Journeys And Destinations

Part I: An Almost Rant

For twelve months, India has been my home. Nine of those months were spent immersing myself into the little town of Bhuj, Kachchh, Gujarat, India. And when I say immerse, I am referring to the identity shedding, soul-baring, language learning, taboo avoiding, relationship redefining, comfort affronting, intestinal churning process of becoming part of the local community. I was Bhuj’s Pinocchio, and I wanted to become a real Bhujie. And then, like Pinocchio, I went astray. To glide the glittery and gritty surface of India, as a tourist.

Yes, I saw beautiful things. (A sunrise over Darjeeling, a sunset on the backwaters of Kerala)

Yes, I met fascinating people. (A French circus performer, a UN employee based in Afghanistan)

Yes, I had magical chance experiences that travel often brings. (Carolers on a roof top, riding on top of a bus)

However, despite the fun times, the touristy side of India leaves a bad taste in my mouth. This is because it’s a curry-coated façade: an imitated ‘India’ manufactured in response to tourists that lap it up (the romanticizers) or turn their noses (the stigmatizers)…

… I could get carried away with a rant here. And in fact I did, but I’m not posting it. Instead I’ll just say that one (often unavoidable) problem is that to be a tourist in this complicated country is merely to scratch a surface that shrouds complexities and beauties missed by a transient itinerary. And that sucks.

But, I’ll let it go and replace my criticism with a little travel anecdote. It’s happier.

Parents Hiking in Tea Plantations of Darjeeling

Backwaters of Kerala

Part II: How Fortuitous

Like a little kid insatiably wants to go to Disney Land, Bertina (my brother’s girl friend), wanted to go to a “real” Indian wedding while she and my brother were in India. Despite the fact that I had no idea how to make this happen, I told them that I’d take care of it. So on my 19 hour overnight train ride to meet them in Jaipur, I still hadn’t sorted it out. I didn’t know anyone getting married, and I had no idea where to just ‘happen upon’ a wedding in the city. I was mulling over this as the young couple sharing my train compartment struck up a conversation. Turns out, they just had their wedding in Jaipur. Long story shorter, the fantastic couple told me about a popular wedding venue in the city. If we just turned up there, they said, we could crash whatever wedding was going on. Excellent!

So, on my first night with Scott and Bertina, we headed to the prescribed wedding location. Our hopes were high, our Indian clothes were new, and our minds flashed pictures of the glamorous affair so famously depicted in the West. But when we pulled up to the venue, there were no red carpets, no caravans of camels and elephants, no loud music or throes of people dancing in shiny sarees and suits. Not only was there not a wedding, the venue was completely closed. Dangit! Even though it had been a long shot, we were gloomy as we headed back to our hotel. And then something happened. More specifically, a piercing, thunderous sound happened. Fireworks! I popped my head out of the rickshaw and squealed as I spotted a blimp-size elephant painted up to the nines. Fireworks and an elephant?! A wedding must be nearby! And to be sure, a little further up the road we spotted the red carpet and tented entrance. Ecstatic, we jumped out of the rickshaw and dashed towards the glittering lights and pulsing music. When I realized that we all had absurd, indiscreet grins on our indiscreet white faces, I paused our exultant gait and put my hand on Scott and Bertina’s shoulders. Guys, Be Cool. A collusive head nod followed by a nonchalant saunter. An Indian wedding would be crashed.

Scott and Bertina in Jodhpur

Part III: It’s Not All Roses / But Can You Just Grow a Rose Garden?

So the wedding was a pretty fantastic success, and there were a number of other wonderful moments, especially since a) my family came all the way over to visit b) I got to go trekking in the Nepal Himalayas, a huge dream come true. But it’d be like saying success is easy if I didn’t share some of the tough stuff of travel. Like how because of strikes Dafnah and I twice got trapped in the kind of towns you’d drive through and purposefully avoid getting out of your car. Or how I acquired some vicious amoebas that wanted to hang out in my intestines, i.e. amoebiosis and the lovely dysentery. Or how my parents had to fend off fist-sized insects all night when their mosquito net didn’t fit over their bed. And then there was the constant challenge of simply getting from A to B. Flights were delayed, trains were missed, and buses never showed. Although I know it’s the journey not the destination, let’s be honest, sometimes the journey can be a bitch.

But hey, I wonder if that makes destination sweeter. (What? As though I have the capacity to end on a non-optimistic note.) With a new project in a new part of India, I’ve arrived at a really good place. I guess the more I travelled, the more it reinforced that it’s living in India, not touring India that I’m partial to. There’s no sight that feels as good to me as the hard-earned, little triumphs of life in India. Crossing the street with confidence and a body intact; having enough local knowledge to prevent the rickshaw driver from ripping me off; eating spicy food without wanting to tear out my tongue (ok that one is just not true; I still can’t eat spicy food). Yesterday, I felt on top of the world simply because I took the local Mumbai train to my office. I think it’s the familiarity feel-good. The transition from being insanely intimidated by something the first time to the confidence of knowing what to do and how to do it. I’m aware that I’m not a local by a long shot, but this is my home for now. And it feels good to be back.*

*For those of you cringing and I know who you are, I’ll be back in Texas by the end of May.

Approaching Base Camp

Nepal's Annapurna Range

Typical Local Bus in India

Mom and Dad visiting Bhuj