Things I Will Do Upon My U.S. Return

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-- Read glossy, aspirational magazines. My lone copy of 'Modern Bride' is not filling this void.

-- Eat gummy candy. Jelly beans, orange slices, gummy worms and gummy bears, Starbursts -- all these things are lacking here.

-- Devour cheap, tasty wine. Ain't no such thing in India. Typical glasses of wine at decent restaurants run about $10.

-- Take more road-trips. My long, slow road trip experiences here have made me pine for the relatively easy, uneventful experience of driving from, say, San Francisco to Santa Monica (a typical 7-hour trip that, in this region at least, would take about 20 hours).

-- Read the Sunday paper ... on Sunday. India is 9 hours ahead of New York and Washington., D.C., and 12 hours ahead of California -- which means that, when I wake up Sunday a.m., I'm greeted with America's Saturday evening news. And you know how crazy that makes me.

-- Enjoy the quiet. I've never been so thankful for the few quiet moments I can find (pre-7 a.m. at home, evening on the balcony in Rishikesh). From car horns to diesel motors to window unit ACs to my overhead fan (one speed: fast!) to screaming kids (who are not necessarily expected to be quiet), the noise here is just about unbearable at times.

-- Breathe fresh air. You know when you're up on a peak at Sequoia or Yosemite or Mt. Diablo, and way off in the distance, you see a bank of smog, and you think, 'Oh, how awful, such smog!' -- you know that feeling, right? Now, imagine you're at, say, San Francisco Civic Center, and to the south, a few blocks away, instead of blue sky, you see only a dirty haze and dust behind the federal building. That's what my evening commute looks like most days. Lovely, huh?

-- Eat fish. It's summer, Delhi's not near any major sources of fish and refrigeration isn't dependable -- which means, no fish curry, no fried fish, no baked fish. I've had four meals with fish since I got here, v. at least 2 per week in California.

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Whitewater Rafting

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That's right, you read correctly: I went whitewater rafting this weekend. For the first time ever. In India, of all places (Rishikesh, to be exact).

As most of you know, I'm not much of the outdoor adventure type of gal. But, my co-workers were all going rafting and, before leaving home, another co-worker had pointed to the Wikipedia page for Rishikesh and said, "You must go there." So I went.

I was doing OK, Saturday morning, as we got ready to embark on our adventure down the Ganges River -- until our intrepid guide, Eddy, described what to do when the raft flips (a 60-40 chance, he said) and you're suddenly part of the rapids. Gulp. I knew for sure, however, that I did not want to ride back along the winding, cliff-side road that led from Rishikesh to our starting point -- and that helped push me toward the water. I thought I'd be better to take my chances with a life jacket and a helmet on the water.

In the end, I felt safer in the raft with Eddy than I have in many other places in India (including on the roads around Rishikesh). Eddy's company, De & Ascent Expeditions, definitely values safety: A kayaker -- Ayodhi, in our case -- rides along with each rafting expedition, just to help rescue water-bound rafters. Not bad.

Rafting turned out to be one of the best things I've done in a long time. I don't have many photos from the rafting itself -- since my camera was tucked away in an airtight bag for most of the trip -- but I have some great memories. As we went through the biggest rapid, known as The Wall, I remember looking over at my co-worker, Angela. We were crouched inside the boat, in the "get down!" (meaning, water is coming!) position, just before the second wave crashed over us -- and we were smiling and laughing and the sun was shining. It was truly amazing.

I floated down the river for a bit in my life jacket, too. Also cool.

Random facts: The Beatles visited Rishikesh in 1968 -- and, according to Wiki, composed songs for the White Album there. The ashram they stayed at is reported to be closed now, but we visited another, Parmath Ashram. Very nice -- lush gardens, peaceful.

In other news -- I know I haven't posted in a while. Kerala photos and posts to come soon. Promise.

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Ah, Saturday

I feel like sleeping in and lounging around on a Saturday might be a sure sign of assimilating to a new place -- and if so, I've accomplished that task. I got up today 9 a.m., ate breakfast and video-chatted with Vivek, did an hour or so of yoga and then headed out to go shopping.

I spent all afternoon in Janpath, a kind-of shopping district in Delhi anchored, at least for me, by the Central Cottage Industries Emporium -- a government-subsidized handicrafts shop, full of marble-working, gold-working, painted wooden elephants, rugs, art and, my favorite, cheap handmade paper crafts, including stationery and journals. This area's like the stationery-and-picture frame section of a Borders, but at 1/5 the price (about $0.50-$1.50 each for paper sets). And the prices are fixed -- no bargaining necessary. Ah.

After picking up a handful of letter-writing sets CCI, I braved the bargaining-necessary marketplace along Janpath and picked up some nesting jewelery boxes ($2.40), a pair of leather juttis ($11.50) and, at long last, two news magazines ($3.50 total).

All in all, a nice productive day of relaxing and shopping. Quite enjoyable.

Other random updates:
-- Anshuman, my devar-ji-(husband's brother)-to-be, posted some nice photos of his trip to Chandigarh and Gurgaon. (Bhabhi ji means brother's wife.)
-- I had my first Indian mango! (Or at least parts of one, over a few days this week at breakfast.)
-- As a result of my Hindi lessons, I can now say, "Main bharat mai hun" (I am in India), "Office janna hai" (I need to go to the office), and "Dos Cokes, ice nahi, aur dos dosas dijiye" (Please give me two cokes, no ice, and two dosas"). Swell, huh?

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Agra Redux

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To attempt to avoid the inevitable very hot days in May and June, Greg and I journeyed to Agra Sunday for a tour of the Taj Mahal and other monuments. It was my second trip to Agra, so the Taj wasn't quite as amazing -- and the heat at Sikandra, toward the end of the day, was nearly unbearable (by my meager Western standards). But, all in all, not a bad way to spend a Sunday. Photos here.

We opted to hire our weekday driver, Amit, to ferry us to Agra and back, rather than take the train (somewhat disappointing, since one of my chief accomplishments of last week was actually booking our train tickets, which I then exchanged for a partial refund). It was a nice way to get back and forth, I have to say, though twice as expensive as taking the train. Once my Hindi is stronger, I think I'd prefer to take the cheap way and work on bartering for a guide on arrival. (Our guide this time was included in the price of our car fare.) (Not that I'm intending to return to Agra any time soon -- two visits to the Taj seems almost too greedy for a lifetime -- but there are plenty of other places to reach by train from Delhi.)

One item that did not make it into our photos of the day, sadly, was my first trip to a McDonald's in India, where I had a fried chicken sandwich, fries and a Coke with no ice. The fries tasted the same; the chicken was fairly standard but seemed to have some Indian spices, including turmeric. I'd go it again. Maybe next time I'll be brave enough to try the "Veggie Surprise" burger.

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Reverse Tourism

I don't have a photo to prove what I'm about to say, so you're just gonna have to take my word for it.

During our stay in Chandigarh, Greg and I had a few encounters with reverse tourism -- where we became the attraction, at least for a brief moment, shaking hands with small children or posing for photos.

At the Rose Garden, the guardians -- I assume family -- of the poor little guy above brought him over to shake our hands while we sat, enjoying -- what else? -- the smell of the roses.

When the little guy was unphased by the handshake, the folks I can only assume were his parents went in for another step: They picked up him, sat him between us on our bench, put one hand on Greg's lap, one on mine, and took his photo. His photo, with the Americans. The poor guy smiled not once during the entire event. I couldn't tell if he was frightened of just annoyed.

Incidentally, I'm reading 'Eat, Pray, Love,' Elizabeth Gilbert's book about traveling through Italy, India and Indonesia. In a chapter about how she makes for a not-so-great traveler, Gilbert mentions that she dealt with this same phenomenon -- being pointed out by parents to young children -- in China. There, she said, the

"... children -- who had never seen anything quite like this pink-faced yellow-headed phantom person -- would often burst into tears at the sight of me. I really hated that about China." (Penguin Books, 2006)

I don't think my experience makes me hate India. In fact, it was sort of interesting to be, for a moment, on the other side of the lens.

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