Things that baffle me about India and possible explanations

1. Why everybody yells at you all the time – at airports, in hotels, on the street, in temples: they’re underpaid, overworked, not getting laid often enough, think you have something they want or that you’re trying to gyp them by failing to read a sign correctly

2. How even the skinniest driver/porter can lug your massive 25 kg bag up and down stairs and in and out cars/trucks/vans and not think it’s heavy: large quantities of ghee in diet

3. Why they levy a ‘luxury tax’ on your hotel stay when the paint is peeling, the shower doesn’t work, there is no heat or air, the sheets are damp, the towels are dirty and the curtains are dusty: they’re so poor that having four walls, a ceiling (albeit cracked) and a floor is considered luxury

4. Why they think it’s bizarre to find a woman travelling alone managing her own affairs: Indian wimmen are prolly only good at bargaining at shops and do not possess the brain power to actually live life or be useful at things that matter. It should be noted that I am crap at bargaining at shops, a swap I’m willing to pay extra for.

5. Why nobody has a sense of personal space: see #1 above

6. How anyone can wear Punjabi juttis: their feet have been hobbitized after years of conforming to Punjabi juttis

7. Why the entire country smells like a latrine even though there are no cows on the streets anymore: men will poop and pee anywhere. They will also, at every given opportunity grab their genitals – at airports, in hotels, on the street and in temples.

8. Why people are either too loud or too soft: loud when they’re yelling at you (see #1) or talking on the phone while pushed up against you (see #5) and soft when they’re asking you important immigration questions (see #4)

9. Why everybody on the road honks for everybody else to give way: Indian drivers have an unnatural sense of entitlement combined with absolutely no civic sense

10. Why Indian people have no civic sense, even in the holy town where the religion is based on community and goodwill toward man: see #14 below

11. Why hotels in Amritsar are obsessed with 80s English pop music: it’s still the 80s in Amritsar

12. Why it takes an Air India office manager two hours to unsuccessfully issue you a ticket when you can do it yourself in 10 minutes online: Air India office managers are all morons. Sweet and kindly. But morons.

13. Why female Air India ticketing agents can never sort out your tickets and check-in without needing help from the manager: see #4 above

14. Why people think that bad behavior is acceptable: I have no explanation for this. It baffles me.

That being said, it’s very cute when little surdi boys run up to you and say “Sat Sri Akal didi, thwade paas chingum haigi?!”

Madamji, aap Monday ko aao. Abh to kuch nahi hoga.

Foolish hopeful heart, trying to get out of India.  Simply cannot be done.  Stuck here.  Till Monday.  Misery.

This is because while the Indian Embassy in New York and the Air India office tell you one thing, the stalwart emigration officers at Amritsar airport tell you another.  With the result that you don't get to leave.  Till Monday.

Then you rant and rave.  They direct you to the Air India booking office back in the city.  Because, you know, the airport does not have a ticketing office.  You start to leave the airport to find a cab to take you there and back in 2 hours (because you smartly decided to get to the airport 3 hours in advance of your flight) but you can't get out.  You have to be escorted out by an airline employee.  Who takes multiple copies of your passport and then after having you wait for 40 minutes, runs off because his shift has ended and he couldn't be arsed.  Consequently, you have missed your flight to Delhi and will possibly not get another one till Monday.

You then demand to speak to the station manager who, a kindly person, finds you someone who will take you out the airport.  Then the nice taxi fellow waits 2 hours while the nice but utterly useless people at the Air India office try to rebook you.  They cannot.  Until Monday.

They order you a chai and a cutlet with brown chutney.  Then one nice man calls the nearest hotel to negotiate a rate for you for a room.  Till Monday.

You get to the hotel cold, wet, lungs teeming with all sorts of germs, tired, broken, hungry, dejected and in pain.  The room is freezing.  They give you a space heater.  You're thirsty.  They give you a bottle of water.  There is no internet.  You head to the lobby to find a signal.  Ironically, airindia.com will let you book a flight out to New York (thereby confirming that people are useless and all Indians should be replaced by the internet).  For Monday.

I suppose the upshot of all this is that I get one more chance to do some shopping for Black Cobra and BIL and see the Temple in the night tomorrow.

I'm going to take my pills and go to bed.  I expect to be back home by Tuesday.  If the wahey guru sees fit.

Mein aapke dil mein rehna chahta hoon. Mein aapke ghar mein rehna chahti hoon.

Packing for Boston.  Flight in 7 hours.  Relieved to leave but wish could have gone to Harmandir Sahib once more, staying in Ceylon longer, met fun people and done more shopping.  Oh well.  Pleased that have at least managed to avoid deadly diseases and retained kidneys.

Wish me luck.  Transiting through Delhi again.  Wonder if they'll let me leave?!

Damn.  Work on Monday.

Auto mein gayi, taxi mein wapas aayi

Moosladhar baarish in Amritsar since predawn. Lots of lightning but strangely no thunder. Electricity in and out. Attempted to go out to find a place to buy things and ended up soaking wet at Alpha One mall. Bad idea. Managed to make it back to the hotel 2 hours later, somehow wetter. Here's a tip, don't take an auto when it's raining.

The television choices, true to being all things India either lewd or pious, are thus:
Religious programming in Punjabi
Religious programming in Hindi
Tamil movies about Devi Maa
Hindi movies about Devi Maa
15 channels of Bollywood music all showing Chikni Chameli in synchronicity
4 channels of cartoons in Hindi or dubbed in Hindi
One shopping channel showcasing blenders that can crush ice
The 59th National Kabbaddi Championships live from Mumbai with young fit men in shiny shorts grabbing each other

I think the choice is obvious.

Wahe Guru di fateh

Spent morning trying to get on an earlier plane to Boston. Did not succeed. Considered calling people to rescue me from my misery but decided to eat breakfast and head out to the Golden Temple instead.

Good plan.

You get a friendly doorman to flag you an already occupied auto to take you to the Temple. Riding in an auto is fraught with peril, noisy, rattly, full of diesel fumes and noisy. Over the bridge and through Gandhi Gate, he drops you very far away, possibly lying by saying it's on foot from here on as other autos whizz past you. You head on. Past lots of shops and pani pura wallas and pav bhaji walas and other random things to eat wallas. Then you come upon the Jallianwalla Bagh Memorial where everybody is trying to sell you a headscarf, cycle rickshaw ride or a trip to the Wagah Border. Where I have decided not to go, by the way, since there is border pe tension and I wish to live to ripe old age. Also it's an hour each way for a 30 minute marching ceremony where you have to run from gate to gate with the masses. I opt out.

The Bagh, when the massacre happened, was apparently deserted land bordered by the backs of the houses around it. Now it's a garden of sorts. Walls with bullet wounds. Very clean but the ubiquitous "Jassi loves Preet" graffiti greets. Martyr's well - into which people jumped to escape the bullets. Room of paintings and stories of people who perished then.

Another room with prints of letters, newspaper articles and peoples faces. First issue of Satyagrahi, edited by M.K. Gandhi, an unregistered newspaper in defiance of the Indian Press Act. Orders issued by the Government of Punjab preventing MKG's entry into Punjab after the massacre and his hand-written reply, "I regret to have to say that I shall be unable to comply with the [sic] order". Dated 9 April 1919. Newspaper article about The Crawling Order (a street where a Ms Sherwood was hurt in a mob was designated "sacred" and anyone who wished to pass was made to crawl on their bellies). Rabindranath Tagore's letter renouncing his knighthood in protest of the massacre. Shaheed Udham Singh's memorial for shooting Michael O'Dwyer (who endorsed Dyer and the massacre).

Really puts some reality into all the horrible things that happened in those days. Makes you feel sad and proud and troubled and grateful.

Out again and onwards the dusty road to the Temple. The first time you see it, you don't quite believe it. There are these shallow pools of water through which you walk to clean your feet and up and down the steps into the complex. And a complex it is.

Harmandir Sahib was built in 1574. Guru Ram Das excavated the tank that became known as Amritsar and Harmandir Sahib was built in the middle. It contains the Adi Granth and other works of gurus and saints. The full temple was built by Guru Arjan Dev who apparently invited a Muslim Sufi saint from Lahore to lay the first foundation stone (myth?) in 1604. Baba Buddha Ji was the first Granthi so there's a memorial to him. There are three holy bers (trees) and many other memorials and plaques of Sikhs who have died in battle either for the British or against. The entire place is built of marble into the slabs of which are inscribed names of those who contributed including (strangely) the UN force at the Gaza Strip. Don't ask.

All the gold and marble carvings were done under Emperor Ranjit Singh, Maharaja of the Sikh Empire of the Punjab. And it is real gold plating on copper. Very awesome. You stand there and stare for a while with mouth agape. Then the Sardars with the very big lathis with the khandas move you along and then you sit by the side of the sarovar and gape some more. There's the free langar place on one side and accommodations for pilgrims all around. Men singing in a corner. Two large flagpoles with the Nishan Sahib. People sitting around the edges. Then you get into a complicated queue which narrows to a single lane onto the bridge that takes you to the Mandir. The dome looks at least 3 stories high topped with the ik onkar. The inside is not as big as it looks on the outside. The entire thing looks like it's been carved from one giant block of marble. The gilded ceiling has patterns on it. The Guru Granth Sahib sits under piles of embroidered green cloth with a beautiful green awning. Men singing with the loveliet voices (wonder if I can get a cd). Paid a few bucks but did not manage to get any prasad - wanted the stuff that comes wrapped like a book in orange kapda for Jasmine but alas the masses decreed it not so. Plus they prod you along if you wait there too long. You take rounds of the place, drink sarovar water (no thanks) and then back out. If you're devout, you do seva which means carrying out a trash can or a pile of thalis or sweeping the place. Back out to the marble walkway around the Temple. You sit here for a bit and cry a little, then a lot and then some more, probably from a combination of PMS, depression and loneliness. Then you walk about some more because the marble gets cold really fast and your feet are starting to cramp. Apparently taking a dip in the holy water cures cripples. I tried a toe. It did not work. Maybe you need faith or something.

Through some silent communication, suddenly, some mushtande line up by the sarovar. Older men hand them buckets which they fill with one quick stylish movement (all of them make the same movement, it's very interesting to watch) and hand filled buckets back, which get splashed violently along the marble walkway. Then the wimmen follow with brooms and then more men with those squeegie things and then more wimmen with cloths to push water into the drains and wipe clean. As the contingent moves along, the mushtande (about half of them are Caucasian folk who look remarkably like Sikhs) leap up and move along with them. It's all very cool.

Then the sun starts to set and the gold looks so pretty that you can't stand it anymore. Back out through the langar area where armies of volunteers are peeling garlic and chopping carrots, past another army washing thalis. Out to the street to find a bench to put shoes on which were cleverly installed in handbag the entire time.

Bought two kadhas for Jasmine's babies. Thought I'd get a pink shiny Punjabi jutti for Black Cobra (and a corresponding one for BIL) but contrary to popular opinion, they are HUGELY uncomforable shoes. No really, they're like vices that pinch you in all the wrong places. Decided not to inflict. Will go to main market tomorrow and buy something else. Maybe a Full Patiyala (only Rs 200).

Back to the hotel, pop two antis (biotic and inflammatory), eat Brittania Good Day Butter Biscuits, update blog and watch tele. Might make it to dinner or might just order room service. Only time and the nerves will tell.

Not so sad now. Maybe because had good cry earlier.

"Masterji, pitaji ki patloon ek bilang choti kar do"

Up at 4 am. Flight delayed. Went back to sleep. Up at 6 am. Check out was horrid. No compensation for being bitten by bed bugs. ITC Sheraton Rajputana is a terrible hotel. Car to airport, paid money to a chap who carried bags through and checked-in. Took bag tags this time. Security did not understand my idock but "computer ke liye hai" was enough for them. Paid Rs. 40 for a vegetable puff that did not deserve it. Stood at the gate for an hour. Got on purane zamane ki bus and was taken to plane where everybody jostles to get on first since they clearly haven't been told that it's assigned seating. Hour flight to Delhi. Got taken off the side of the plane into another bus and driven to Amritsar plane. Bags all done manually here. Scary and fascinating at the same time. Plane full of turbans and one very screechy child who I would have like to murder with bare hands if only her mother wasn't glaring at me.

Carlton Country Hotel and Suites do not have any Suites. And the Queen Room is a single bed. Buffet lunch and to bed to stay there for the rest of the day and night feeling sorry for myself. Work called at 3 am which did not help. Wondering why I embarked on this stupid journey. Wishing I was home already. Starting to moult and losing alarming quantities of skin from sun burns to reveal also blackened but also strangely pinkish skin. It's very mesmerizing to stand in front of the mirror peeling bits off you...

"This will be too much food for you madam"

It all started with paneer tikkas. They were large and square and thick. I ate them. Then came the sheekh kababs. I ate them. With very thick yoghurt atop which was arranged finely chopped cucumbers, tomatoes and onions. I ate it all. With two roomali rotis. And then kaali daal. I ate that. With two papads. Then came a giant thing of pheerni in a clay katori. I ate that. Washed it down with a salt lime soda.

Feeling quite sick now. Think I'll go lie down for a bit.

"Give me a loan and leave me alone"

Out and about in Jaipur again today. Birla Planetarium closed. Went to Birla Mandir instead. First Hindu temple that I've seen with stained glass windows. Large marble clean hall. View of the Maharani Gayatri Devi palace up on a hill built like a Scottish castle. On to Amer.

Amber Fort. Overlooks man made Maota Lake and garden which were created to experiment growing saffron in Rajasthan. Tourists on elephants being carted to the top. We drove. Built in the 1500s. You enter into Jaleb Chowk which is the large courtyard where the soldiers used to present arms. Large staircase leading to the Siva Devi temple and above to Ganesh Pol decorated with many frescoes using natural paints (green from spinach, yellow from turmeric, blue from indigo) which are still vibrant. Into the Diwan-e-aam above which is the Suhag Mandir through which the royal wimmen used to apparently shower flowers on the king. Through this to the private quarters and Sheesh Mahal covered with lovely Belgian mirrors all over meant to reflect candle light through colored glass for the royal disco. Across the garden is the Sukh Niwas with a channel of water that runs through through over ridged ramps that then evaporates and creates coolth. Through this to the Zenana where the king's 12 wives lived, each in an apartment of their own. Small rooms in an open plan with secret passages to the king's apartment. Got proper lost there - entered through first apartment and came out through the 5th. Main queen had her own bathing pond and latrine which begs the question... It's also the only one with frescoes on the ceiling.

Checked out the bookstore there. Lots of pretty books on history of India and Rajasthan and Hinduism but sadly cannot carry books in baggage. Also lovely hand-painted wall hangings. Might change mind tomorrow and buy some anyway. Went to the Emporium in Amer town and bought a sari and a pashmina razai which they will ship to Boston for free. Hoping have not been fleeced and that it indeed arrives by the 13th as promised - also because sari and razai are both stupendously lovely. Jewelery is very expensive so dinna buy any. Have figured out that turning into Dilli ki aunty is best way to quibble over prices. Must use same strategy tomorrow.

Stopped by Jal Mahal on the way back and made friends with little boy who really wanted to show me magic tricks. This was the summer palace in the middle of man made 5 foot deep Man Sagar Lake built in the 18th century. Sadly closed to the public but was told they're opening it up next year. Would be nice to take a boat in to take a look. On the other side of the lake are the Aravalli hills and the prison.

Stopped at Thomas Cook on the way back to the hotel for tomorrow's shopping extravaganza. Put your orders in now.

Left foot is doing nerve pain thing so in bed with the tele on. Very disturbed by the sight of a very dyed Naseeruddin Shah being ashleel with Vidya Balan. Don't know which is worse - Shah pretending to be young and sexy or Balan pretending to be Silk Smitha. Must change channel now and rip out eyes.

Biryani for dinner I think.

Masala baked beans are a terrible idea

Breakfast buffet included. Found out by accident. Service at the ITC Rajputana leaves a lot to be desired.

Tried the masala baked beans. Turned out to be a bad idea.

Took a tour today. Drove around the city, saw Hawa Mahal. It's got some 900 latticed windows through which the wimmen used to peer out. Didn't get to go in since traffic was bad with no place to stop.

Jaipur is not as glamorous as I thought it would be. Crumbling around the edges. Not quite pink but more coral. Or is it salmon?

Jantar Mantar, the observatory. Built by Jai Singh II in the 1700s. Quite marvellous that it's in such good shape (sections restored of course). Has 14 major geometric devices for measuring time, predicting eclipses, tracking the stars and doing fun things with zodiacs and planets. There's even a blank calibrated instrument used for testing students with an identical one built across the way with the answers on it. Overcast day so no sunshine so couldn't actually tell time or make any brilliant predictions.

City Palace next. Built in the 1700s. Parts of it still the royal residence. Mubarak Mahal with Madhosingh's massive clothes (he was a large king). Diwan-i-khas with the world's largest silver urns that hold 4000 liters of Ganges water for Sawai Madho Singh II when he went to visit England. Diwan-e-aam with very nice paintings on the walls and ceilings. Maharani Palace which is now an armory museum. Odd to see weapons in a room with jeweled ceilings. Useful things in this room that will impress the Mathisens include a scissor dagger for expedient disemboweling, swords with handy pistol attachments, ivory carved back scratchers for when you're wearing chain mail, swords with rubies and emeralds inlaid and walking sticks that double as guns.

Out to Govind Dev Ji Temple. Pretty paintings on the walls and ceiling (see a pattern here?). Lots of devotees underfoot. Advised to watch the purse. Funny how not a single person was concerned about their purse in all the Buddhist temples we went to in Lanka.

So that's a few more knocked off the World Heritage List. Back to the hotel for a giant lamb kathi roll (the chutney here is so GREEN!) because I was missing BIL and Black Cobra. A rasmalai to make me happy. Spoke to Dad which, as usual, was a disaster. Lolled about the room for a bit, then off to oil massage for the sun burns and steam for the lungs. Both feeling better now.

Watching desi television with some random dating show and Salman Khan movies that Black Cobra would have liked. Cartoon Network has fun Hindi cartoons about Krishna and Bheem. Downloaded the pictures onto the laptop and cleaned them up a bit - all 491 of them. Will label them and put them up somewhere at some point. Or you could just come over for a foto viewing party.

Paranoid that there might be bed bugs since bitten all over. In a blue funk now.

Big deal, time changes every second

Ventured out yesterday for a hotel explore, drink and snack. Booked a tour for tomorrow. Was told by event manager (who was silently judging me) that since "you have no friends or family then best it is you take your drink in your room madam" and therefore was put off paying exorbitant money for "gala celebration dinner" for NYE.

Also coughing like a racehorse after a sprint. Started antibiotics again. Will find a doctor if this persists since do not want hideous tropical disease and wish to live well into old age.

Took my drink in my room and went to bed at 11 pm. Happy New Year.

Your bad decisions are merely good learning experiences

ITC Sheraton Rajputana, Jaipur.

Dreamt strange dreams about Ro and Rags and Jasmine and we were on a boat and the crows were attacking me again and we had to give money to Sushmita’s family. Soft bed but uncomfortable night. Slept till 11 am. Room’s nice, lots of sensors and electronics. Bathroom light is on sensors which is useful. Tub is very small. Floor is this lovely green marble. View is of the verandah and swimming pool. Mini-bar has dark fantasy cookies (Oreos) and good coffee (French press and all) so that’s breakfast. Found Oye Pudina Bingo chips which are earmarked for later. Waking up every 2-3 hours means that all devices have been charged in sequence. Now if I could only muster the energy to get dressed and head out.

Maybe I’ll just watch the tele and read India Today for a little while.

Oh look, Rajnikant and Ash Rai robot movie!

You must be equally capable of experiencing anger and of controlling it

In purgatory. Or in transit, as the case may be.

Leave 2:30 am for Colombo airport looking an absolute horror in (are you ready for this?): black Sketchers, black socks, grey patterned leggings, white kurta, yellow tank top, oily as all heck, hair doing mad curly things with middle parting, terribly sunburnt and red all over, reeking of lemongrass and coconut. Do not look like 33 year old management consultant. Do look like tribal hippy of indeterminate origin.

Hoping the oil massage last night helps the burns. Very uncomfortable now. Want to rip off clothes and roll around in aloe. Think locals may not like that.

Lots of security around airport. Army checkpoints the entire way. Multiple bag screenings. Checked luggage is 22.1 kgs (allowance is 23). Will have to shed some load before can shop in Jaipur. Total shopping so far is two very lovely water buffalo leather bags and one wall hanging.

I shall now investigate my ‘breakfast packet’ that the hotel kindly prepared at 2 am, consisting of two hard boiled eggs, one very stale croissant, one banana and a fish sandwich. Because, you know, you want to mix bananas, eggs and fish for breakfast.

I know I’m on a flight to Delhi because behind me I hear one suit asking another if he wants namkeen snacks.

So the thing about Delhi airport in winter (or whatever you want to call 20 degrees C) is that there is fog. So “no landing or taking off is happening” said the pilot, after we circled for an hour. So we were diverted to Jaipur. Which, being my final destination, they naturally did not let me off the plane. We sat on the tarmac for 2 hours. They gave us “vegetable sandwiches madam” which consisted of three triangles of stale white bread held together with some creamy white stuff and some chopped up bits of what I dearly hope was carrot distributed from a cardboard box on round paper plates. Then we took off for Delhi, circled for another hour, landed, sat on the tarmac for another 30 minutes and finally disembarked. Ran to immigration where there were no landing forms to be found, hunted some down, discovered my pen writes on all materials except those issued by the Indian government and brazenly limped over to the Special Assistance queue since the regular one was too long to comprehend let alone join. Waited for an hour. Looked over wistfully at the regular queue but was gladdened to find it had not moved either. Immigration officer IS Ghanghas (yes, that’s his name) was yelling and abusing an over made up Afghani woman with child for being ignorant and useless. Ah India.

My turn. Apparently possessing an Indian passport isn’t enough to get you into India. You also have to provide evidence of last entry and exit. Which was in the last expired passport. Which is safely ensconced in its waterproof packet back in Boston along with the rest of the things-to-be-kept-safe. Plus when one’s passports have been issued from New York and Chicago, this triggers the hulk in IS officers who then start to abuse you for being ignorant and useless. This went on for about 3 hours. Everybody else around him had sympathy for my poor feet but not him. I was invited to sit in the immigration office for about 20 minutes before I had to get back in line to be yelled at some more. Giving them the last date of entry to be either Dec 1999 or 2000 (who remembers what happened over 10 years ago?!), and having endured lots of abusing on the subject of foreign-born Indians who have never lived in Delhi (that one really got his goat), they finally found me under a misspelled name in their records. Which he then grudgingly wrote up on two pieces of paper with a carbon in between as “most likely entered under…”, stapled lots of things together and waved me through.

I crawl, broken, filthy (stupid sofa in the immigration office bled on my kurta), dejected and morose to find fit and crisp Jet Airways people hanging on to my bag and rush in and out of various checkpoints to get to the domestic terminal. Wait in one line for re-ticketing (since have missed Jaipur flight by now) for 40 minutes. Told to go to another line. Waited in that line for one hour. Got reticketed for a flight in an hour. Ran to check-in and bag drop. Bullied my way through the front. Ran to security. Got yelled at for not having bag tags. Ran around looking for bag tags. Went through security – twice. Ran to gate. Got on sad little bus to be shuttled to the end of the runway system to board dinky two propeller situation with very hunky Surd steward. Fell asleep in seat. Woke up in Jaipur at 8:30 pm.

Car to hotel, lots of construction, check-in, long and painful shower, unpack, order room service, watch Kaalia, fall asleep at 11 pm. It’s been a long day.

Happy birthday, ma.

When you quiet the outside world, your own heartbeat may deafen you

Avani Resort and Spa, Bentota beach, Bentota. I see the ocean. We arrive at sunset so the sky is doing all sorts of breathtaking orange and purple things. Check-in takes forever, as usual, then we go stand on the beach and stare at the sky. Resort is nice, very new.

Dinner, drink, bed.

Wake, walk on the beach at sunrise, breakfast, swimming in the ocean, swimming in the pool, drink, eat, swimming in the ocean, swimming in the pool. Ashan and I made crabs. That sounds dirty, but it isn’t. Champagne and appetizers at sunset. Oil massage. Dinner by candlelight at beach end. The moon did funny things in that it appeared in an instant when the sun went down and then over the span of 2-3 hours, it moved across the night sky from overhead to over the ocean and then dipped below the horizon. The stars were also odd. All clustered overhead and to the east but not a single one to be seen over the ocean on the west. Stared at the ocean with mouth slightly ajar not believing that the sky could be so pretty, the sand could be so soft, the water could be so warm.

Ashan won't let us go to the Reggae Celebration at the Ganja Palace tonight. Life is hard sometimes.

Force does not encourage submission, only the temporary illusion of it

The Lankan way of driving is very interesting. I offer an explanation. Picture, if you will a two lane road. One lane goes one way. The other lane goes the other way. If we’re driving down the right (as we do in the subcontinent) and we wish to overtake the person in front of us, we accelerate up to about 3.5 inches from his rear bumper and honk. Then we move into the lane of oncoming traffic. You, the public, would think that we would both check that lane for clearance and speed up at this point. Not so. We continue at the same pace until we see the whites of the eyes of oncoming traffic, then we swerve into our lane, thereby either cutting off the person behind us or bashing into them who also has not changed their speed, who then honks at us. If the person in front of us wishes to overtake the person in front of them, while we wish to do the same, there is a crucial game of hopscotch played whereby they overtake (see notes above), then we overtake (in the same way) but at no point do we return to our own lane until oncoming traffic flashes their lights at us, honking, at which point we do not check out blind spot but offer a silent prayer to the heavens and swerve and brake hard at the same time. At this point, everybody honks. Perhaps to indicate that the transaction has been successful and that we’re still alive, bruises notwithstanding.

I’m convinced that Asailorman is trying to kill us for our gold. Joke’s on him since we don’t have any. The wind and vibrations of the window sound like heartbeats, probably the ghosts of those who have perished in this van before us so I will put in my headphones and drift away now.

Fun fact: Nitin Sawhney wrote a song about how falling can be confused for flying and Jeff Bridges sang another one about how it’s funny how falling feels like flying sometimes. Coincidence?

Life is not a race. Even if you stay still you'll hit the finish line

Dambulla to Bentota
Up early, didn’t sleep well, Lauren has gastric distress. Shower, breakfast, pharmacy run (one strip Imodium please), pack, check out (which took nearly 40 minutes) and off to Sigiriya. We punted on this one even though shorts and sports shoes were carefully chosen to combat heat and many steps. The spirit and flesh were both weak here. Before you judge, consider that it is indeed very high. “On towards the beach” was the rousing cry and we hit the road again.

Stopped for lunch at a puff place to eat fish sammiches.

A true leader stands among the group, not in front

Dambulla
Inamaluwe Sri Sumangala Maha Thera Rock Temple and Golden Temple – the world’s largest Buddha statue in front of these rock caves. The giant statue is relatively new, built in 2000 or so. The sun was doing its thing on it and it being gold painted was doing its thing on my eyes. The utter massiveness of it was just hard to comprehend. I think I am the size of the nail on the big toe. There are these monk statues up the side of the mountain that approach the statue with offerings. Women sitting up there chanting and glaring at us for being tourists. Back down the steps to go up to the rock caves.

Indescribable. Both – the magnificence of human creation when properly motivated and the pain in my feet when I finally got to the top. Almost dinna make it but Ashan was sweet and encouraging and patient with me and I found the strength. So glad I did.

There are these caves you see. Inside which are these massive Buddha statues and paintings on the walls and ceilings. It’s dark and musty inside which makes you feel very Lara Croft (but I bet she wouldn’t pant like a racehorse if she had to get up there). The rock walls and ceilings were plastered and then painted over and with subsequent erosion of plaster (or whatever the 1500s equivalent was back then), bits of the paintings come off. The statues are simultaneously eerie and calming. Managed to salvage some lotus flowers from the vicious attacks of monkeys outside so offered them (only the petals, not the stems). Do not have the words to describe how the paintings clung to the ridges in the rocks so you’ll just have to make do with probably inadequate pictures when I get to put them up. The effect of being in those caves is nothing like I’ve ever felt. Scared, awed, sneezy, frightened, comforted, intrigued and mystified all at the same time. You’ll have to take your children there one day. It’s well worth the journey.

Did not fall on the way down. Very proud of that.

Off to the Cinnamon Lodge to rest the achy feet. Ashan very sweet in suggesting that we put Sigiriya Rock off to tomorrow since that involves even more climbing. Crashed for a bit, washed the filth off, watched bits of Jackie Chan on the tele and then staggered off to buffet dinner, trying not to fall into the massive swimming pool. Lots of tourists here. The Lodge grounds is on the edge of a river (too far to walk to), pool with three sections (teeming with snotty kids), outdoor reception and restaurant (tres cool) and wait staff that wear yellow loongis (“Sarongs!” yells Ashan). Lauren ate pesto creamy pasta which she regretted the next day. I ate bhindi ki subzi and roast lamb. Little cold room which housed yummy chocolaty goodness with a lovely centerpiece made with spun sugar and fondant and other things to resemble wildflowers. Wanted to break off a piece and eat it Willy Wonka style but was being watched by over-eager yellow loongis.

Dreamt that my blue Honda CR-V was switched to a red one by someone who took the wrong keys and this upset me greatly. Ashan came to help but he was distracted by climbing scaffolding and making jokes with a man from Hong Kong. Wonder what this means. We will never know why my subconscious is the way it is.

The heaviness of body must be weighed against the lightness of spirit

Kandy
Poor man had to lug my suitcase back up three flights of stairs. I swear it’s gotten heavier – how, I don’t know. Dropped my electric toothbrush (courtesy BIL) in the shower but I am my mother’s child so it is back-up manual for the rest of the trip.

Buffet breakfast (buffoobaabaa!) with lovely porkies and passionfruit (v. tart) with a lovely view. Off to the Temple of the Tooth Relic.

Dalada Maligawa – Temple of the Tooth. The sacred Tooth Relic is housed here. It is said that on attaining Nibbana, the Buddha was cremated but some of his mortal remains were rescued from the ashes. His left eye-tooth was taken to the Kalinga Kingdom in India, where it remained for seven centuries. However, Hindi militant resurgence forced King Guhasiva of Kalinga to conceal the Relic in the tresses of his daughter Hemamala’s hair. She was then spirited away to Lanka and after she arrived in Anuradhapura, a special temple was built to house the Relic and paraded through the streets on the back of an albino elephant (!). With invasions from South India, the Tooth Relic took on extra significance, for it is believed that whoever possessed it had the right to rule the island. It was then captured and taken to India again and King Parakramabahu had to wage war to regain it. It then moved around a lot and was then brought to Kandy in the 1500s and this temple was built to house it.

Ashan has hobbit feet; he leaves his shoes in the car. Not I who stuffs Sketchers in my purse as an orthopedic security blanket. Lauren had to be adjusted.

The Temple grounds are immense. Flanked on one side by the reservoir, palace on another and hilly outcrop with Vishnu temple on third. There’s the actual Buddhist temple, a Vishnu temple, museum and Bodhi tree with lots of little standalone rooms with assorted Hindu gods and goddesses. Did those first. A little prayer, a little reflection, some gawking. People watering the tree with brightly colored plastic matkas (offering #1).

Inside the Tooth Relic Temple through security. Terrorists tried to blow up the place in 1998. They have replaced the moonstone since. Ashan got us a guide who helpfully read out the English signs with EXTREMELY bad breath.

Moat around the place, a passage through which the annual elephant procession passes that takes the Relic… somewhere! We didn’t think to ask! And in case you can’t figure it out, there are paintings up by the ceiling showing the scene. Very Egyptian.

Inside the Temple building, four men drumming and an invisible shehnai-type fellow belting out a tune that sounds suspiciously like an aarti. Buy some lotus flowers (offering #2), up the steps being squashed by humanity. The Relic is behind closed doors of gilded wood but that doesn’t deter the devotees. Lots of people sitting underfoot and chanting. Down the stairs, large paintings of Hindu gods, into the library room which houses ancient manuscripts. Offerings include boxes of agarbattis, camphor and one very shiny very small gold tree.

Out the back door, past large cast iron bells into the “museum” that tells the story of the Relic. Beautiful marble statues of The Buddha in various hand poses underneath each painted scene. Solid. Serene. Smooth. With delicate eyes and flowing robes. In that way that statue artisans make marble robes flow.

Outside, areas where rituals take place under a large timber roof supported by finely carved wooden pillars. A glass room for lighting diyas for offering #3. Into the place where they keep a taxidermed Rajah the elephant who used to be the main tusker to carry the Relic at procession time. He’s dead now. The current elephant is kept in another area but he’s out of his mind and in heat so we decided that this combination does not suit us to gape. Out into the Vishnu temple which had many steps. Had a prayer said for me and Ashan who’s hoping we’re not married now.

Walk past Ashan’s great great great granduncle’s statue that wot did lots of good things for Buddhism – enough to warrant a statue at one of the holiest places of the religion. Ashan didn’t want his picture taken with it. But then again, he doesn’t want his picture taken with anything. He’s shy like that and thinks he’s above creating memories. But when you do take his photo, he turns into a preening peacock. Complex man him. Lots of stray (?) roosters and monkeys.

Walk by the embankment back to the car past the shops that sell offerings. Lovely smells of pretty lotus flowers. Man selling mango slices in a bag with chili powder. BIL would’ve liked that but I decided not to invite death into my colon today. Off to the last temple of the trip.

Palm trees bring a sense of calm. The most important choice is to choose to choose.

Hilton Colombo highly recommended. Front-desk man gave us free breakfasts too.

Off to Kandy. The crows here in Sri Lanka are direct descendants of those used by Hitchcock and have it in for me. Been attacked at least twice now. Lauren and Ashan say I’m hallucinating but I see them. Watching me. Waiting for me to move so they can swoop and advance with beaks.

Suppose I could lay off the cough syrup.

Have booked white van with good Singhala driver so we don’t have to worry about Ashan killing us in a horrific cliff accident. Which might happen anyway, but at least this way, we won’t nag him about it. His name is Asailorman (I swear it is) and he likes Kanye West. We know because we listened to his Kanye West cd for 4 hours.

By the way, everything in Sri Lanka is a different price for foreigners. Nobody here thinks I’m Indian. Prolly since very white skin. Ashan extremely unhelpful when it comes to this stuff since is ashamed of his heritage, poor misguided child. Insists he is not local until he has to pay the higher price. Translation skills are useless since driver talks for two whole minutes and Ashan conveys three words which after careful probing have nothing to do with wot drive said. Have resorted to hand signals and head shaking to converse with him directly.

Pinnewala Elephant Orphanage. Lauren squeals the entire time. Saw the elephants bathing in this river/stream. Made friends with one mama who kept advancing towards me and posing for a photo. The babies are so little! They gambol (yes, they do) and play and the cuteness just cannot be described. Very wrinkly leathered hairy hide, tough on top and hard underneath. Don’t mind being petted. Not scary at all. Lauren fed Komali some baskets of fruits and kissed her on the trunk, much to the amusement of the natives. Ashan was persuaded to feed milk bottle to one baby after which he demanded he be rinsed off with Purell. Bought a lovely Buddha wall hanging and a gorgeous leather handbag with superb haggling skills.

Off inland towards Central Sri Lanka and Maha Nuwara Kandy (which is a UNESCO World Heritage Site dontchaknow) at the foothills of the central highlands “steeped in history and possessing a salubrious climate”. Have undertaken The Great Eyebrow Experiment of 2011 whereby I shall not pluck until I am Armenian bushy and on my last day in India, I shall get them nicely done once and for all. Curls starting to rehydrate, skin starting to refresh and feeling of heaviness starting to lift. Let’s hope it continues.

Gadaladeniya Temple. Built in the 1300s by King Bhuvanekabahu IV and stands on a rock outcrop. Moonstone (which is stone carved into moonshape) and Gajasinha (half elephant and half lion) at the entrance. Some discolored paintings which are South Indian in style since artisans imported. One seated Buddha statue inside and one Vishnu Dewale on the side.

Lankatilaka Vihara Temple. “Crown of Lanka” also on a rock outcrop with inscriptions on the rock (in the rock?) in Tamil and Singhalese by King Bhuvanekabahu IV (cat built a lot of temples, man) and King Vikremabahu III – both from the 1300s. History has it that a monk saw a golden vase floating on the surface of a nearby tank and the King took this as an auspicious sign and had the temple built. You have to walk up these really steep short steps cut into the rock face to get up there but the view is lovely at the top. There is a Dewale with Ganesh, Skanda, Saman, Vishnu and Vibishana. Lots of Hindu gods at Buddhist temples as you can see. One sitting statue of Buddha, all gold painted and incredibly massive – at least 40 feet tall. The sheer size of the statues in these things makes you want to stare and stare. The walls and ceilings covered in frescos but very ancient so faded now.

Ate not so nice lunch at roadside place but was hungry so ate a lot of it.

Up and down and around windy roads past the Udawattekelle (which is a Forbidden Forest) to Chaya Citadel Hotel. Too tired to fully appreciate the loveliness of this one but did get glimpse of pool at rock edge. Balcony is a ledge cut out into the rock of which I shall take pictures when it’s light. Skipped dinner (partly to avoid travel companions, since they be getting on my nerves now), watched Dus (crap movie) and went to bed early since feets ache from all that barefoot clambering up rock. Only one night here which is a shame but onwards we must!

Light starting to break over my rock-face balcony. I shall make coffee and sit with the birds in the dewy mist.

Lanka lashka denge

Colombo

Proper sick now. Waited hours for Ashan to show this morning who arrived only to be sent back to bed since he looked dead on his feet and seemed to have lost 5lbs. For those of you who know him, he doesn’t have 5lbs to spare. Took the hotel car for a driveabout – first stop, Pharmacy please.

Went to the Gangaramaya Temple which was beautiful and odd. Large room with giant statues (standing Buddha) and lovely paintings but with a set of back and side rooms with thousands of relics in glass cases which seemed pointless and very dusty.

Driver insistent on showing us a good time and we broke his heart when we returned early since saw a lot yesterday. Got taken to a shady sari place looking for Lousie’s present but didn’t find it very inspiring.

Back to the hotel, nap by the pool, mosquitoes, slept all evening and night.

Ayobowan. Given time to grow, the scratchiest beard softens.

Colombo

Arrived early this morning. Immigration uneventful. Ashan and Lauren waiting. Off to the Hilton. Felt my eyes rehydrate and curls wake up in surprise of humidity. Check-in. Idlis for breakfast. Off to see some sights.

Independence Square, Ashan’s Royal College & Sports Club, bank to change some money, back to the hotel for a lie by the pool in one of those bed cabanas and some laps.

Made friends with fat Punjabi munde (Surdi, Happy Feet and Tanvir). Drank an LIT (that’s wot the kool kids in India call it) and got mocked for my gripping control of the Punjabi language.

Napped from 4 to 8 pm so missed sunset but then feasted on a lovely dinner buffet at the hotel on fresh crabs in pepper sauce, coconut fish curry, roomali egg rotis, all made to order, finished with Bombay Halwa and chocolate pudding and nice Shiraz. Cool breezes from the Indian Ocean, Sri Lankan mariachi band (playing Dad’s favorite song about the girl he left in Kingston Town) who sang in proper Spanish and very good wait staff.

I love good service. You forget about that when you’re in the US for so long.

Money in large denominations here – got SLR 24,000 for my $200. Wonder where to spend it all… Shall hold out for nice souvenirs. Got a postcard for Black Cobra.

Fell asleep watching South Africa vs. Australia one-day on Ten Cricket, listening to the sound of the ocean and the occasional firecracker. View of the Ocean from my bed is phenomenal. Take my advice, always coff up for the good rooms. Makes you feel rum waking up to water.

Life is starting to look good again. Feel a tickle in my throat though.