When I first moved into the condo on the 32nd floor overlooking Andheri West in Mumbai back in April, I noticed, when scanning the horizon on my first night, a golden temple glowing brightly in the distance.
Lit up like a beacon, it drew my eye every night as I sat on my window seat or out on the balcony. I wondered where it was exactly and which god was worshipped there? It stood on the northern most horizon, on a hill far above Andheri West and on the other side of the marshlands. During the day it was still pretty impressive, albeit hard to see due to the smog. At night, when it was lit up, it looked a bit like the golden Wat Phra Kheo in Bangkok.
Weeks went by and I could not figure out what it was. I searched “golden temple” in Northern Mumbai and found nothing. I looked at google maps but any indication of a temple in the area I thought it was located was clearly not big enough — if I could see it from who knows how many miles away it had to be huge.
Then, on one of my last nights in town, I finally remembered to ask my roommate if she knew what it was. I had asked her weeks previously during a social gathering we had had on the balcony with a bunch of girlfriends and a bunch of bottles of wine and thought I had remembered she made a vague comment that it was some sort of water temple. I remember thinking that was interesting because the way it was lit up at night, it looked like it was on fire. I decided to ask again because I was thinking about making a trek out there but since I cannot tell if it’s exceptionally huge and far away or if it is closer than it looks, I don’t want to just blindly get into a rickshaw. Again, we were sitting out on the balcony with Pinky, Harvashi and Joey, drinking wine, and Sonia replies, “Oh.. it’s a water park.”
“It’s a water PARK?” I splutter.
“Yeah. You know, we should all go out there this weekend. It’s been so hot.” The other girls and Joey agree and start to formulate plans but I’m still stuck…
“It’s a WATER PARK?”
“Yes.”
“Like an amusement park… but with water?” NO. It can’t be.
Sonia looks confused over my tone, “Yes.”
I was crushed. I must have gazed out over Mumbai towards this glorious golden monument every night for 2 months, wondering what must go on there — did worshippers walk there overnight, in barefeet, as they do to the Siddhivinayak Temple in Bandra? Do they leave offerings, ring bells? Or perhaps it’s a Buddhist temple? And, most importantly, are there temple monkeys? I had really wanted to go out there but couldn’t figure out where it was on the ridiculous hundred page book of maps of Mumbai that I had been given. So I didn’t go and it sat there calling to me every night… and it turned out to be a freakin’ water park???

Home Office - Andheri West, Mumbai, India

My Sunday.

It's Memorial Day weekend and while I have no BBQs or binge-drinking to take part in, it's still been an interesting weekend, particularly yesterday. I had the second day on a shoot I was observing, being shot by Ravi Chandran's former assistant Bose, who recently shot "Kites."

First off, I couldn't find a rickshaw driver who knew where Film City was (despite having no problem the first three times I went out there). Finally found one who nodded and I got in but about 5 minutes later, he veered off in the wrong direction. "Bas! Bas!" (enough! stop! or something to that effect) I yell. He gets out of the rickshaw and comes back with another man who asks me where I want to go. "Film City, " I say. The man turns to the driver and says, "Film City" in English. "Ah!" says the driver, head-bobbling furiously. "Enjoy your time in Film City!" the man says to me as we do a wicked u-turn and head off in the correct direction. Of course.

At just about every light, the driver turns to me to carry on a conversation entirely in Hindi even though I plainly don't speak it. I think at one point he was telling me I needed water. I think he thought I was going hiking, due to my camera backpack and the fact that Film City is based inside a state park (I saw monkeys there 2 days ago! I filmed them! Unfortunately, I also managed to accidentally film some blase monkey sex before I realized what was going on). At the third light, a little street girl pops up next to me. She's maybe 7 years old, in dire need of clean clothes and a bath. She asks me for money. You're not supposed to give money to children (or able-bodied adults) but guidebooks do say it's okay to give to the elderly and disabled because there's no real welfare system taking care of them here.* So I shake my head and turn away and as I do so, she reaches into the rickshaw.... and honks my boob. Sorry, but that's the only way I can put what she did. "HEY!" I yelled and tried to swat her but she was already gone.

Off we go and as we get closer to Film City, my driver starts prattling on about the star trailer that's rumbling along in front of us. "Anil Kapoor! Anil Kapoor!" he says. Another rickshaw driver pulls along side of us, and they have, what I'm assuming is, an animated conversation about who might be in the star trailer. Right then, a motocyclist attempts to pass in front of the star trailer and across the other side of traffic and is creamed by an oncoming rickshaw. The motorcyclist is fine and stands up immediately. The rickshaw driver is also fine and faces the guy he just hit. They're clearly about to start screaming at each other, a spectacle for which all of traffic has stopped in eager anticipation. For the record, drama / rubbernecking is encouraged here. Traffic accidents are rarely calm events where you exchange numbers and get on with your life. No, first there's a lot of screaming and arm-waving and blame. Doesn't matter is one person was clearly in the wrong, they'll still get in on the screaming/ gesturing. A friend of mine told me about how his car was parked (and he wasn't inside) when he watched a young woman back right into it. He walks over to his car to inspect the damage while she gets out and proceeds to yell at him about how could he park there (it was his apartment parking space), how stupid etc etc. Anyway, the rickshaw driver and motorcyclist have squared off, tension is zinging between them, and every car/rickshaw driver, pedestrian and random bystander is waiting for the show to begin, when you can pretty much see the sudden realization cross the driver's face -- and he takes off in a sprint after his rickshaw WHICH IS STILL TRAVELING DOWN THE ROAD. Unfortunately, he doesn't get to it before it crashes into another rickshaw, but I don't think it was going particularly fast and no one was hurt. Everyone watched the scene for about a moment.... and then traffic just started moving again.

Got to the shoot at last. Not particularly thrilling and it was a short day. Afterward, I grabbed another rickshaw driver who couldn't stop talking about America -- but in particular Angelina Jolie. "Hot and sexy," he breathes. He's very young, cute and a little chubby with a mustache I'm sure he's quite proud of. He asks me if I like Angelina or Brad Pitt or Tom Cruise or Madonna. I tell him sure but I like Hrithik Roshan best. Oh, he LOOOOVES Hrithik apparently. Then he's asking me if I have a boyfriend (yes, I always have a boyfriend). We get back to my apartment building and as I'm digging in my purse for some money, he sees the People Magazine I've just bought with Hrithik on the cover. As I pull out the money (plus a small tip), he casually slides out the magazine from my lap to look at it, and casually places his hand on my knee underneath and squeezes. Cheeky little.... I swat his hand, hand him his money, and scold him, "Be good!" He smiles this little boy smile... and then asks me for 20 more rupees! Which is like fifty cents but since my 30 minute drive was a total of 2 bucks, that's a bit much.. and I tipped him already. Just then Sonia, my roommate rolled up in another rickshaw and walked over. "How's your day," she asked. "Fine, until this kid tried to rip me off," I said gesturing at my driver. Sonia asks him if he's trying to get more money out of me to which he just grins cheekily and denies it in a so-what-if-i-was? manner.

Commuter Trains

And you thought your commute was bad.


This is a pretty accurate look at Mumbai commuter trains… and a great commercial that’s currently running. I’d like to take a local train but I’ve been warned off because of the pushing, the squishing and the fact that they really do hang out the doors and windows because they’re too crowded.

It’s the end of the commercial that’s so good — because despite all of the above, there really is this positivity and “we’re all in this together” feeling. I have seen little to no road-rage, pedestrian rage or any type of entitled “rage” that Westerners (or Americans at least) get from someone invading their space or holding them up in any way.

Here's an amateur video:



I gotta tell you though, Indians could use a lesson in “letting people off before boarding the train” — holy moly. It’s a battle — particularly trying to get off. People start shoving as soon as the train slows in the station - and people on the platform run along side the train to get on before it has stopped. You just have to push and shove and try not to take it personally… although I did witness a fight when exiting my train from Goa when a young man tried to shove past an old woman to get on and was neatly collared by a man who then proceeded to slap and shove him down the platform. The young man didn’t defend himself, merely looked like a bad dog, cowering as the slaps rained down.

Questions from your Mommy

I haven't been writing much here because I feel like what I've been up to isn't very exciting. So perhaps I need to go through my emails between my mother and me and just post them. Here is today's:

Hi Mom,
Okay, here are the answers to the questions you asked in the last email:

You never said: did you have that gig for taking pictures? I am worried that you might need more money.
I don't know what is going on with the gig. The actor was all gung ho -- and then faded away. Last I heard, when I asked him what his schedule was for last week -- he wrote back, "Shooting" (meaning his soap opera). I wrote to his friend who'd set up the gig -- and he too hasn't written back. Everything is very hazy here and lackadaisical so it's hard to read people's intentions.

Money is okay at the moment though I may be cutting it close... I guess I won't be buying a lot of presents this round.

I am not planning on staying in India [ed: Mom is worried], but I do want to come back. As soon as possible. just need to have a more solid reason and plan this time. This trip was to meet people and make connections and find out if this was something I want to pursue. Three more weeks to see what happens...

how is the rash?
Clearing up. Still have red blotches on thighs, butt and tummy but not so itchy and not so angry looking. Sort of a vague sienna hue now. But still in the shapes of unknown countries and archipelagos.


Tell me about your day...what time you get up,
I usually get up around 8:30 or 9 depending on when I went to bed so around 11:00-midnight your time. I tend to go to bed late -- as you know I am a night owl anyway and night is much more bearable heat-wise. Plus my friends are online by then and we can chat.


what you do, where you go.
On Mondays I check in with my contacts who line up extra work during the week -- so far I've only heard from them when I was in Goa for my birthday... of course. I may or may not check in with Ravi (the cinematographer) and/or whomever he has put me in touch with. Usually someone has sent me someone's name to call. Sometimes I get on a random public bus and take it somewhere in the city so I can take pictures. Unfortunately Mumbai is so hectic and eerything kind of starts to look the same after a while. There's only so many pictures of decaying temples, dilapidated apartment buildings, men squatting in front of their various food/pan stands and stray dogs one can take. I generally confuse the bus conductor when he asks where I am going and I just point at the sign that says the last stop. It's usually about 25 cents a ride so it's a cheap way to see the city. I am stared at a lot. I go to Bandra where the rich people live to sit in the air-conditioned "Bagel Shop" and work on photos. Their bagels are very strange. I wander around. I mope that I've made a mistake with this trip but then I don't know many people who get the chance to run off to Bollywood, whether or not it works out. I work on a stupid screenplay. I sweat. I worry that I disappoint everyone in my life, including myself. I meet up with friends. I write in my notebook and wish I could actually "write" because then I'd try to write the anti-Eat Pray Love because God, that woman... I mean ugh. I worry that i have nothing really exciting to write about on my blog because who cares about any of the above.

Where do you buy groceries, and can you get Amurken food??
There are two grocery stores within walking distance. They have some Amurken food. Or as they would probably call it here: Am-rick-an food. I'm from Amrickah, you know. Sometimes I have to put on a fake Indian accent to get where I need to go. For instance, if I want to go to Carter Road, a typical rickshaw driver will have no idea what I am talking about. However, if speak with the back of my tongue and say khurdurh rrruhd, they can get me there. Yesterday I went to see the shooting of a camel seal. I was very excited when I talked to Gopal, the cinematographer my new friend Aaron put me in touch with, over the phone about the camel seal he was shooting... had no idea what a camel seal was but was pretty sure it was not a hybrid of a dromedary and furry marine animal. Apparently it is a "commercial."

do you get your water regularly now?
No problems with water in a couple of weeks now. It's not stopping during the day. Although just now I was trying to take a shower and apparently, "Showering!" in response to the maid wiggling the doorknob means "wiggle doorknob more vigorously and attempt to break in please thank you!"

Hrithik Hrithik everywhere....

The publicity posters for "Kites" have gone up, as well as all the different billboards for various brands that are using Hrithik Roshan their poster boy. Mmmm-mmmm. So looking forward to the film...

And considering the two main stars don't speak each other's languages, here's hoping most of it is in English! (Please?)

I wonder how many young men are injured in India each year because they insist on holding hands when crossing the street. This works when you are 4 years old, boys, and crossing at a crosswalk with Mom....not when you're 17 and trying to dodge oncoming rickshaws, red bull buses and Tata trucks because there's no stoplight. One guy will make a break for it while the other will hold back and both will nearly get squashed. I see this every day.

After quickly changing into my new black top and high heels, I was ready for my first night out in Mumbai. Joey and I headed to Firangi Panna where he introduced me to his friends Pinky, Sita, Gautam, Sushant and Summer, who turns out to be an American from San Francisco. She and Sushant are recently married, both work for an internet ad company and she spends half her time in India. We immediately get to chatting and Sushant whines, "Oh no, are you going to be talking American stuff all night?" Turns out we are both HUGE Bollywood fans and when I ask her what her favorite movie is, she says, "Overall? I'd have to say 'Om Shanti Om'" to which I SQUEAL, we grab hands and run away from the group so our mutual 'squee-ing' over Shahrukh Khan is minimally embarrassing. We've only stepped away for a minute or two and two emissaries from the group (Joey and Sushant) come over to us separately to find out if everything is okay.

The club's lights come up at 1:30 and the group decides to go to China House, a pretty fancy club not too far away. But before we head out, Sushant and Summer invite me to come stay with them while I sort out my living situation. Their roommate is off in Kerala and so they have an extra bedroom until the following Sunday. I'm very excited about this but I am not sure what's going on with Joey's friend who is off in Delhi.

We pile into our separate cars and head to China House, which is located in the basement of the Hyatt. There is a cover charge to get in but Pinky knows the DJ, although he is currently in Goa. However, once we get there, she's having a hard time getting a hold of him so we give up and head off to our various homes. Sushant reiterates the invitation to stay with him and Summer and I am definitely hoping to do so.

On the way home, Joey and I stop at a roadside eatery for some delicious fried rice, which is quite spicy. We get back to his friends' apartment and are out like a light.

Next morning, I am awoken to a pretty strong sewage smell which eventually clears. Joey takes me to breakfast at a Nepalese cafe where we dine on delicious dumplings called, awesomely, "mo-mos."

I mention Sushant's invitation to Joey and this clears a lot of hurdles. Now his friend in Delhi doesn't have to come home early and I'm taken care of. Joey has a film shoot in the afternoon and he arranges with Sushant to come pick me up at an internet cafe.

Sushant and Summer's company flat is located in Juhu, one of the more fancy parts of Mumbai, and only a few blocks from Amitabh Bachan's house. I am VERY excited about this. As we drive by, Sushant tells me that on Sundays at 6pm, crowds line up outside because Amitabh will often come out and wave to them. He is India's most famous actor -- at least by longevity standards. Shahrukh Khan gives him a run for the money in popularity but he's only been around since the 90s. If you've seen "Slumdog Millionaire" you might recall the first flashback where the little boy gets locked in the outhouse by his older brother when an actor's helicopter lands on the nearby airstrip. The boy jumps through the potty's hole and into the puddle of sewage with a photo of the actor held aloft and then races to get his autograph. That actor is Amitabh.... or at least someone portraying the 1980s version of him.

S & S's place is really nice and I'm very happy to be there. We hang out and get to know each other for a bit before they run off to Sushant's mother's for dinner. WHile they're gone, Summer sends me a text, suggesting I check out the beach as it's pretty hopping that evening. I decide to head up there... and indeed it is quite crowded. Dilapidated carousel rides and food stands dot the beach. Families sit and roam and seem to be having a grand Sunday night. I stop by a stand of puris, which are little pastry balls that are filled with onions and chickpeas and potato mix and dipped in a liquid. You have to eat them fast before they get soggy, which I didn't do. They're like spicy little Indian shots!

As usual, I was quite an attraction. A lot of staring as I stood there and ate. Honestly, I don't know half the time if I'm doing something wrong, or I'm just entertainment.

I wandered around the beach a little bit and then headed back to the flat where I sat and edited photos and finally figured out my hard drive.

Monday - April 12th
Today is the day I have to establish contact with the people I've met. First off, I called Abhay the set photographer. Unfortunately, he is off in Rajasthan (in Northern India) until April 26th but is happy to meet me on his return. Despite his lack of reply to my last email, I decide to shoot off another email to Ravi, the cinematographer I met in New York, letting him know I've arrived. I was only hesitant because Ravi is a big player in Bollywood and very well known and I didn't want to be too pushy. But almost immediately after hitting "send," I received a text to my phone from Ravi saying he was in Bombay filming and we could "catch up" in the evening. I was ecstatic!! On Day One to be meeting a top person in Bollywood... DAY ONE!! After that, I emailed one casting director I had been put in touch with through a friend on Facebook and another that I had met on the street in Colaba (but his cell phone said he was out of area). I figured that doing some extra work would be a great way to get on set and meet production people.

I went for a walk to find lunch - there was a special on a 6 inch chicken breast sub at the Subway down the street for about 1.50. Boy oh boy was it hot out. I also picked up a soda and made my way back to the condo. Crossing the road can be complicated as there are no lights anywhere nearby. Basically you have to dodge across the first half, then stand up on the median and then play frogger across the other side. Traffic was coming at fast clip and evenly spaced so I stood in the median for some time. All of a sudden, this small blurry object hurtles between the cars and appears next to me, grabbing my soda. I'm startled and yank it back to find a small, incredibly dirty boy who is probably around 4 years old. He gestures to his mouth and at my soda and I'm at a loss of what to do in this situation. Give him the nutrionally valueless soda? This is easy to do but it promotes this kind of behavior -- dodging traffic to grab foreigners' food. Or deny him the drink and feel like a big Western jerk. I opted for "big Western jerk." I would rather this kid not get run over in the future than give him a sugar buzz.

Summer and Sushant return from work and we sip wine while Summer whips up a raw pad thai salad to go with the pizza Sushant orders from Pizza Hut, around the corner. I had walked by there earlier and it was hopping -- with a HUGE line outside. I'm looking at my phone every few minutes to see if I've missed Ravi's call.

We sit and watch TV, eating the pizza and drinking wine. No call from Ravi. I'm a little bummed but still happy that at least he wanted to meet up at some point (at least as far as I can tell by his texts. I read them to S & S and they agree that the texts are a little vague but "catch up" usually means in person and not via phone.) Summer is on the late shift the next day so she and I stay up very very late, talking about Bollywood, Shahrukh Khan and watching videos on Youtube... eventually realizing it was 4 a.m. and going to bed.

Next morning, I am in hell. At first I think I'm just horribly hungover (though I didn't think we'd consumed that much wine and Summer seemed to be fine while I'm throwing up). It's not until the strange all-over-body ache followed by a fever in the early evening that I realize it's truly not a hangover. Sushant brings me "exploding arse powder" and mango lassis (which were perfect). I'm finally feeling better in the late evening and was really lucky to have such good nurses.

Wednesday - Taking it easy. Tummy still rocky but mostly better. I send Ravi a text message and find that he's rushed off to Malaysia to shoot a commercial but he writes back that he'll find out what productions are shooting and give me their information. I take a walk on Juhu Beach but have to head back when tummy takes a turn.

Thursday - Finally feeling 90% better. I take several walks to check out my neighborhood. Near a grocery store, a man passes me in a Bryn Mawr shirt. Pretty sure he didn't go there.

Friday - Feeling great! Sushant has set me up to meet his friend Sonia, who is renting a room in her new apartment. In the early evening, I head over to check it out. My rickshaw driver has zero idea where he's going (despite the fact that when I got into the rickshaw and told him the address, he turned around and just started to drive) so it takes some time to get there... and several phone calls with Sushant speaking to him. I initially called Sushant when we stopped at a traffic light and my driver got out of the rickshaw and walked out of sight to, I presume, ask someone else where he was going.

Eventually I arrived at the street Sonia lives on, and she met me on the corner to direct us the rest of the way. The rickshaw driver then proceeded to argue with her over the fare, saying he'd turned off the meter at one point, so we actually owed him 30 rupees over the fare listed. This is complete BS but since Sonia didn't argue, I didn't really feel I could. Sushant would have blown a gasket...

We walked into her building's grounds and it was like the driveway to a Las Vegas casino. Immense overhang and circular drive-in. The building is still under construction so there are very few tenants. Sonia lives on the 32nd floor and the view is insane. She just moved in so she doesn't have much furniture yet. A couch is being made. Then I saw the pool and gym (with sauna and massage room) and was pretty sure I had to take the room.

Headed back to meet up with Summer and Sushant before going out for the evening. I had called Sushant and told him about the first rickshaw driver ripping me off this evening and he was irate. Got into my second rickshaw who turned around when I told him "Juhu Beach" and said, "100 rupees." "Um, no," I said and patted the meter (knowing full well that it would cost about half that). He shook his head, "100 rupees." I shrugged and started to get out of the rickshaw to which he grunted and started the meter. When we got back to Summer and Sushant's place, I had to run upstairs and get some extra cash, leaving the driver outside. Just as I did that, Sushant called to see if I made it home and I told him what the driver did. "Is he still there?" "Yes, I had to get some money upstairs. Why, do you want to kick some ass?" But I realized I was talking to dead air. Apparently, the moment I said, "yes" Sushant, who was on his motorbike only blocks away, decided he DID want to kick some ass. I went down and paid the driver who has no idea how close he came to getting torn a new one and went back upstairs and moments later Sushant and Summer came in. Sushant said next time he was going to follow Summer and I to see who tries to rip us off.

We decide to go to the Hawaiian Shack, where apparently S & S met four years ago. It's in trendy Bandra and upon arrival and looking around at the clientele, Summer exclaimed, "Oh no! I've become one of those people who brings their foreigner here!" The club had four levels. First floor was apparently mostly 80s rock and Abba. Floors two and three played hip hop and Bollywood hits. The fourth floor was the roof but it was closed for a private party.

Summer and I wanted to hear Bollywood songs, naturally, and we went upstairs. There was a group of middle-aged men dancing together near us and they clearly needed some women in there as they were dancing with each other rather sexily. When a hit Bollywood song came on, the arms all went up, the shoulders bouncing. I was in my element! Finally I could bounce my shoulders with impunity!

Back downstairs, they were playing "That Thing You Do" from the movie of the same title. Interesting choice.

It was getting late so we decided to head out before the rest of the club emptied. Back at home, I got out my lighting kit and set up a quick photoshoot, where we posed with the electric mosquito bat OF DOOM and Sushant's motorcycle helmet. Good fun! Really pleased I fell in with some wonderful folks!

Dear Mosquitos in My Room:

Why my elbows? Why my knees? All of this to feast on (have you seen the size of my backside?) and these are the areas you choose? You're making me look like a victim of the pox and as soon as I have one of those electric racquets of mosquito DOOM, you're toast.

Consider your days numbered, you little jerks. But hopefully reincarnation will bring you back as something slightly more palatable next time. Like a Republican.

Saturday - April 10, 2010

Saturday morning felt a little more normal, time-wise. Skipped the strange breakfast. I hadn't eaten much of it Friday and in fact gave the weird hotdog bun-like bread to a street woman with a baby the previous day. As soon as I was up and about, I went to the hotel lobby to call Joey who said he was filming until the evening and would pick me up when he was done. I was to stay at the apartment of a friend of his. Bit of a tricky situation though because she'd gone off to Delhi without leaving a key so he had a plan to break in. In the meantime, I needed to amuse myself until 6pm or so.

First off, time to get a phone. I headed out to the phone store around the corner and was kitted out with a small black phone (which Joey would later sneeringly refer to as a "driver's phone") for about 30 bucks. Imagine my happiness upon discovering, after leaving the store and standing on the street corner going through the ringtone options (because I know the last thing I want to hear in an enclosed space is someone going through their ringtone options), that two songs from "Om Shanti Om," one of my favorite Bollywood films, were listed. I settled on "Dard-e-Disco" (although I've now learned that the unfortunate -- or fortunate!!-- side effect of having this tune as my ringtone is that I now walk around humming it for 30 minutes after every call. The lyrics in English are "my heart is full of the pain of disco, pain of disco." Much more of this and it really will be full).

I pocketed my new phone and headed to the Barista Cafe near the Taj. I remembered there had been wifi there in 2008 and thought it might be a nice place to beat the heat. As I scooted past the vendors and street children, I passed a familiar face: my old pal Lawrence (see above linked post). I smiled but didn't say anything, knowing he'd probably turn up at the cafe. He smiled back, questioningly but we both kept walking. Sure enough, 15 minutes after I was ensconced in the window seat of the cafe, he waltzed in and sat with his friend just across from me and looked at me with vague recognition. I said, "Lawrence, are you ever not here?" His eyes went saucer-like and his mouth pursed. He leaned back in his chair: "This is scary." He squinted a little more, "Mo?"

We had a nice catch-up. He asked if I was feeling better this time. I said yes, this time I forced myself to eat and that helped. Talked a little about 26/11. Apparently he had, of course, been in the cafe. They had food and water and a televison to keep informed but they could hear everything going on outside and it was incredibly frightening.

As it turned out, the cafe no longer had wifi. I'm not sure if this was terrorism-related (as I previously wrote, I had to give my passport number over to use the internet in another cafe.) Lawrence told me that the cafe across the street did have wifi (and didn't ask me for any ID which is confusing) so I decided to head over there. I was having some issues with my new hard drive and wanted to get it sorted. Plus this cafe had Kingfisher -- giant mugs of it. I had stupidly gotten iced coffee at the first cafe (although they told me the ice was from filtered water) and I had fished out the ice but who knows if that was enough. My thoughts were that if I couldn't beat giardia lamblia -- I'd at least get it drunk.

Two mugs of Kingfisher, a surprisingly good personal margherita pizza and fourteen fits of temper at my stupid hard drive later, I tried calling Joey again to see what his progress was. Apparently he'd been trying to reach me for the past hour but couldn't get through to my mobile. He was done and wanted me to come meet him halfway as getting down to Colaba to pick me up at 6 on a Saturdaywould be a nightmare at this hour. I said goodbye to the slightly irritating couple next to me: an Indian man and a loud girl from Philadelphia, and dashed back to the hotel for my stuff, which I'd stored. Hopped in cab and headed towards a shopping mall at which to meet Joey. About halfway there, two young men on a motorbike kept pace along side my taxi, trying to talk to me. When we finally lost them, my taxi driver told me I shouldn't talk to those men. "They are bad boys." I have noticed on both trips that a lot of Indian men will talk to me and then at some point admonish me for talking to other men... as they are clearly "bad." Okay. A moment later there's another honk and another bike next to the taxi trying to get my attention. But it turns out to be the Indian man with the Philadelphia girl on the back of his bike. How bizarre to run into them (probably almost an hour after leaving them in another part of the city)! They recognized my hat from the back window of the cab and wanted to say hi... which they did and promptly zipped off again. My taxi driver grumbled.

We pull up to the mall at last and with no help from the driver whatsoever, I unload myself and stand on the sidewalk a little bewildered. I'm not sure where to go when suddenly there's a tap on my shoulder and Joey is here! He grabs my stuff and wades out into traffic with me stumbling along beside him, trying not to get run down. We pop into his car and he deftly moves into the flow and we head north. He's a good driver, yet slightly terrifying. Much like the rickshaw drivers and taxi drivers, he makes space where there is none, gets a little too close to the cars in front of him, lanes be damned. Truly -- lines on the road are purely for decoration. There is no such thing as a traffic lane. You go where there is space, even if physics deem there not to be any. It will just open up. Somehow. Same for every moving body situation here. Somehow all these people and vehicles move with each other, around each other, so closely, yet no one touches. Well, except the men. The men are always touching. They drape. On everything. They're very lean and limb-y...and drapey. I don't know how else to describe it. They drape when they sit, they drape over each when they walk, they're even a little drapey when they're moving alone.

Now is the tricky part. Joey has to find a locksmith to meet us at his friend's apartment. He leaves me in the car to go find one and I decide to make a quick call home to let everyone know I'm alive. We then head to the apartment where Joey asks me to stay in the car while he takes care of this. Unfortunately, the apartment manager stops them from breaking in -- even though he talks to the girl who lives there. Joey tells the manager that he's her brother and that I'm her friend from the US, but it's a no go. Joey gets back in the car and contemplates his next move while telling me about all the new strict tenant rules at many apartment buildings in Mumbai. At most places, young men are not allowed to live together anymore, he tells me, because landlords are afraid of terrorist cells and more than one man equals a "cell." They're also not allowed to have guests. Uncertain of what else to do (although I offer to go back to a hotel and am waved off) he takes me to his friends' apartment. I guess this is an apartment building that is okay with three young men living together. They're all actors and ...well... if I thought three young American bachelors have questionable hygiene and living conditions, I won't ever complain about it again. Not that I was complaining-- I was happy to have a place to crash for the evening. I just made sure my sleep sack was on the bed before I put my pillow down. And I had my first run-in of the trip with a squat toilet. I was given one of the two bedrooms and the three young men all went and re-draped themselves in the other bedroom.

But... there was no sleeping yet! It was Saturday night and time to party!

Juhu Beach, Mumbai

Bollywood-bound

The two fifteen year old British girls flounced into the seats next to mine, all coltish arms and legs, arranging themselves this way and that. One plaintively commented she couldn’t wait to get home and the other agreed as she yanked out her earphones, elbowing me in the process. She then pulled something from her purse and picked up her u-shaped neck pillow and before I could stop her, squirted perfume FOUR TIMES onto the pillow. The noxious gas, in a closed airplane cabin, quickly enveloped me. Coughing pointedly at the girl (who pointedly ignored me) and waving my in-flight magazine, I knew I was in for a looooong flight.

Mostly uneventful flight, I did take notice of Belgrade and Beirut as we flew over them in the darkness. Funny how in the dark cities could be anywhere in the world, Beirut could be Detroit, hard to tell.

As the sun came up, sparkling blue, we approached Dubai, which could give Los Angeles a run for its money in the smog department. I asked Miss Perfumes-a-lot if it was from dust or pollution. Mostly dust, she said. Sandstorms.

The world’s tallest building is literally twice as tall as the next building in the city. I contemplated reenacting my classy Sears Tower as…um…nevermind… photo but decided if kissing gets you arrested in this city, perhaps pretending its architecture is genitalia is worthy of execution.

I slowly found my way out of the airport through passport control where men in white Arab garb and white sandals with one inch heels ushered us past and quickly found a Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf (it was almost midnight in NYC afterall). I paused to take a picture to show my mother when I noticed a guy near me doing the same thing. We were the only ones around and got to talking and it turns out we were both on the New York flight and he also lived in Los Angeles for a time (and most of his family is still there) and was pretty excited to see the ol’ Coffee Bean on foreign shores. He was going to his hotel downtown so I figured we could share a ride. It turned out the metro was cheaper so we opted for that. However, finding the metro turned out to be more difficult. Let’s just say that the Dubai Airport is unnecessarily complicated.

Finally aboard, I dug the incredible cleanliness and futuristic soundtrack playing softly. Turns out Jerome missed his stop entirely so when we got to mine (at the Burj Tower), we wandered over together, admired the tower and then jumped in separate taxis. I took mine over to the beach where the ridiculous six-star Burg Al Arab stands like a giant sail out over the beach. Unfortunately, you need a reservation to go inside, which could take 15-20 minutes and I was on borrowed time, so I just plopped myself down in the sand for a bit.

The water was incredibly blue and the beach very empty. In fact the whole city felt empty. Now I realize it was only 10:30 in the morning, but it was strangely quiet. Everywhere you looked there were skyscrapers halfway built. Cranes litter the cityscape. It’s bizarre. I caught a cab over to the train with a quick peek inside a nearby mall. Women in black veiled garb giggled as they passed me.

Back on the train, I initially got on the women and children’s car but it was too crowded so I went to the front and spent the ride back videotaping the landscape surrounded by staring men. The population of Dubai seems to be more Indian and Southeast Asian than Arab. Jerome told me that most of the lowpaying jobs are done by the South/Southeast Asians and the good jobs go to the emirates.

Made my way through the gigantic airport and back onto the plane for my last leg of the trip. Sat next to a nice young man who was from India but has been working in Dubai for the past 2 years and hadn’t been home in the meantime.

I was seriously fading by this time. Tried to sleep a little. Plane was delayed taking off due to a family not showing up and so they had to offload their luggage.

Arrival in Mumbai by daylight but it’s dark by the time I get my luggage. Prepaid taxi to the city is about 8 bucks. I feel more confident this time. Construction is done on the airport so it is very modern looking. Still it’s a shock when we pause at the outer gate so the taxi can pay the toll to get out and instantly I have a young mother with baby and child knocking on my window for money.

Drive to hotel takes about an hour. We take the new Sea-Link drive, which goes along the ocean, and much like the lake in Hanoi, is lined with motorbikes every few feet on which sit necking couples. It is pretty adorable – couple after couple after couple all either sitting on their bike or on the wall making out.

Finally make it to the hotel and I’m just blown away by how familiar the smell is… in a good way. The airport smelled the same – slightly mildewy and something flowery. Same at the hotel but with more incense and spice and decay. I don’t think I could ever pinpoint any of the fragrance. You’d need a true sommelier’s nose.

It was too early to go to sleep so I wasn’t sure what to do with myself. I found the nearest internet shop and was startled to learn I needed to give them my passport number now, as a defense against future terrorism. My hotel, by the way, was in Colaba, a few blocks from the Taj Hotel.

Next, I trekked out to find some food. I wasn’t terribly hungry but I remembered that the reason I felt poorly my first few days in India last time was because I wasn’t eating. It became a bad cycle: not eating, then feeling badly because I wasn’t eating, then not eating because I was feeling badly. It was now getting late so my food options were limited. I found myself in front of Leopold Café, which was hopping and decided to go in. It was the first place I went on my first trip so might as well keep up tradition. A man with a rifle at the door searched my bag. Two more men with rifles guarded the other entrances. I was seated in a corner and ordered a chicken masala khati roll, which was like a little Indian soft taco. I got to talking to my waiter, Salim, who asked me if I was familiar with the events of 26/11. Yes, I told him. I had been glued to the television. He reached up behind me and removed a small picture frame, which hid a bullet hole the size of a golf ball. Then pointed to another in the corner of a painting, and another near a light switch. Suddenly, my khati roll wasn’t so tasty. I of course knew what had happened at Leopold’s and was hesitant to return but also didn’t want to be kept away because of terrorists. I finished my meal, chit-chatted with Jimmy from Zanzibar and then headed back for some sleep. Unfortunately, now I was a bit jetlagged and fidgety and couldn’t fall asleep until 2 a.m.

I’m usually pretty good with knowing pretty close to what time it is. Usually with in ten minutes. But when I woke up in my windowless room after what I thought was a fairly goodnight’s sleep, I had no idea. My ipod was on New York time and my brain wasn’t functioning yet to do the math correctly. I ended up going forwards instead of backwards and thought it was 11 a.m. I got up and started sorting my luggage and flipped on the television… which said it was 5:30am. Which meant I’d been asleep for a little over 3 hours. And considering I’d had maybe 3 hours the night before I left followed by a grand total of 2 hours on the planes, I thought it best to go back to sleep.

Woke up again thinking it was 11 a.m. got up, took a shower, got dressed, ordered my free breakfast and discovered it was just past 8.

Again took my time before leaving the hotel as I wasn’t really sure what I wanted to do with myself that day. I didn’t feel much like doing anything touristy. I needed an adapter and a phone SIM card (which would require a copy of my passport and visa to obtain, another terrorism related issue). I bought these and then found myself wandering near the Gateway to India and the Taj. I thought I’d take a peek into the Taj and, again, went through some serious security in order to get in. Metal detector, bag scanner etc.

Lunch was a strange falafel sandwich… then started to feel rundown. Headed back to hotel for short nap. 5 hours later… (boy is this blog familiar). Wandered out to find food – headed to a restaurant that was recommended for good chicken biryani. At the take-out counter, I ordered and waited. When I got my food, the bill was slightly higher than expected. I asked the cashier guy and he said, “Tax.” I shrugged and walked back to the hotel where I realized I had the wrong food. Chicken kadhai. I went to the hotel manager where I called the restaurant and talked to the Take-out guy. He said, no, I had ordered chicken kadhai, everyone had heard me order chicken kadhai. I said, “I ordered biryani. I don’t even know what chicken kadhai is.” “No. You ordered chicken kadhai.” And he HUNG UP. So I called back, this time with the hotel guy doing the talking. The hotel guy meekly hung up the phone a minute later. “He said you ordered the chicken kadhai.” “Call the manager,” I said. I got some guy on the phone, asked if he was manager, he said no… and he hung up on me.

Boy… I had forgotten the legendary “the customer is rarely right” way of India.

Miffed, I picked up my food and stomped off to the restaurant. Clearly, the take-out guy was surprised to see me. I was pretty pissed off but I remembered that angry arguing gets you no where in India so I pasted on a smile, waggled my head, and insisted that I didn’t order kadha chicken. Eventually the take-out guy gave me the right food (hopefully minus any retaliatory bodily fluid). As soon as he handed me my food though, of course his demeanor changed. “Why didn’t you just call us?” he asked, sweetly. “We would have brought you the food. You didn’t have to come all the way back.” ::sigh:: Customer service AFTER the fact.

The chicken biryani was awful, by the way.

*I wanted to post pictures but I'm having some issues with them at the moment. Check back tomorrow!

Brooklyn to Bollywood -- Here we go again

First leg: JFK - > Dubai. Seen here with mortal enemy. This time, you will be mine.


Um...that is if I really want to find out why you've turned into one big hard lump. Maybe I should just leave you be. Nah. Surely your resolve - slash - packaging must have weakened by now.

Happy Holi!

Love it. Sad to miss it... again. Attending the Holi Parade in Queens this weekend -- but it's hard to fully get into it (dry color, wet color) when it's only 35 degrees out.

Well hello there...

Been a long time. Some new things are afoot... maybe.

I applied for a Film and Media program in Mumbai.

I got accepted yesterday.

Now, I have to decide (and soon):

a) Can/Should I go?

and if so....

b) March or April?

Someone wrote on my Facebook - which would you regret more: spending the money or missing the opportunity.

Videos - Part 1

I'm going to implant these videos into the corresponding entries, but here they are in case you don't want to reread the entire blog!

A marketplace in Udaipur (the girl who smiles at the end is the best):



My little friends in Hampi:

1) Explaining their favorite Gods:



2) Holding a staged conversation that I have no idea what it is about:



3) Sliding:





My Jodhpur suitors:

Beijing and The Great Wall

I was looking forward to the train ride - meet new people, see interesting scenery as we headed up through China. I got to the train station and waited. I was feeling terribly anxious for some reason. When it was time to board, I discovered I was sharing a small cabin with two Mongolian boys who wouldn't speak to me the entire time. Or make eye contact. This was my first indication that I might have some language problems ahead of me. I also discovered that I had pretty much no money left. For some reason, I didn't think about the food situation on the train. Good thing I'd picked up snacks. Our train stopped several hours later and we were hustled off into the station for visa processing. I hadn't realized we'd switch trains at the border so I'd gotten all cozy in my bunk -- ready for the 2 day trip. Now I was rushing to pack up while getting barked at in both Chinese and Vietnamese and something I think was supposed to be English.

Bleary-eyed, we got through the processing, had our stuff looked at and boarded a nicer, newer train. Again with the Mongolian boys. The older one (I think they were brothers who went to school in Vietnam but their family lives in Mongolia ...maybe? ) had a mohawk and was wearing a tshirt with stick figures in compromising positions and "I f----d your girlfriend" written across it. He wore it the whole time.

A few minutes later, more Chinese agents were knocking on all the doors and demanding to see the bags of the Western passengers. They wanted to know what my Vietnamese coffee makers were but mostly they were interested in my books and my folder of papers. Was I carrying any subversive literature, I guess. They went through that stuff pretty intensely. I was suddenly really not liking China and wondering what they were going to do when the world descends on them for the Olympics in August.

At some point, I fell asleep but at dawn we were woken up again and hustled off the train into a waiting room. We left our stuff on the train. I am not sure exactly why we had to do this. The waiting room had big cushy 70s style armchairs and crappy coffee but I was starving. We had about an hour to kill so I decided to take my chances and leave the train station to find some food -- I had exchanged what little money I had for Yuan already. Actually, I had plenty of money for regular food. It was the train food I couldn't afford. As luck would have it, there was a small grocery store across the street. I went in, found what appeared to be instant noodles and bought a couple of tubs. I had seen that there was a hot water spigot on the train that was used for noodles and making tea. My apprehension wasn't really abating. I think it was because I hadn't really talked to anyone in almost two days.

Eventually we were moving again and it started raining. For awhile you could see the amazing landscape outside:

But soon there was no visibility whatsoever. The rain fogged up the windows -- so much for the viewing part of the trip. I fell asleep -- as did my cabinmates. Around dinner time, I went to the hot water spigot and on my way back spotted the door open to a cabin filled with Westerners. I paused to see they were playing cards, so I introduced myself. The two guys were from New Zealand and the girl was from England. They had all left New Zealand and were backpacking their way across land -- on their way to China where they'd eventually catch the Trans-Siberian Railway. They invited me to join them so I broke out my bottle of Vietnamese wine (after realizing it could make for a tragjc homecoming in America if I were to open my bag to find it had destroyed everything in transit). Turned out to be a good thing as it was REALLY BAD. Eventually, we moved to the dining car where we drank the house beer -- Pabst Blue Ribbon of course - and continued playing cards until the wee hours.

We arrived in Beijing the next morning and I asked my new friends if I could trail them to a hotel. I was required to book a hotel in order to get my Chinese visa back in April but then the tourist agency in Thailand canceled it as I didn't know exactly when I would arrive. They agreed -- I think the couple, Craig (yes, another New Zealander named Craig) and Eve were happy to pawn Josh off on me so they could have a little coupley alone time. We got off the train and instantly realized we were going to have a problem with the language. First I followed them as they tried to find information on the Trans-Siberian railway but they quickly gave up and we spent fifteen minutes just trying to find the taxi stand. Once the four of us and our luggage were stuffed in a cab, Craig attempted to give directions to the cabbie. We drove for about ten minutes before the cabbie stopped at a light, pulled out a colorful paper with cartoons on it, pointing at the part that said, "Where do you want to go?" Oh crap. I think these fliers were part of the "Get Ready for the Olympics" training but still. We laughed and tried again. He nodded that he understood and we were off. Another five minutes, the flier came out again. He was very good-natured and we all laughed and tried our best to guide him. Finally after many u-turns and dead-ends, we found the hotel -- which was tucked way back in one of Beijing's hutongs, old neighborhoods with tiny alleys where the buildings adjoin each other and surround a courtyard (these neighborhoods are quickly being bulldozed as Beijing modernizes itself). Once inside the hotel, we then spent 30 minutes trying to check in. My friends had booked two hotel rooms -- both singles. Now they wanted to change one to a room with two beds (for Josh and me). The girls working the front desk absolutely had no idea what we were on about, nor did they seem to understand that my friends had already paid online for the rooms. Finally, a bespectacled business man standing behind us intervened and translated to the clerks. Everything was straightened out. We thanked him profusely and went to our rooms. I was suffering from 3 days of no shower and decided that needed to be remedied immediately before we headed out to explore the local area. However, I could not figure out how to get hot water. I was about to go down to the front desk where I anticipated another 45 minute conversation (even WITH the phrasebook I'd carted through 6 countries in preparation for the difficulty I expected in China) when I ran into the friendly business man who turned out to be our neighbor. I explained the lack of hot water and he kindly offered to help out. He came into our room and called downstairs with our phone. He sat back and smiled and started telling us that he was a professor and that he'd written a book about how China was going to take over the world and so everyone better start learning Chinese (I'm already aware of this, I have seen "Firefly" after all...). A few minutes later, there was knock on the door and a hotel worker popped in... with a thermos of hot water -- for tea. Oh dear. I must not have explained myself well. "The shower," I said. "I meant hot water for the shower." Our neighbor slapped his head and stepped into our bathroom and twiddled a knob I hadn't seen. Ta-da! I Hot water! I thanked him, but he settled back down again to discuss his book some more. I gave Josh a look of apology and stepped into the bathroom.

When I came out, our neighbor had cleared out. Josh showered and we went next door to collect his friends but oddly enough, they didn't answer-- so we headed out on our own. First stop, cash. We kept walking and discovered that we were right in the main tourist area. We wandered around for a bit, trying to decide on where to eat lunch. Met an adorable puppy, which I nicknamed "Dim Sum" because I'm PC like that.

Candidate for "People who look like their pets."

Ended up eating McDonald's and figured we'd get a real dinner later. After wandering around the lake and peeking into shops for fun "Engrish" (I found a couple of good t-shirts) we went back to the hotel to pick up Josh's friends for dinner. Josh dropped off his laundry with the front desk clerks and we headed out to eat dinner at a local cafe while a video of a Shania Twain concert blared overhead.

Next morning, my friends wanted to get their train tickets squared away. We caught a taxi back to the train station so they could get their tickets for Tuesday. While they took care of it, I picked up postage stamps (which would turn out to be a waste of money), checked my email (failure -- couldn't get onto my email -- oh hi China!) and get breakfast. Then we all wandered through an interesting grocery store where I purchased some Chinese style medicine for my ailing stomach.

Speaking of ailing stomachs, I then had to run across the street to a hotel to use their facilities. Looks like my "friends from India" were back.

Hailed another cab and headed to The Temple of the Heavens. It was a strange day - overcast yet you could see the sun burning through the clouds above. Couldn't tell if it was a fog or smog situation but I knew that the Olympians who would be arriving in two months would have their work cut out for them. Josh and I struck out on our own and wandered the gardens.

There is a particular part of the temple where there is a raised marble slab and people took turns standing on it. I found out only recently (a year later) that this was considered the highest point and the emperor would stand here to be both part of earth and the heavens.

I took my turn and then saw the young boy who stepped up after me grin such a Golum smile, I had to take his photo. Yeesh.

Around the grounds were covered walkways that appeared to be THE place for older Chinese to get together. Many games of chess were going on as well as karaoke machines to gather around, dancing groups, exercising groups (boy do the Chinese love their exercise), and various other social activities.

Some serious storm clouds were gathering so we decided to head out. We thought it might be a good idea to book a trek to the Great Wall that evening. I wanted to go the next day as I was worried there might be bad weather if I left it until Sunday. Josh decided he'd accompany me.

We headed back to the hotel and Josh and I went to the front desk to book the trip. I should have known it would be another impossible session of charades. I even tried to draw a picture of the Great Wall to illustrate what we wanted to do. Finally they understood. Josh remembered he was running out of clothes to wear and asked if his laundry was ready (or gestured a lot until they understood). The clerk went and retrieved his bag of laundry, which looked dubious... nothing was folded. We walked back up to the room and Josh pulled out a t-shirt from the bag --"I don't think they washed it," he laughed. They certainly didn't smell clean. Nope, not washed -- they just stored his dirty clothes for him -- they must have thought he was crazy.

Dinner at a nearby restaurant. Our bottle of wine was sponsored by the Olympics. So was the beer. I soon noticed quite a bit was sponsored by the Olympics.

Dinner was interesting -- tough to find something on the menu that wasn't intestines, brains etc. Then I figured, who decided muscle was okay to eat but not stomach? I ended up eating Peking Duck -- it's a requirement. So amazing.

Early to rise -- a taxi would take us to the waiting bus. We were greeted with a prepared "breakfast" -- a questionable "sandwich" -- and hopped on board. It was about an hour and a half ride out to the section of the wall we'd be walking, Simatai which was much less touristy than the Badaling section.

The weather was not so great -- very cloudy and foggy and hinting at possible rain. Josh and I picked up some ponchos and an umbrella and started the hike. A Chinese man hung back to chat with us as we walked. Told us he was a farmer. I didn't really want the company (the guy was very chatty and something didn't feel right) and stopped to adjust my shoes and backpack but the guy hung out next to us and kept yapping. Dismayed, Josh and I kept looking at each other -- were we stuck with this guy for the next 3 hours? Hadn't seen him on the bus -- where did he come from? When we climbed up to the start of the wall, we finally learned his reason for friendliness: he wanted to sell us a calendar. We detached ourselves from him with a firm no and continued our trek. We were to be ambushed by sellers at every watchtower but this still wouldn't be as bad as Badaling's touts. In fact, the wall was fairly empty. Josh and I would either linger behind or hurry ahead in order to get shots of the Wall completely void of people. Unfortunately (or fortunately as it perhaps kept tourists away) the weather often had the Wall shrouded in fog. But still, it was beautiful and mysterious -- probably more so than had it been full sunshine.

I really enjoyed the hike -- the Great Wall was one of the reasons I decided to go on this trip in the first place. Six months earlier (or perhaps more), I'd been sitting in my living room with my neighbor, Sherrod, watching a Dateline episode on the Wall. I knew I had to see it. I didn't realize how soon I would see it. I remembered this and as I stood at the peak of one of the rolling stretches of the wall, I paused to text Sherrod: "Guess where I am!" "Newark?" was the response.

It was nice there were so few people on the wall. At one point, I paused ahead of another group to squat down and take a picture of the stretch of wall ahead of me. Just as I was about to take the picture, a young woman burst ahead of me and into the frame, exclaiming, "I'M AFRAID OF HEIGHTS!" Baffled, I said, "Then why are you up here?" "If I keep moving, I'm okay." Sure, lady... as long as you keep moving UP THE HIGHEST HILL we've come across and ruin my photo -- I mean, it IS all about you. Honestly.

It was rather sad when we completed the trek. I knew that not only was I done with seeing something so amazing (that I might never see again in my life)... but also, somehow, I've reached the end of my trip. In two short days I'd be on a plane heading back to New York. I was ready... but I wasn't. I had no idea if I'd ever be able to do something like this again and melancholy was setting in fast and furious.

We crossed a rickety footbridge, climbed a hill and then hiked down to where the rest of our tour group was camped out in a cafe for our included "lunch."

Half-starved, we dug into the buffet. Our table was rather raucous and before we were going to head out and back to Beijing, a bunch of them purchased more beer for the bus ride (no open container laws) including Josh.

I made due with my one beer and later was glad of it. We hit some SERIOUS traffic and when we finally stopped to get some gas, half the guys on the bus were nearly bursting. They SPRINTED to the bathroom and exhibited sheer relief on their faces when they returned. Josh said he'd never felt like that before in his life -- almost didn't think he was going to make it. We stopped again a little later and I decided to use the facilities and I can honestly say they were the worst facilities in my entire 3.5 months in Asia. It was basically a cement building with holes dug in the dirt. The smell was incredible. Suddenly, the thought of pristine porcelain seated toilets and two-ply toilet paper looming in my future was heartwarming.

We got back to Beijing in pouring rain. Covered in mud and exhausted, we trotted down to a cafe for a dinner and hit the hay.

My Last Day

After a quick breakfast, we headed to the Forbidden City (which was actually pretty close by). The crowds were chaotic. Before entering the palace, I headed to the bathroom and thought, you know, if I time this right -- this will be the last squatting toilet I use.

And it was! Oof, one thing I will not miss, that's for sure.

I found it a little difficult to enjoy the Forbidden Palace due to the hordes of tourists but it certainly is a beautiful place.

As we exited on the other side of the palace, a familiar red wall loomed up. We passed through a tunnel and emerged under Chairman Mao's giant portrait on the other side.

Tiannamen Square. It's immense. I realized I really didn't know much about what happened here. There's no recorded death toll -- the NY Times has it somewhere between 400-800.

We headed to the closest subway to take us out to the Bird's Nest -- the new Olympic Stadium. The subway system was at least fairly easy to navigate. I imagine that was an Olympic initiative. However, the closest subway still only got you within a mile from the stadium. We walked through the blistering 90+ heat to the stadium. The smog was incredible.

The Birds Nest didn't look quite done and the grounds were a mess. All over the city, hotels were still going up (and would sit empty anyway). But there was a TGIFridays up and ready to go right by the entrance.

I stopped to take a picture of some workers and one of them pretended to come after me. I hope he was pretending...

Hopped in a cab to find lunch. Had Thai food for some reason. Melancholy settling in hard.

Craig and Eve went off on their own and Josh and I decided to do my last night up right. First we had a game of cards at a fondue/hot pot restaurant which was empty. The beers were about 1.50 each. We walked across the street to the tourist area where beers jumped up to 5 dollars a glass. No thanks. We wandered around for a bit. Found ourselves walking behind an American family -- the mother, at one point, whipped around and hissed, "Hunter, stay with us!" to her small son.

I had noticed around Beijing there are quite a few sidewalk gyms. Right near the hotel in the hutong there were some rudimentary stairclimbers and sit-up/push-up equipment. As we walked around the lake (and saw a number of tubby men swimming) we passed a gym that had a sort of "gazelle" machine, where you stand on two platforms and swing your legs forward and backward. We hopped on and tried our best, giggling. As we gave up, an elderly Chinese man biked over and jumped onto the machine in full street-clothes and started swinging away -- very seriously.

We kept wandering past an intersection where a small cafe/grilling place where a noxious smell was emanating. It was horrible. Neither of us had the nerve to go and find out exactly what gave off such a stink. We kept moving and eventually ended up in a teensy reggae bar, covered in Jamaican paraphernalia and run by a very large Chinese man with amazing dreads -- a Reggasian, if you will.

We were the only customers so we made friends with the owner and had a great time with his dog. Keeping the party going, we tried to move on to another bar but realized that we just couldn't afford to go out in this touristy area. We ended up passing McDonald's again and got a couple of cokes and walked out to the lake where we sat and watched the boats.

We were about to head back when Josh claimed we needed to make one last stop. Walked into a divey bar and sat down. Almost immediately an incredibly drunk young woman turned around from her table and offered us some mysterious meat in a styrofoam container. "What is it?" I asked. "Kak kak" she says and grabs her tongue. I look at her confused. She gets out her phone, scrolls and presses some buttons and then shows me "duck." Duck tongue. I look at the meat again -- it looks like a tiny slab of salami with two tendons protruding from it. What the heck, it's my last night-- and I eat the tongue.

Not bad actually although, again, I don't understand who thought it would be a great idea to eat duck tongues. Drunk girl buys a round of shots and offers us another styrofoam container of meat.

Josh reaches in and throws a piece in his mouth -- and instantly regrets it. "You remember that smell of that grilling shop?" he splutters. I grimace. "It tastes just like that," he chokes, hastily slurping down beer.

"You have to try it," he says. Are you kidding? After that review??? But I do since it's only fair.

The girl bolts out the door, leaving her quiet and fairly sober friends behind. They don't speak any English so we don't really continue the conversation (despite her drunkenness, the duck-tongue-offerer spoke pretty decent English and translated for everyone).

Unamused by us.

She reappears 15 minutes later and hands me a tassel of some sort with a very Chinese decoration on it. I have no idea what it is. She picks up her phone and I see that it has several similar tassels. I get out my phone and she adorns it for me. She had specifically run home to get it for me as when we'd exchanged emails earlier and I had used my phone to record hers, she'd noticed my phone was appallingly naked.

Drunk girl then jumps up and again runs to the bar and suddenly there is a round of shots called "duckass" (well why not -- we just had duck tongue) sitting in front of us. They tasted a bit like Kahlua and ohhh boy did they mark the end of our evening.

We stumbled back to the hotel. I attempted to let the front desk I'd need a taxi to the airport in the a.m. No luck, figured I'd try again in the morning.

Couldn't believe it was time to go home when I woke up. Since Craig and Eve were going that day to the Great Wall and the weather looked gorgeous, Josh chose to go with them. Can't see too much of it! We said good bye and I packed. I was excited and sad.

Performed an intricate mime of "hailing a taxi" and stretched out my arms, made a "vrrrrooom" noise and mimed taking off. The desk girls just put one hand over their mouths, pointed and tittered. Eventually, I gave up and headed out to a main street, luggage in tow. A taxi stopped for me and I showed him my guidebook where it said airport. He nodded briskly and off we went. Ten minutes later... he turned around to ask me where I wanted to go. I now know he meant which airline/terminal but at the time, I again tried to show him "airport" and my ticket, etc. until he stopped by the side of the street, got out, asked a stranger a question and got back in again. We made it to the airport.

I had about two hours to kill and tons of postcards to write so I sat down with lunch to write them. Probably wrote at least a dozen when I looked up and realized my plane was leaving in twenty minutes! I paid and bolted from the restaurant, asking a woman where a post office box was. She directed me to the center of the terminal. I sprinted over, tossed in the cards and RAN down the terminal. Of course my plane was at the very last gate which looked like half a mile away. I'm panting, passing flight status monitors showing my flight as "Final Call" -- I sprint up to the desk and I've just made it (although there were about 5 people who showed up right behind me). This is it. In 13 hours I'll be back in New York.

The plane ride feels too fast. I snooze a little, try to watch a Chinese movie and "National Treasure." We go up and over the Arctic, which is kind of wild. Coming over land in New York, seeing all the large, perfect houses below is surreal. How am I home already? Owen is there to meet me. The drive back to David's apartment is filled with wonder and weirdness -- all the new movie billboards, the cars are so American, the houses so clean and huge. The clean streets and silvery skyscrapers. It's all familiar but feels off. The three and a half months slipped by just like that. It felt like it had just been days since I'd woken up on my first morning in Mumbai, terrified to even step outside and now I was climbing the stairs to David's apartment and collapsing in his bed. It was lovely to be home but I wanted more time. I felt like I ran through 7 countries at breakneck speed. I should have taken more planes and spent less time on buses. There was still more I wanted to see. How can it be over?

No one got my postcards from China...and my banana chip bag is still intact. I guess I just have to plan a new trip sometime in the near future. Eventually those chips will be mine.