This blog is turning all crappy.

I haven't been organized enough to put down a decent entry in months, so I'll try now, even though my tummy is feeling all fluttery. I wish it would just turn into full on food-poisoning. This half and half nonsense isn't working out.


Anyway, I left Rishikesh about a week and a half ago- originally intending to go to Manali, but somehow ending up in Delhi instead. It actually didn't matter too much WHERE I was going as long as it was somewhere warm with a lower concentration of hippies. I also wanted to go somewhere where I could continue to study Hindi. My teacher in Rishikesh was really quite good, and cheap as well- but he started taking to kissing my face when I understood a concept quickly, which was set off my creepy old man siren. Is this an Indian custom I don't know about? Was curling up and running away culturally insensitive of me? I never know. Anyway, here's a picture of the Ganges river at sunset. Beautiful, ain't it?


So, like I said, I ended up in Delhi, staying in a hostel with the most idiotic management ever. I'm used to people asking me if I'm from Korea/Japan/China, etc etc etc... but when I say that I'm not, and produce an American passport, you should really stop asking me how to say things in Korean. I DON'T FUCKING KNOW. There were also always bits of potato in the bathroom sink. I found that to be gross. Anyway, I finished up my Christmas shopping in Delhi and managed to send them seconds before my train to Agra with a couple of cool girls I met in the station the day before.


Amy and Leslie were an interesting duo. I can't remember if I gave them this address for this blog, but I'll write about them anyway. Amy was a Northwestern graduate swimmer who had been living in China for 3 years and spoke (what sounded to me like) fluent Mandarin. Leslie was a Chinese native who loved to extoll the benefits of drinking hot water. It was a funny couple of days. Here we are at the Taj Mahal, acting silly. This photo was actually taken on the first try- props to the small English woman behind the camera.

They were a good pair to travel with for a couple of days, but the two of them continued on to Varanasi. Ordinarily, I think I would have gone with them- but I'd started to really suffer from the pollution. When you start to sneeze car exhaust, you know it's time to leave. So, I went with them to the train station, and bid them farewell... not really knowing where I was headed next. I originally tried to get on a train to Bengaluru, with zero success. I'm not sure how much I like this whole "buying your ticket in advance" bullsh*t. How am I supposed to fly by the seat of my pants if there's someone walking around checking that I have the appropriate papers? Fie on your papers! Anyway, I decided to just let the man with the completely indecipherable English at the ticket kiosk determine where I should go- sometimes it's just easier that way. Anyway, the bastard put me on the waitlist for the Goa Express. WL #399. Basically, that means that I'm paying Sleeper prices to sit in Unreserved (4 thousand people to a car with about 2 wooden benches for the 38 hour train ride from Delhi to Goa). I also had an 8 hour wait before my train was supposed to depart. While I waited, I met a funny little Punjab boy named Praveen. He taught me my numbers in Hindi. Ever been chastised by a 11 year old for not being able to say "ket-thaaliis" correctly on the first try? It's very humbling. Anyway, after he and his mother took off, I started talking to a French woman named Kristen. Every now and again, when I feel my natural American pomp flagging, when I'm tired and my stools are watery, and all I can think about is having just one goddamn cheeseburger, I meet someone who inspires me and reminds me that it's not for nothing. "Be Brave!" she said, "You WILL find a seat on that train, the conductor will see you, and you will give him 200 rupees, and you will sit and have a wonderful journey!" I didn't really believe her, but after an hour or so of soaking up her positivity, I satisfied myself with knowing that 38 hours on a wooden bench with my backpack on my lap wouldn't KILL me. Maybe give me back problems, maybe my legs would rot and fall off, but it certainly wouldn't kill me. No no.

About 15 minutes before the arrival of my train, I decided to wander about and somehow ended up in front of the notice board. Lo! Who got a seat by magical 400-person lottery? Sam M.F. Chu! Lookee!


It was a great journey~ the people in my compartment were clean and courteous. As we went further south, it got warmer, and I slept well. Some blind musicians came on the train, and I listened to them rock out Hindi pop tunes as the chai-wallah came around with hot tea to compliment my dinner of biryani and samosas. Furthermore, around 11pm, when everyone crawled into bed, the one bar I had left on my MP3 player held strong for hours as my train barreled into the night.