Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
India, the Acronym
I am sitting at my desk in school on our first day back from Christmas break. The goats are prancing around outside in the dusty lot across the street from my classroom window. The sky is a deep blue and visibility is near perfect… so different from smoggy New Delhi! In some ways, it feels very good to be back in RAK. My goal was to write about India by the weekend. I find myself with an unexpected bit of time… or should I say CHUNK of time. My ONE student, Sammy, is in New York with his mother and ailing grandmother, and will not be back until January 18. January 18??? I have 12 days to plan the rest of the year’s curriculum, but today I am sneaking in a little blog writing.
India… Rachel, Sam’s teacher, told me there is an acronym; “I’ll Never Do It Again (India).” I laughed when I heard that, and there is a part of me that understands. The wretched poverty is hard, hard to look at, and so much harder to live, I am sure. The tourist traveler to India feels guilty about the inequity. You’d have to be made of stone not to… The smells are strong, trash is everywhere, and in a country of a billion people, it is very hard to find a corner of the sidewalk to call your own. So many people, so many beggars, and a seething mass of humanity that made me wish, at times, that I was on a very long walk in the mountains instead.
That said, Ryer called India (arguably), “the most spiritual place on earth.” And it seemed to be, especially in the last few days, when we stayed in Neemrana at the Neemrana Fort Hotel. I began to finally see what it is that makes India such a unique place, especially from an American perspective. The November Mumbai attacks would cast a shadow on our trip, and many western visitors backed out of India travel plans, but I never felt unsafe, beyond the usual third world travel fears of pick pocketing and illness.
Ryer, Sam and I would have had a much, much less interesting time without the careful planning of Clayton, his staff at the travel office, and Ted. Ted initially outlined our visit on a scrap of paper while the uncles visited us in the UAE in October. I turned that paper into an agenda and a direct email request to Clayton’s staff to help us plan our visit. Clayton oversaw the whole process, and monitored the endless correspondences I had with Varun at the embassy. The final product was about a week in New Delhi, two days in Agra and Jaipur, three in the hill station Shimla, and four days in Neemrana with the whole gang: Ryer, Sam, Clayton and Ted - this last trip courtesy of Ted and Clayton, an extremely generous and memorable New Year’s gift, and my favorite part of the trip.
Visitors to India invariably go to Agra to see the Taj Mahal. We spent a day touring the Taj. It was just as spectacular as the pictures. Our guide talked to us for hours, pointing out many of the unique elements of the building, which was designed by a Turk. I think of Melanie Harquail talking about her mother droning on in Greece. “The only thing I hate more than Greek ruins is listening to my mom read out of the guide book about Greek ruins,” said Melanie, 30 years ago, when our two families backpacked together to Greece for the month of July. I still share her sentiments, though I should have grown out of that.
Put it this way. I remember approximately a dozen things our guide told us about the Taj, but the most interesting facts are as follows. The man who built the Taj did so in memory of his third and favorite wife, who bore him 12 children and probably died from that. His son imprisoned him so he would not build a second Taj Mahal, exactly like the first, but black, the foundation of which you can still see, but that was never built. A second Taj would have drained the coffers, so the son put his father under house arrest rather than let this happen. Next, the carvings in the walls, done with semiprecious stones like onyx and jasper, are unbelievably detailed. It must have taken so many craftsmen so long to produce that work. Last, all four guard towers that surround the Taj tilt outward, so that if there were an earthquake, the towers would fall away from rather than toward the Taj. There were zillions of people visiting the day we were there. There was no time for quiet contemplation, but I felt lucky to see it with my own eyes.
I remember when my sister Alison went to Jerusalem two decades ago. When we first got there, she looked around and said, “Hey! I really LIKE this town!” Of course I jeered endlessly - it’s only the holiest city in the world, blah, blah, blah. I lectured her about her irreverence. Well, it’s my turn now. I really LIKED that building!
Jaipur was the next day’s stop. We stayed in a lovely hotel, and did some shopping and touring around. The city has a fortress wall around it. Sam asked if it was the Great Wall of China, and it did look like a miniature version. Ryer was impressed by the opulence of our two hotels in Agra and Jaipur, not our usual Colorado bum fare, but a treat on ANY budget, and certainly for us.
Christmas morning came next, with a lovely tree, decorated by all in the household. While we all enjoyed the lovely gifts sent to us from afar, Sam was the clear victor in the best loot competition. Thanks to all for your generosity. Sam is a lucky little boy, and it was never more apparent than on Christmas day in India. I opened one ornament from Mom. The tag said, Made in India. This meant that the ornament had been sent to the states from India, where mom bought it. She then wrapped it and sent it back to me in India. Mind-boggling, when you think about it.
Our next journey was to the mountains, and we traveled there in a tiny toy train. The train consisted of one car, 15 seats and three passengers: Ryer, Sam and me, as well as the driver and a monosyllabic Sikh guard. The train ride took seven hours. We chugged along the single track at about 20 mph, and passed through 103 underground tunnels and over many trestles in the course of our journey. Shimla is a beautiful mountain town, mist-enshrouded at this time of year, and quite chilly. I was sick there, haunted by the remnants of a Christmas day case of Delhi Belly, possibly contracted at the French Embassy during a seven-course repast on Christmas Eve. The meal was among the finest I have ever tasted, and Ted reminds me that Delhi Belly can be picked up anywhere, and can linger in your poor belly for several days before striking, ruining your life, and causing “shuking,” which is a combination of words and actions that, with a bit of deciphering, is part of this process.
Ryer made a healthier show, and escorted Sam about town while I languished in the room. There were many things that made this three-day journey memorable, from the strangely stentorian breathing of our nightly Indian waiter at the hotel restaurant, to the “Newborn Hotel” and “Shimla Toilet Complex” signs we saw posted up around town. The flight back to Delhi on Kingfisher Airlines was much delayed, and we barely made last call when we finally set off in our rickety plane on the tiny mountain runway at dusk; these planes can’t fly out of the Shimla airport at night.
Whenever we were back in Delhi, Ryer and I felt a tremendous sense of relief. We would relax, read, venture out in an auto rickshaw with Sam, and tour the sights a bit. The uncles’ compound is so spacious and the house so elegantly furnished, and we were so comfortable, that it was often hard to make ourselves leave for the next mini-trip. There are several servants in Ted and Clayton’s home, and all of the servants’ careful ministrations lent to Sam’s sense of grandiosity. Sam spent many hours playing with Sam the dog, and with Vippin, the security guard. Vippin is an attractive Indian in his mid-twenties, with a sweet and patient manner, and Sam idolized him. Sam also borrowed Vippin’s security guard hat, and his whistle, radio, and night stick. Plus Sam patrolled the walls in the stiff manner of Buckingham Palace guards, whom we saw in London last August. Additionally, Sam created a sign-in log and checked all undercarriages for bombs. Poor Vippin. He was tremendously patient with Sam’s nonstop antics. I tipped him out when we left, but probably no amount was enough to pay him back for all of that nonsense. Sam did get Mrs. Rai to wash Vippin’s uniform, which Vippin informed Sam, “had not been washed in two years.” We are hoping something was lost in translation.
Our final leg of the journey involved the whole gang, driven by Mr. Samuel, the Bond/Osius chauffer. Originally, I thought I would just write about Neemrana and skip the rest of the trip. That was how great Neemrana was, and it was here that I decided that India stood not for the previously mentioned insulting acronym, but instead, “I Need Daily Indian Affirmations (India),” like Mahatma Gandhi’s, “Be the change you want to see in the world.” Or, “Whenever you are confronted with an opponent, conquer him with love.” Or, “There is nothing that wastes the body like worry and anyone who has any faith in God should be ashamed to worry about anything whatsoever.” Or, “The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is an attribute of the strong.” All wise words spoken by a venerated national leader.
Back to Neemrana. Ted and Clayton knew we would love the Neemrana Fort Hotel, and of course we did. This hotel is one of the most unique places I have ever seen, much less slept in. The hotel is a reconstructed/refurbished military fort perched up on a hillside above the village, which is two hours from Delhi by car. We had four glorious, relaxing days and nights there. The hotel consists of 80 rooms, each entirely different in size, shape, decoration and functionality. Our room had a rock wall in the bathroom and looked out over a haunted, gloomy moat, which echoed with the sounds of pigeons cooing and parrots babbling. It also carried eerie strains of Indian music issuing from the town at night (or from centuries ago, as my spooked, middle-of-the-night imagination conjured it up to be). Ryer slept in what I referred to as his aerie bower. He was way at the top of the nine levels of fort and had two old stone decks. Ted and Clayton had a slightly less interesting room, but with fabulous furnishings and a very high bed. Because Sam “worked” the staff so very hard during our four days and made many friends, as he is wont to do when he is in the vicinity of a 5 star hotel, we were all upgraded to the “Deva Majal” presidential suite for our last night. There were three bedrooms, two bathrooms, two enormous stone decks, and a round room decorated with the busts of old rajahs.
In fact, I took a four-hour audio tour, and I could not find a single boring thing to look at, anywhere. There were twisting steps, turrets, balconies, artwork, cannons, dizzying drops, myriad lights, pools, hanging gardens, twisting walkways, latticework, and even a “loo with a view” near the reception, with windows in its vast circular space that looked out on miles of countryside. I will never, ever forget the elegance, the spookiness, the beauty, the delectability (of the food) and the hospitality of the staff. If you are not married, or want to remarry your sweetie, or renew vows, or get away from kids, this is the place to do it.
I have been happily clacking away at my keyboard all morning, luxuriating in my extra time, but I have just promised the librarian that I would stamp books this afternoon with our school label. Besides, I can’t even imagine who would read THIS far in a travelogue. If you did, thanks for bearing with me.
I hope and trust all will be well in 2009. Fourteen days till Wash D.C. gets all kinds of shook up, but who is counting, right Ted?
India… Rachel, Sam’s teacher, told me there is an acronym; “I’ll Never Do It Again (India).” I laughed when I heard that, and there is a part of me that understands. The wretched poverty is hard, hard to look at, and so much harder to live, I am sure. The tourist traveler to India feels guilty about the inequity. You’d have to be made of stone not to… The smells are strong, trash is everywhere, and in a country of a billion people, it is very hard to find a corner of the sidewalk to call your own. So many people, so many beggars, and a seething mass of humanity that made me wish, at times, that I was on a very long walk in the mountains instead.
That said, Ryer called India (arguably), “the most spiritual place on earth.” And it seemed to be, especially in the last few days, when we stayed in Neemrana at the Neemrana Fort Hotel. I began to finally see what it is that makes India such a unique place, especially from an American perspective. The November Mumbai attacks would cast a shadow on our trip, and many western visitors backed out of India travel plans, but I never felt unsafe, beyond the usual third world travel fears of pick pocketing and illness.
Ryer, Sam and I would have had a much, much less interesting time without the careful planning of Clayton, his staff at the travel office, and Ted. Ted initially outlined our visit on a scrap of paper while the uncles visited us in the UAE in October. I turned that paper into an agenda and a direct email request to Clayton’s staff to help us plan our visit. Clayton oversaw the whole process, and monitored the endless correspondences I had with Varun at the embassy. The final product was about a week in New Delhi, two days in Agra and Jaipur, three in the hill station Shimla, and four days in Neemrana with the whole gang: Ryer, Sam, Clayton and Ted - this last trip courtesy of Ted and Clayton, an extremely generous and memorable New Year’s gift, and my favorite part of the trip.
Visitors to India invariably go to Agra to see the Taj Mahal. We spent a day touring the Taj. It was just as spectacular as the pictures. Our guide talked to us for hours, pointing out many of the unique elements of the building, which was designed by a Turk. I think of Melanie Harquail talking about her mother droning on in Greece. “The only thing I hate more than Greek ruins is listening to my mom read out of the guide book about Greek ruins,” said Melanie, 30 years ago, when our two families backpacked together to Greece for the month of July. I still share her sentiments, though I should have grown out of that.
Put it this way. I remember approximately a dozen things our guide told us about the Taj, but the most interesting facts are as follows. The man who built the Taj did so in memory of his third and favorite wife, who bore him 12 children and probably died from that. His son imprisoned him so he would not build a second Taj Mahal, exactly like the first, but black, the foundation of which you can still see, but that was never built. A second Taj would have drained the coffers, so the son put his father under house arrest rather than let this happen. Next, the carvings in the walls, done with semiprecious stones like onyx and jasper, are unbelievably detailed. It must have taken so many craftsmen so long to produce that work. Last, all four guard towers that surround the Taj tilt outward, so that if there were an earthquake, the towers would fall away from rather than toward the Taj. There were zillions of people visiting the day we were there. There was no time for quiet contemplation, but I felt lucky to see it with my own eyes.
I remember when my sister Alison went to Jerusalem two decades ago. When we first got there, she looked around and said, “Hey! I really LIKE this town!” Of course I jeered endlessly - it’s only the holiest city in the world, blah, blah, blah. I lectured her about her irreverence. Well, it’s my turn now. I really LIKED that building!
Jaipur was the next day’s stop. We stayed in a lovely hotel, and did some shopping and touring around. The city has a fortress wall around it. Sam asked if it was the Great Wall of China, and it did look like a miniature version. Ryer was impressed by the opulence of our two hotels in Agra and Jaipur, not our usual Colorado bum fare, but a treat on ANY budget, and certainly for us.
Christmas morning came next, with a lovely tree, decorated by all in the household. While we all enjoyed the lovely gifts sent to us from afar, Sam was the clear victor in the best loot competition. Thanks to all for your generosity. Sam is a lucky little boy, and it was never more apparent than on Christmas day in India. I opened one ornament from Mom. The tag said, Made in India. This meant that the ornament had been sent to the states from India, where mom bought it. She then wrapped it and sent it back to me in India. Mind-boggling, when you think about it.
Our next journey was to the mountains, and we traveled there in a tiny toy train. The train consisted of one car, 15 seats and three passengers: Ryer, Sam and me, as well as the driver and a monosyllabic Sikh guard. The train ride took seven hours. We chugged along the single track at about 20 mph, and passed through 103 underground tunnels and over many trestles in the course of our journey. Shimla is a beautiful mountain town, mist-enshrouded at this time of year, and quite chilly. I was sick there, haunted by the remnants of a Christmas day case of Delhi Belly, possibly contracted at the French Embassy during a seven-course repast on Christmas Eve. The meal was among the finest I have ever tasted, and Ted reminds me that Delhi Belly can be picked up anywhere, and can linger in your poor belly for several days before striking, ruining your life, and causing “shuking,” which is a combination of words and actions that, with a bit of deciphering, is part of this process.
Ryer made a healthier show, and escorted Sam about town while I languished in the room. There were many things that made this three-day journey memorable, from the strangely stentorian breathing of our nightly Indian waiter at the hotel restaurant, to the “Newborn Hotel” and “Shimla Toilet Complex” signs we saw posted up around town. The flight back to Delhi on Kingfisher Airlines was much delayed, and we barely made last call when we finally set off in our rickety plane on the tiny mountain runway at dusk; these planes can’t fly out of the Shimla airport at night.
Whenever we were back in Delhi, Ryer and I felt a tremendous sense of relief. We would relax, read, venture out in an auto rickshaw with Sam, and tour the sights a bit. The uncles’ compound is so spacious and the house so elegantly furnished, and we were so comfortable, that it was often hard to make ourselves leave for the next mini-trip. There are several servants in Ted and Clayton’s home, and all of the servants’ careful ministrations lent to Sam’s sense of grandiosity. Sam spent many hours playing with Sam the dog, and with Vippin, the security guard. Vippin is an attractive Indian in his mid-twenties, with a sweet and patient manner, and Sam idolized him. Sam also borrowed Vippin’s security guard hat, and his whistle, radio, and night stick. Plus Sam patrolled the walls in the stiff manner of Buckingham Palace guards, whom we saw in London last August. Additionally, Sam created a sign-in log and checked all undercarriages for bombs. Poor Vippin. He was tremendously patient with Sam’s nonstop antics. I tipped him out when we left, but probably no amount was enough to pay him back for all of that nonsense. Sam did get Mrs. Rai to wash Vippin’s uniform, which Vippin informed Sam, “had not been washed in two years.” We are hoping something was lost in translation.
Our final leg of the journey involved the whole gang, driven by Mr. Samuel, the Bond/Osius chauffer. Originally, I thought I would just write about Neemrana and skip the rest of the trip. That was how great Neemrana was, and it was here that I decided that India stood not for the previously mentioned insulting acronym, but instead, “I Need Daily Indian Affirmations (India),” like Mahatma Gandhi’s, “Be the change you want to see in the world.” Or, “Whenever you are confronted with an opponent, conquer him with love.” Or, “There is nothing that wastes the body like worry and anyone who has any faith in God should be ashamed to worry about anything whatsoever.” Or, “The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is an attribute of the strong.” All wise words spoken by a venerated national leader.
Back to Neemrana. Ted and Clayton knew we would love the Neemrana Fort Hotel, and of course we did. This hotel is one of the most unique places I have ever seen, much less slept in. The hotel is a reconstructed/refurbished military fort perched up on a hillside above the village, which is two hours from Delhi by car. We had four glorious, relaxing days and nights there. The hotel consists of 80 rooms, each entirely different in size, shape, decoration and functionality. Our room had a rock wall in the bathroom and looked out over a haunted, gloomy moat, which echoed with the sounds of pigeons cooing and parrots babbling. It also carried eerie strains of Indian music issuing from the town at night (or from centuries ago, as my spooked, middle-of-the-night imagination conjured it up to be). Ryer slept in what I referred to as his aerie bower. He was way at the top of the nine levels of fort and had two old stone decks. Ted and Clayton had a slightly less interesting room, but with fabulous furnishings and a very high bed. Because Sam “worked” the staff so very hard during our four days and made many friends, as he is wont to do when he is in the vicinity of a 5 star hotel, we were all upgraded to the “Deva Majal” presidential suite for our last night. There were three bedrooms, two bathrooms, two enormous stone decks, and a round room decorated with the busts of old rajahs.
In fact, I took a four-hour audio tour, and I could not find a single boring thing to look at, anywhere. There were twisting steps, turrets, balconies, artwork, cannons, dizzying drops, myriad lights, pools, hanging gardens, twisting walkways, latticework, and even a “loo with a view” near the reception, with windows in its vast circular space that looked out on miles of countryside. I will never, ever forget the elegance, the spookiness, the beauty, the delectability (of the food) and the hospitality of the staff. If you are not married, or want to remarry your sweetie, or renew vows, or get away from kids, this is the place to do it.
I have been happily clacking away at my keyboard all morning, luxuriating in my extra time, but I have just promised the librarian that I would stamp books this afternoon with our school label. Besides, I can’t even imagine who would read THIS far in a travelogue. If you did, thanks for bearing with me.
I hope and trust all will be well in 2009. Fourteen days till Wash D.C. gets all kinds of shook up, but who is counting, right Ted?
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