (which, we learn now in Jodhpur, really wasn't so bad compared to here) and this is where I learnt of my fascination with armory and weapons - who knew? Sarah is obsessed with swords. After many power shortages and moments spent in desperation standing in front of fans, we left - I would write more, but there's nothing much else. (Can you tell the heat is getting to me?)

Alright, I have to go, but there will be a more extensive update very soon. Yom Kippur in Pushkar - well, I've never hated fasting and standing up in shule more than that... but that's for another time. Keep those comments flowing - I love hearing from you too! xxxx

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

yes, I am still here...

It's been a while. Not sure exactly why. But when reviewing what I have (or haven't written for that matter) quite a bit has happened. The real problem is where to start. I suppose I often have this issue - I hate trying to remember what I did over a month ago in London and writing about it as if it's fresh in my mind. It's not. And that sucks. Because my memory is pretty crap. And that's the whole reason for this blog. To remind myself later on what I actually have been doing with my time.

Also, I seemed to have dropped off the radar completely. Off the side of the earth. And for those who I haven't contacted recently I am most sorry. This place seemed to have consumed me.

So where am I in the world, Carmen Sandiego? I'm enjoying my last week and a half in the Holy Land. I can't believe how quickly it's all gone. It's strange the first weeks of arriving into Israel, I felt like such a tourist, hesitant to speak the language, but now not a day goes past when I don't speak Hebrew. Um, I actually have to go start packing up my stuff in my apartment, so I'll continue this post later on... xx

Israel A.F destroys Hezbollah's rockets launchers

yalla ya Nasrallah - song from Israel

let me know what you think of this... catchy tune, but does it really raise morale around here?

Daily Show: Do we feel it only at the pump?

The Daily Show - Officially A War

Tears for Fears remix? Jon Stewart is so apt.

Ha'am im a Tzafon (The Nation is with the North)

My first REAL post in Israel. Considering that I hadn't written a PROPER one during my time spent in London, and I had writing about an experience that happened over two weeks ago, I shall put up some pictures for your entertainment and let you choose your own adventure!

Over the course of my time spent here in Israel, I have experienced a range of emotions - from the resentment of being simply a 'tourist' uncomfortable speaking Hebrew (which I have now overcome with success, thank god), to the fear the gripped me two weeks ago about to head out for a great time in Tel Aviv, only to recieve a number of phone calls warning me to stay inside for there were terrorists on the loose (they were caught, thank god), to a feeling of overwhelming happiness studying at Pardes and meeting new and fascinating people from all over the world (well, the majority are from USA and Canada - I can't seem to get away from them!). The learning that I am doing here in Pardes is feeding a hunger within me that I have neglected for quite some time now - a hunger for Jewish texts, Jewish intellectual discussion, it's filling a void within me and I've never been so excited.

Walking home on my first day my body was tingling - here I am, in Jerusalem, surrounded by students who are as eager as I am about learning, students from all different kinds of ideological, social and economic backgrounds, our hunger fuelled by enthusiastic teachers who accept us no matter where we come from, no matter what we believe, part of a small community for a short period of time, and here we are in Israel, no matter what obstacles lie before us.

I am so happy.

The classes are extremely intense, one must concentrate for each 2.5 hour class, not allowed to slack off in any instance for you are kept in check with your chevrutah partner when you study texts. (Chevrutah is a situation where you study the text closely with another person, keeping the other honest to the text and providing dialogue, rather than studying it alone)....

Being here in Israel, especially during this tense and difficult time, has made me so proud of the Israeli people, their strength and determination to rise above and unite no matter where one comes from. So many across the country are opening up their homes to refugees of the North, and still tourists are coming to visit Israel, and everyone tries to continue their lives as normal as they can. I'm sure the news at home portrays Israel as a menacing beast, intent on killing as many Lebanese civilians as possible, the country is a war zone, unsafe, but that is so far from the truth... Or perhaps the truth I believe in, I feel, is more unbiased and both sides are accounted for... I don't know, I'm going to stop writing now. Maybe I'll add more to this post later today.

If you want so see some humour, check out on youtube.com the daily show (jon stewart) regarding israel. This is one of his first ones...



Daily Show: Is Israels Response Disproportionate?

Notes after Yad Vashem

Today's experience of witnessing my own handwriting lending testimony to those members of my family who were murdered in the Shoah will (hopefully) never leave me.My handwriting. My history.

So often I don't feel Australian. In America hell yes I did, for I was unique, and my upbringing seemed so foreign to those American students. When comparing the simple things, it was the subtle differences that made me feel special.
Yet nor do I feel the connection to Israel anymore. I, a jaded tourist perhaps, wandering thw rold, appreciate and enjoy travelling throughout this country - but then I am just that: a tourist. I don't feel comfortable anymore speaking the language that I onced dreamed in. What has happened?

Viewing the Jewish life in Europe previous to the War made my eyes prickle with tears - I was instantly overcome with emotion. Looking at the tiny black and white faces grinning at the camera lense, children waving and beckoning at the movie camera lense - I wanted to bawl right then and there, at the very entrance of the museum. I find it interesting the way I experienced the New Museum at Yad Vashem this afternoon. I tended to skim over the historical facts that I could recite by heart - the Nuremberg Laws, the burning of the books, Krystallnacht, the layout of the death camps and the crematoria. Is that bad? I didn't care much for the video footage of thousands of Nazis at a rally in Berline, nor of Hitler giving his speeches about the Jewish 'vermin' - complete with enough spittle to last a lifetime. What moved me most throughout each exhibit was the artwork displayed that was created during those horrific times. The feelings they conveyed touched me much more than the number crunches, and the graphic images of corpses in mass graves. The testimonies of survivors, their voices cracking over certain words, certain memories. That's what moved me. The tales of survivors surviving their survival after the Shoah - struggling to rejoin society, with the burden of their grief, experiences, losses and nightmares.

I wept when I found a scan of a document I filled out on behalf of Papa two years ago on the Yad Vashem database of the victims of the Shoah. There were many documents. His sister, Giza, a 'cosmetician'. Matylda. Cylka. His father. Even Helena. I wept as I clicked from document to document - these special people, these members of my family, my past - a past that has made me who I am today - were finally chronicled in Yad Vashem. In my handwriting. I've never felt more proud. I've never felt more connected to my history than this afternoon. Wow.

The Yad Vashem museum was one of the best I've ever been to. The memorial park definitely needed this new museum - it gives so much weight to the other monuments in the complex. Not only for those who have never been to Yad Vashem, nor for those unfamiliar with the history of the Shoah, but its important for those who, like myself, teeter on the obsessive when it comes to Holocaust studies. For those who have visited Yad Vashem prior to the opening of this New Museum. It reminds us where we came from, and, as one exits the new building, it reminds us where we are right now. As one leaves the exhibit you are on a sheltered balcony overlooking the valleys of Jerusalem, the sun dazzling, with an open view of the afternoon sky. The Jewish people are here to stay.

Take that Nasrallah.

A Taste of the Greek Islands...

These are more pictures of my time island hopping between Mykonos, Santorini and Ios.. Unfortunately I forgot my camera battery charger in London, and so only had limited use of the camera. I resorted to buying a throwaway camera during my time in Naxos, but I think I managed to have a little battery time..let me see....

Mykonos

This is the gorgeous port of Mykonos...one of my favourites...
And the infamous windmills...



Me and Elliot!

Me and Amanda!












My last night at Mykonos - my Greek friends!








Lovely pics of picturesque Santorini...

Posing amongst the antiquities...

Anyone for pictures?

Yes, it's been a long time since I've posted anything up on this blog... Well, by anything I mean photos, and I've been told that it's much needed. Now I have two choices - whether to go back to my old posts and redo them with pics, but then I question the logic of that, since nobody will really go backward and go hunting for them. So here, may I present to you, Sarah;s slideshow of what she's been up to since...well....
WHAT SARAH HAS BEEN DOING SINCE PENN!

Like it?

Here goes...

Road Trip...with Daddy