More than any one mash-up, Girltalk has made me realize that bringing all sorts of good (and even questionable) music together can be some of the most fun. And my point about all of this is: the holidays at the ashram were a lot like music mash-ups, mostly of the Girltalk variety  — although there were definitely some moments of  “wait, what?”

Let’s start with Christmas Eve. The evening started out with a lovely performance by a man who played the hammer dulcimer (he had a different name for it, but Ben’s aunt plays the hammer dulcimer, and Ben was sure it was the same instrument.) He played beautifully and was accompanied by a man playing a traditional Keralan instrument, which is essentially a clay pot. The slightly funny thing was that the two of them were basically improvising together, and there were moments where they fit together super well, and moments where you weren’t sure that a hammer dulcimer and a clay pot belonged in the same room together. Regardless, it was more lovely than it was confusing, and at the end the musicians were very eager to have folks come up and try to play.

Then a choir made up of teachers and guests got up on stage to lead us all in some Christmas carols — very classic. But the best part (possibly the best mash-up of the evening!) was that they had come up with dance moves to go along with the 12 Days of Christmas, and the two sides of the room had to have a dance off while singing. I couldn’t stop laughing, especially at “three french hens” which was basically the funky chicken.

By then it was getting close to midnight, and things got less giggly and more serious. There was candle lighting and singing of Silent Night, and for anyone who has spent multiple Christmas Eve’s with those kinds of surroundings (me) it was really beautiful, and also probably the most homesick I’ve felt.

Silent Night ended and we sat in the beautiful glowing light of the candles… and then 5 seconds later, they threw on all the lights, the choir roared into Jingle Bells and Santa came bursting into the room. It’s hard to explain HOW disorienting it was at the time, but as I write about it now it seems like EXACTLY the right move. Okay, we can have our lovely moment, but let’s not get too sentimental. Let’s dance and cheer and get presents from Santa and eat Christmas cake!!

Yes, there was Christmas cake. Glorious, sugary, grocery store sheet cake — which, after a week of healthy food and yoga, has never tasted so good. We had thirds.

And then, after staying up late and filling us with sugar, they got us all up at 5:30 am to walk to the lake for a sunrise meditation. With a view like this it was hard to complain.

After morning asana class, there was also a beautiful feast (served on banana leaves!)

Before I tell you about New Years, I should say that the whole week between Christmas and New Years was considered a “cultural week” at the ashram — which means that there were a lot of wonderful performances, some musical, some dance, and one martial arts group. I actually don’t have any pictures of my favorite musicians but here’s what I loved about them: they were having such a good time. With us, which each other, singing, drumming, and just beaming out at us from the stage. The vocalist and the lead drummer kept waggling their heads at each other in approval, and I couldn’t help feeling all glowy inside from their obvious joy in their music.

My other favorite was Dr. Deepti Omchery Bhalla, who performed a traditional dance called Mohiniyattam. It is a traditional dance of the Indian state of Kerala, and its origin story is that Lord Vishnu was approached by a man who wanted a boon, or a gift. The man wanted Vishnu to make it so that no one could kill the man but himself. Vishnu apparently is known for being a little too free with his boons, so he told the man that not only could no one kill him, but the man now had the ability to turn anyone to ash by pressing his finger to their head. The man immediately tried to press his finger to Vishnu’s head and Vishnu ran off. He found Lord Krishna and asked for help with the monster he had created. Krishna turned himself into a beautiful woman and began dancing this beautiful, seductive dance. The man immediately fell in love with this woman, and began to try and copy her dance, almost as if in a trance. One of the gestures involves putting one’s finger to one’s temple, and without thinking, this man turned himself to ash as he tried to woo the woman of his dreams. And I tell you what, at one point Dr. Bhalla had shivers running down my spine. To see a little of it for yourself, click here.

New Years Eve started off with a puja in the morning, which is a religious Hindu ritual. Pujas are offerings to various deities or distinguished people — in this case the puja was honoring the Guru who founded the ashram since New Years Eve was also his birthday (he is now deceased).

The evening was similar to Christmas Eve only in its rollercoaster-ness. We started with a mellow concert, followed (again) by herbal coffee. Once we got our “coffee” we were told to head down to the lake front for “some surprises.” As we walked out the gates of the ashram, we could all hear thumping dance music. I, for one, was convinced that music had nothing to do with us. And of course, I was wrong.

Down by the lake they had a combo dance party/fireworks/sparkler madness. And while at first we all stood around like 12-year-olds at a middle school dance, it did not take us long to get going. It’s hard to stand around once you have a sparkler in your hand.

So we played with sparklers and ooh-ed at fireworks and watched as they tried to light a floating lantern AND as they lit an enormous “tree” on fire as a finale. And then we just danced and danced — it was muddy from recent rain, so we took our shoes off, and if you have NOT danced in your bare feet in the mud recently: please do so.

And THEN — while all of us were red-faced and happy and beaming — they turned the music off!! And told us to go back to the ashram so we could welcome in the New Year with the sound of Om!

That might have gone over better just after the mellow concert, but at this point there was almost a revolt. Then there was begging for just one more song (please??). Then people actually started taking the speakers back up to the ashram, so everyone gave it up as a lost cause and headed back as well.

So we “Om”-ed our way into 2012. And then they set off more firecrackers(inside!). And then we had cake again.

It’s possible that the ashram’s version of the holidays were the best kind of mash-up — the kind where you are a little thrown, maybe even skeptical at first, but the more you listen and let it all wash over you, the more you realize it’s just what you wanted, chaos and all.

and we did hear many stories of monkey menace happening to other people…

but…

other than a brief face-off following an attempted backpack grab,

there is no monkey menace in this post. Sorry for the misleading title, it was just too good to pass up. This post IS full of other good things though, like friends and climbing and food and temples.

Anyway! We arrived in Badami in the mid-afternoon and immediately set about finding a pay phone so we could give our friends a call and let them know we arrived. Most of the little shops that had signs for phones were closed for the mid-afternoon “it’s really hot out” break, so we wandered into the closest hotel figuring they might let us use their phone.

I walked up to the counter where two friendly men did their best to understand what I wanted, but I couldn’t seem to communicate that I didn’t think my friends were staying there, I just wanted to use the phone. Slowly I realized that they were trying to tell me that my friends WERE actually staying at this hotel, and they had reserved a room for us. Two birds, one stone, hooray! The manager said that Ellie and Madhu had gone climbing but would be back soon.

We lugged our backpacks to our room and soon enough there was a knock on our door. After a bit of jumping around so-excited-to-see-you-ness, we decided we all need to clean up a bit and then we’d head out for a bite to eat.

The rest of the evening was spent trying out our first masala dosas (YUM), drinking chai, meeting Madhu’s climbing friends who were also in Badami for the weekend, and generally catching up on life.  There’s something truly wonderful about seeing a familiar face in a foreign land, and in this case it was a two-fold kind of wonderful. First there is just the warmth of getting to spend time with a friend you haven’t seen in a long time, and having that cozy feeling in a country that is unfamiliar sort of doubles the warmth. Second, Madhu is from India, and Ellie has spent a lot of time there in the past few years, and it was super lovely to have people explaining food and customs and language. Ellie gave us a great lesson in eating with your hands, which served us well for the rest of our trip.

The next day was spent climbing, and after our break from backpacking it felt good to spend a whole day just playing outside.  We started out with some top roping,

took a rest for some lunch and post-lunch napping,

and by the afternoon the guys started doing some lead climbing in what Ellie affectionately and accurately named “poop canyon” (but as long as you stayed upwind the smell wasn’t so bad).

The routes we did were right next to a temple, and there were monkeys poking around and showing us up for most of the day.

Since most of us hadn’t been climbing regularly, we decided to spend the next morning checking out the nearby cave temples and then get a little more climbing in during the afternoon. I hadn’t thought too hard about what “cave temple” meant, and having lived, worked, and backpacked in the desert of Utah, the walls of sandstone that we were seeing were very familiar. However, seeing intricate temples carved into this familiar looking stone really took my breath away.

The sandstone has beautiful sediment patterns in it, and you can see those patterns as they work their way across the back walls of the temples, and even from pillar to pillar.

The Buthnath temple  is atop a hill opposite the cave temples, and we wandered our way over, exploring the other shrines and structures along the way.

The Buthnath temple had some lovely views as well as some lovely shade, so we sat for awhile and shared some chai.

We wandered back to town through a local fruit and vegetable market,

and on our way I had my first green coconut to drink. Instead of waiting for them to get brown and fully developed, these are picked when they’re still green, so there’s lots of delicious coconut water inside. THEN you have it cut in half and you can scoop out the soft white coconut goo that’s just starting to form on the inside. A drink and a snack in one! This quickly became my favorite treat in India.

After lunch and a quick nap, we headed out to the canyons right behind our hotel. It’s a super beautiful area, and full of bolted routes – many of them thanks to Madhu and friends of his. Unfortunately some of the bolts get taken, so you have to bring our own hardware.  Madhu came prepared with replacements, and Ben got to lead climb with a crescent wrench for the first time.

We climbed to our hearts content,

and then scrambled up a bit higher to watch the sunset. Ben had been carrying around our last bottle of Spanish wine, and we sat in the fading light sharing stories and sipping wine.

That night we went back to what had quickly become our favorite spot for meals – a small spotless place with a few tables where you could see the women in the next room making fresh chapattis (sort of like tortillas). The restaurant served thalis, which is kind of like an all-you-can-eat deal. On your plate you’ll have a dahl and a curry, along with some kind of chutney and pickle. First you get two chapattis, and when you’ve finished those, they bring you rice and sambar. You can get more of anything, but by the time I was finished with my rice I was usually stuffed to the gills.

Climbing and exploring had worn us all out, so we headed to bed early promising to get up early to squeeze in a little more climbing before Ben and I had to catch our bus the next day. Madhu really wanted to Ben to try out a route that looked both fun and terrifying (depending on your definition of fun. Or terrifying.)

The next morning we had the best chow chow bat in town, which is a meal that solved my long standing breakfast dilemma: sweet or savory? Chow chow bat is two scoops of a grain (similar in size and texture to couscous), but one is savory and spicy, and the other is sweet. Perfect. It would be nice if I had a picture to show you, but I always seemed to have inhaled it all long before I thought about taking my camera out. (This is actually true of a lot of the lovely food we ate. Sorry.)

We headed back to poop canyon, and Madhu and Ben got set up while Ellie and I headed up top to see what we could see from the other side of the canyon. It’s an easy walk up on the other side (this is where they had set up top ropes the first day), and I thought it’d be fun to get some pictures looking down into the canyon.

Ben and Madhu made it look fun and easy, I got too scared by the big swing out, which I had to deal with anyway,

And then one of the local kids gave it a try IN HIS SNEAKERS and totally put me to shame.

There’s a local organization that Madhu would be doing a week-long climbing camp for local kids in the spring, and Madhu had said that a lot of the kids will play around in the canyons, but most of them don’t have any equipment (shoes, ropes, etc).

We scooted back to town in time to rinse off, grab a snack and dash to catch our bus, which was already pulling out of the bus station. As we ran to get on and doled out quick hugs, I felt a flood of gratitude for our time with Ellie and Madhu. At some point in our travels a woman we met remarked on how quickly you form connections with people when you’re a stranger in a strange land. An afternoon of speaking the same language with someone, and suddenly you feel like close friends. I think this may be doubly true of people you already know and like, and although I knew we all had fun places to move on to, the coziness of our time in Badami had felt like a little bit of home. As we waved goodbye from the bus window I wasn’t quite ready to let go.

(Thank you Ellie and Madhu!!)

We arrived in Hampi in late afternoon, and thanks to some advice from some friends in the know, headed straight over to Manju’s Place, which became our quiet little piece of heaven over the next few days. We rented ourselves our second coco hut, and decided to try and scamper up the closest hill to catch a glimpse of the oncoming sunset.

Our first full day in Hampi we decided to get up early and make our way to the Vitthala temple, which meant a lovely walk along the river. This was our first glimpse of how the temples and landscape seem to fold into one another, each accentuating the other.

The Vitthala temple was the first temple we visited in India, and to be honest, I had no idea what we were getting ourselves into. The size and the detail are incredible. First I was impressed by how towering things were

and the next minute I was blown away by just how many figures are carved into every surface.

Once we were inside the temple we just wandered, taking it all in. The temple has external walls, and then the inside is sort of like a courtyard with a variety of smaller buildings spread out here and there. My two favorite parts were the stone chariot (apparently those wheels used to turn!)

and the delicate looking pillars that are capable of making music. The pillars are solid pieces of stone, and if you bang on them they will make different tones. Too many enthusiastic tourists over the years have made them unstable, so there is now a guard lurking nearby to make sure you don’t try to play any of your favorite tunes. They are still lovely to look at.

After an hour or two with our jaws on the ground we were getting pretty hot and thirsty, so we retreated to a shady spot for some water and a snack. We decided to take an alternative route back towards the center of Hampi and just see what we might run into. This was sort of our first lesson in “there’s a temple around every corner.”

This area was part of another local bazaar, that lead up to the Achutaraya temple, which had some similarities to the Vitthala temple. One of the best things about this area was that there was a path going up and over a nearby hill, so we got a great view over the area.

By now it was getting close to 2pm and there had been no lunch. Rumor had it that Mango Tree was the best place to relax, and it turned out to be true. I think the general theme for our time in Hampi was fun explorations in the hot sun bookended by quiet time in the shade with pineapple lassis or cool kingfishers. Mango Tree has tiered seating that looks out over the river, all shaded by an enormous old mango tree. While the meal was pricier than most of our meals in India, it felt worth it both for the deliciousness of the food and the ambiance.

Day two was our second scooter adventure of the trip, so first an important disclaimer: don’t worry Mom, I have no intention of owning or regularly riding a scooter. HOWEVER: they are really fun to explore on. Similarly to Goa, the roads we were riding on tended to have more cows than cars, and we were generally going pretty slow. But India is HOT (I know, I know, it’s technically winter), and it was great to have a breeze in our faces and just be able to putter wherever we wanted without having to do any fare negotiation.

First stop was the Hanuman temple (named so because it is thought to be the birthplace of Hanuman). We had seen this temple from across the river the day before, a shining white temple with white staircase climbing up the side of a large hill.The stairs wander in and around the boulders, making for a beautiful, if steep, climb.

We reached the top and poked around a bit. We met a man who asked if we would take his picture for him, which Ben gladly did, and then he asked if he could take a picture with us. By now Ben and I had kind of gotten used to Indian families asking if they could take pictures with us, and while I don’t totally understand the draw (other than how cute we are, obviously), I was happy to do so. (Except for the few times when moms would drag over small children who were so terrified of us they were crying and trying to run away. We didn’t pose for those pictures.) Ben took a picture of me with him, and then we switched so that he and Ben were together. After one photo the man came and borrowed my sunglasses. Then he came and borrowed my hat. Then he held Ben’s hand. At this point I made them stay for a minute so I could grab my camera as well.

There were monkeys everywhere, which makes sense, as Hanuman is the Monkey God, so any and every monkey seems to be encouraged with bananas and other treats. They were perfectly comfortable coming close to us, but didn’t do any harassing since it was clear we didn’t have any food. My favorite bunch was this little family, who sat grooming each other for a few minutes before going over to the morning banana hand out.

The temple itself is small, but seems like it has many devotees who came and went regularly while we were there (which is saying something, given the walk up!). The view is pretty incredible, and we spent some time wandering up and over the nearby rocks.

We poked around a nearby town and wandered into a spot for a snack. The man in charge took one look at us and said, “you need some puris,” and headed into the kitchen. A few minutes later we were snacking on some yummy puris and curry and deciding that he was right, we had needed some puris. I also had my first fresh lime soda (fresh lime juice + plain soda + sugar) and knew I’d found my favorite solution to the heat.

On our way to the Hanuman Temple we’d passed a sign for a lake which sounded appealing, so we decided to check it out. We grabbed another liter of petrol (which, you should know, you can literally pick up anywhere. You may not see a gas pump for days, but almost every little store sells petrol in soda bottles, and when you can’t find an open store (if it’s 3pm and everyone is snoozing), it turns out that the locals will point you towards someone’s home, and they will insist you enter the living room, and sure enough, that person will sell you a liter (or two!) of petrol.)

Anyway! Off to the lake, where we found a nice spot to get our feet wet and stay cool for a bit. We chatted with two friendly guys from Scotland, both of whom laughed and sympathized with how much we’d been rained on during our time in Scotland.

One more stroll through the bustling Hampi Bazaar,

and then home to the magical Manju’s Place.

After a day in the hot sun, it was a wonderful place to come back to, take a cool shower, sit in the shade, and figure out what delicious thing you’d like Manju to make you for dinner. The food was great and cheap, and the crowd was friendly and mellow — mostly folks wanting to stay near the Hampi boulders and do some bouldering (which we were itching to do as well, but no shoes. Sigh.) One night Manju chatted with us for awhile and talked about how someone is always asking him why he doesn’t get a big TV or speakers or LED lights all over the place, and he said that he likes his place the way it is. There are plenty of places showing movies and blasting music and throwing parties. He wants his place to be about conversation and being able to relax after a day in the area. And it really is — I think I was able to enjoy the temples and heat and haze all the more because at the end of the day there was this cool calm spot just waiting for us to come home to.

Our last day in Hampi was spent at the Royal Palace, which is epically epic. My favorite things were the pieces that were different than what we had seen before. There were epic walls everywhere, some of which looked more stable than others.

And then there was the Queen’s Bath, which was just beautiful. It was easy to imagine it full of water, and I could practically hear water running over the edge and into the pool, complemented by the ladies’ laughter as they cool themselves on a hot day. Something about the space felt really soothing, and I found myself walking around the bathhouse a few times, enjoying the structure and my imaginings of it. I’m sure Ben will be able to build one for me at some point.

Later that afternoon I headed out to the post office and to do some other errand-y things. As I waited for the ferry to cross back over the river (a 90 second journey on a fairly small boat) I saw a group of young girls all hurrying towards the river — their ages and demeanor made me think it was a school group, and their excitement about the river made me feel sure they didn’t see this river everyday. They splashed and giggled and slipped and fell and giggled some more. It was hard to not to just grin at them in all of their teenage girly-ness, and a few of them tried to wave me over to play with them. They had a few teachers with them, one of whom was a middle-aged man, slightly round in the middle, who had been standing with his back to me most of the time, sort of surveying the scene. All of a sudden this man lets out a whoop and busts out some A-MAZING Bollywood dance moves, and the girls just lost it — shrieking, dancing, jumping up and down. The whole thing was adorable, and their giddiness was contagious.

About 10 minutes later I was waiting on the ferry, and as it was the middle of the day it was full of foreigners. The boat was mostly full, and there were two folks who wanted to bring the motorcycles they had rented across the river on the ferry. This is totally doable, but it takes a little maneuvering (it really is a small boat), and there were some language barrier issues. The ferry guys were trying to explain that the bikes had to go on first, and then the renters of the bikes would be able to get on as well. Some of the other folks on the ferry jumped in to try and explain, but the riders were clearly flustered and frustrated, and were really uncomfortable with what they though was the idea that their bikes would go across the river without them.

It was an interesting scene to watch. After our time in Delhi, I definitely understood the feeling of panicky “I don’t understand what’s going on and I feel uncomfortable!” At the same time, I think Ben and I tried to take Delhi and learn from it. One phrase Ben came up with was to “hold our expectations lightly”  — we planned our travels to some extent, but tried not to expect things to turn out as planned. You thought you’d be taking one bus? It’ll be two. You want to take your motorcycles on the teeny boat? Let the ferry guys get them on the teeny boat for you.  I think traveling in India takes some letting go in general, and once we settled into it I feel like I was able to enjoy all of the little moments a lot more, no matter what else might be going on. It didn’t matter that I was on bumpy bus number two of the day, it was great to try and chat with the mom and little boy sitting across from us. It didn’t matter that I had to wait 30 minutes for the ferry, I got to enjoy the giggles of 30 teenage girls.

We needed to find the right bus stand and get some kind of breakfast in us, so we began to wander around the municipal gardens.  We quickly spotted the bus stand and since it was going to be another half hour before any food place we knew about would be open we found some strategic benches across from it to be able to figure out how the whole thing actually worked.  For the most part the busses never fully stopped there but came to a slow crawl along the curb while the guy riding shotgun for the driver hopped out and started chanting the name of the final destination.  Feeling confident we had cracked the code, we headed off to Tato’s for more milk coffee and our first encounter with Idlis (pronounced eed-lees), a nice little steamed rice flour puff with two dipping sauces.

The bus ride down to Palolem started out on a fairly empty bus but by midway through the hour-long trip there wasn’t even much standing room left.  As on the train, knowing when to get off is a bit of a mystery to the newcomer but lots of nice folks have helped us along the way.  The bus made its way down a narrow road lined with bright textile shops on both sides

and finally made an improbable k-turn to signal the end of the line.  We got out and took a quick look around to try and get our bearings and see which direction the beach was.  Subtly glancing around may seem like a safe move, but to the locals trying to get you in their taxis and guest houses,  you might as well be blaring the mating call of an elk through a loud speaker.

Practicing my best hip-height dismissive hand wave, we made it onto the beach

where there were a multitude of guest houses and coco huts, all of which seemed to bleed into each other. It was like trying to figure out what cereal to buy in an American grocery store.  After our third or fourth try we decided to go back to the first one we had seen, more because the folks had been straightforward with us and not pushy than for anything distinguishing in the rooms themselves.

We quickly changed out of our train/bus clothes and went for a stroll on the beach.  It was a very pretty beach and ten years back it was probably a perfect, quiet little slice of heaven but its draw now is too large for that to be true any longer.  The hoards of gringos came in every shade from lobster red to crispy brown to my pasty white.  The older euro-men tended to be in “banana hammocks” and pretty much all the women in just a little more than that.  The Indian men and women swimming in their shorts, undershirts and sarongs made for quite the interesting counterpoint.

We finally found a bit of beach with a little less traffic and went for a swim in the Arabian Sea, which was warm enough to make getting in a pleasure and cold enough to feel like staying for a while.

We decided that we wanted to do a little exploring away from the beach the next morning, and found a family willing to rent us their scooter for the day.

We got a little petrol and were off to find the Nature Preserve.  Though we had started out early to beat the heat, there was also the added bonus of meaning the roads were largely empty.  Driving the scooter helped me to realize all that honking in Dehli wasn’t just to add to the chaotic ambiance, but served the purpose of letting folks know where you were and that you were overtaking or coming round the corner.

In the preserve we walked down a trail

to a tree house they had built about 50m up.

An Indian family was already exploring the area, with two women on their way up the ladder and a father helping the eldest daughter up as well.  Left behind on the ground were three little boys being looked after by grandma.  The scene was pretty cute with the boys often calling up to their mother that they were worried about her and wanted her to come down.  The downside of the boys was that they were loud enough so anything larger than a butterfly was doing its best invisibility act.  But we climbed up and waited for them to go and after ten or fifteen minutes of quiet slowly the noises of the forest came back to life.  On our walk back to the scooter we caught glimpse of our first monkey but it was faster than our camera (even with the quickness setting!)

On the way out of the reserve we stopped at a little place for some brunch and had a nice stilted conversation with the woman running the place about the little community and the neat animals that have wandered through.  Then a Polish couple came in and we had a nice conversation with them and they encouraged us to go see the remnants of the old Portuguese fort and the beach up from Palolem where they were staying.

We hopped back on the scooter, found ourselves another liter of petrol and headed north.  We passed by Palolem and 8km later were in another teeny little town, parked the bike by a bakery and strolled out onto another lovely beach,

but this one was with out speaker systems blaring or someone trying to sell me a dolphin tour every hundred yards.  Though the tree line was still full of coco huts they just felt more mellow and friendly.

If we hadn’t already paid for two nights, I think we would have made a b-line for our things and moved in here.  The water was great and we found ourselves, well me mostly, hunting down all kinds of little crustaceans in the sand and watching this kite cruise over the surf.

After a tasty little treat from the bakery we headed up to the Fort.  It was tucked right up against the coast.  We walked through the large main gate to a somewhat bizarre scene, several families cooking afternoon meals out in front of a church and the fort walls slowly crumbling, with grass and shrubs taking root anywhere they could find a crack, and thick forest behind.  We walked along the wall soon realizing that the thick forest was actually inside the fort and followed the wall around until there was a small portico

that we popped through and made our way down to the waters edge.  Despite the haze the view of the rugged coast was spectacular.  Many of the rocks were a rich red, and pocked like the volcanic rocks of Iceland.

After Em talked me out of climbing the coconut tree to get some fresh coconuts we made our way back to the fort wall and found another great lookout.  It was getting late and we wanted to be sure that we were back before sunset so we headed back towards the entrance past some shells of building and a huge banyan tree.  On the way home we hit the afternoon traffic jam of cattle but made our way through.

We had been too hasty in our dining the night before and missed the post sunset fresh fish BBQ that every place has, so we took our time to find a place this night and settled in with a drink.  The array of fresh caught seafood was laid out in ice tubs and wonderful looking.  Emily had a red snapper and I should have had the giant prawns, but we still had a lovely dinner over cards.

The next morning we headed back to Madgoan with the thought that we might be able to switch out train ticket leaving the following morning to a direct bus ticket leaving tonight but the only travel agency we knew of decided not to open in the afternoon and so we opted to spend the night.  We walked around town during the rush hour commute but were given several gifts for sticking around for the night.  The first was a great bookstore, The Golden Emporium,

in which Em was able to get a new book to work on and I found some travel guides for countries we’ll be going to but don’t actually have much info on.  We also managed to find a great little bakery amongst the old Portugese style buildings of the old city,

and got ourselves some cheesy onion bread, chocolate croissants, and chocolate balls for the train ride in the morning.

PART ONE: Four (!!) Rounds at the New Delhi Train Station

Yes, you read that right: FOUR. First to be confused, second time for moderate success, third to bring enough cash, and fourth to change all of our tickets. Sigh.

A brief intro into train booking in India: there are general quota seats (for any and everyone) and tourist quota seats, which are only for international tourists.  You can buy general quota tickets online, but to get tourist quota tickets you have to go to the station and prove you are indeed a tourist. The general quota seats on the trains we were hoping to get on were all booked, but the New Delhi train station has an international tourist booking office that was supposed to be extremely helpful. The catch, apparently, was FINDING the office, because apparently the train station was where Delhi touts are at their absolute worst, and they would do just about anything to prevent you from getting to the real booking office (in order to get you to a travel agency that would hopefully pay them a commission).

Round One: We arrive at the train station still rather jet-lagged and out of it, and here come the hoards of dudes trying to tell us to go the other way. “Come back this way!” “Do you need tickets?” I was in the mindset that we shouldn’t listen to a thing anyone said, and was doing my best to try to ignore the guy standing 10 inches from my face talking faster than the micro-machine guy while simultaneously looking for any sign of the tourist booking office. Ben pointed out that this guy might just be saying we needed to go up the other stairs (which I think translated into stop being so rude), so we started talking to him about what we were looking for and what we needed. He started explaining many things that I now realize were a mix of truth and lies (the best way to sucker people in!) and in our fogginess we actually did get dragged to a different tourist office (by which time we realized we’d be had).

Round Two: This time, success. The ticket office (once found) was indeed helpful, although we didn’t have enough rupees for all of our tickets.

Round Three: This time there was a huge line of folks waiting to have their baggage scanned, but people without bags were heading right into the station. As we headed towards the entrance, one of the train station employees asked us where we were trying to go. I had read that even some of the train station employees will try to steer you away from the tourist ticket office, and after all of the touts the first time around I opened my mouth to lie my face off just so he would let us in the door when Ben said, “The tourist booking office.” And the man smiled, pointed us in the right direction, and ushered us in. My jaw fell on the ground, and I almost started to cry – both because he had been so nice (after so many instances of wheedling and convincing and touting) and also because I felt bad that I had been assuming the worst.

Round Four: The loveliest part about Delhi was meeting up with a NOLS instructor, Punit, who has worked out of the NOLS India base up in Ranikhet. He had offered to met us for coffee so he could help us figure out options for a short trek to peek at the Himalayas.  Punit was great – he took over my notebook, writing out the days we had, and where we should go on each day. What became apparent to all of us was that we didn’t really have enough time to get very far. He walked us through a potential itinerary, which sounded lovely, but was definitely going to be different than Ben and I had thought. Mostly I think we had assumed that we would be able to get out hiking right from the NOLS base, but it turned out we would have to spend atleast a day on buses and jeeps before we could start hiking.

Sometime around 11pm I ended up doing the math in my head of the days ahead, and realized that out of the next 14 days, 9 would be spent on trains/buses/jeeps and 5 (FIVE!!) would be spent actually hiking or climbing. Ben is amazingly adept at driving for 16 hours in a row or functioning without sleep, but I’m really not. And one part of our current travel plan included taking a bus to a train to another train to a bus to a bus over the course of 3 days.

So we talked about it and decided to replan our time, with dedicated pinkie swearing that we would return to the Himalayas for a serious exploration in the future. Of course, this meant that we needed to go back for round four at the train station, but by that time we were professionals.

PART TWO: The Metro.

Let me start by saying that the Delhi metro is pretty great — the stations we went to were efficient and clean, and best of all, there’s a separate security line for women that is ALWAYS way shorter than the men’s line, which is payback for all of the bathroom lines we have to stand in.

The first incident was all my fault –  we got on the platform just as a train arrived, and the car closest to us seemed rather full. Worried that we wouldn’t get on, I dragged Ben down to the next car, which seemed much less packed (plus it seemed to be full of women in beautiful saris!). And it was less packed… it was just that the car was for ladies only. It took me a minute to realize it, mostly because I was busy admiring all of the saris, but finally a little old lady tapped me on the shoulder and said (with a sideways and slightly grumpy gesture towards Ben), “He can’t be here.” Luckily we just had to go to the edge of the car, where it seemed all the boyfriends hang out while their girlfriends stay in the ladies car. Which, I have to admit, is quieter and prettier than the other cars.

The other craziness was just the sheer number of people in the Metro during rush hour, and you are talking to a woman who spent two years commuting in New York City, so it’s not like I’m unfamiliar with mobs of people. Folks wait in “line” where the doors will open, and there’s no pretense of waiting for people to get off. In fact, it might be even harder to get OFF the metro than it is to get on it. One woman, seeing that I was not pushing nearly hard enough, put her hands firmly on my lower back and just shoved us both onto the train. We grinned at each other once we were both on, me grateful for the help, while she was just amused at me.

PART THREE: Auto Rickshaws

For the most part, the auto rickshaw experience had been as expected. Flag one down while you’re outside of touristy areas and you can easily get a reasonable fare. Hail one near the train station and they want twice as much for the same distance and aren’t even interested in haggling with you. However, it was the best way to experience Delhi traffic — they drive on the left. Mostly. Except when it might be faster to go around to the right. They zoom through openings you can’t imagine even this little auto rickshaw could squeeze through and they do it in style! Half of the time I was terrified and the other half of the time I was delighted.

One of the things you sort of take for granted in a auto rickshaw or taxi situation is that they will take you where you ask to go. Or that when you ask to get out, they will let you. Our last auto rickshaw ride in Delhi actually turned out to be the most ridiculous interaction of our entire time there, mostly because neither of those things turned out to be true. Basically our rickshaw driver tried to take us to the wrong place and then charge us MORE to take us to our hotel. Given that our hotel wasn’t super central, we always made sure to have the drivers repeat back to us where we wanted to go. When we realized he wasn’t going the way we were used to, Ben reminded him that we wanted to go to Karol Bagh. The driver got all indignant, saying he had heard us say something else, and he would lose money taking us to Karol Bagh from where we were now, etc etc. At this point we both just tell him to let us out. I tell him we’ll pay his fare for where he’s taken us, but we want to get out. Then he proceeds to zoom in and around traffic, trying to prevent us from getting out of the rickshaw.

It’s weird to figure out what tone of voice you use with someone who is sort of holding you hostage in a small tin-like vehicle with no doors. Pleading? Yelling? Some amount of laughter at how ridiculous the situation is? We both tried all of the above, and he did end up taking us where we wanted to go, and I realize now that we weren’t really in any danger, although at the time both of us were pretty shaken.

Although our experience in Delhi was really just a whirlwind of trying to get to and from the train station numerous times in a small amount of time, it gave us two priceless gifts. One was that we left Delhi with all of our train tickets for our 5 weeks in India in hand, so there would be no more train planning needed (hooray!). The other was that after Delhi, the rest of India seemed incredibly friendly, mellow, and manageable.

Once in Heathrow we managed to navigate to the appropriate terminal…     …and then I drifted off to the Duty Free store.  So, Ok, maybe I do have a little thing for them.  Throughout most of my life I hate shopping — there are so many versions of the same thing at different prices and of different qualities. How are you supposed to know what’s worth it? To add to this I see most things as superfluous material junk, though my parents can attest that I am slowly acquiring a larger and larger pile of said superfluous junk, which I don’t really want and certainly don’t need.  My draw to the Duty Free I think is two fold, the first of which is that if you aren’t having to pay taxes on it, it must be a better deal and everything is in big volume (how can you say no to five pounds of peanut M&M’s?), which also equals better deal.  That being said I rarely actually buy anything, I just ogle a little.  The second part is that it really satisfies the five year old in me that there are signs everywhere with a work that is a phonetic doppelganger for “Doody.”

We also had to get to some phones and make a few calls.  After months abroad, Em’s credit card had decided that one of her charges was odd and shut the card down.  For some reason trying to make a collect call out of Spain was not possible but thankfully UK phones seemed more hospitable.  I needed to get a hold of the hotel that we were supposed to be staying at in Delhi so we could get a ride from the airport (as everything we read said, “don’t get snared by touts outside the airport”). Sadly for all my emailing and searching on the web (well, google maps at least) I couldn’t tell whether the hotel actually existed or not, and in theory we were going to be there in under 12 hours.  After having both Indian numbers fail for me I called my credit card, whose reward points I’d used to book the room, and talked to a real nice southern woman who managed to get right through to the hotel.  It was kind of a confusing conversation and we didn’t get the ride we needed organized but I did get a warm fuzzy feeling knowing that at least the place did exist and were expecting us.

We hopped onto our Kingfisher plane, the name Kingfisher it turns out is more associated with beer than airlines to most in India, and settled in for our 8+ hour flight.  It was how I remembered flying from the good old days with delivered meals and cocktails, with the added bonus of individualized screens on the back of the seat.  We both settled into our selections from the ample movie library: him X-men: Origins, her the first X-men.  We ate dinner and chatted for a bit and dove into our second movies both of equally high caliber.  I tend not to sleep so well on things that move and so I continued down the bad action movie road as Em went to sleep.

As the sun started poking out we began to get glimpses of the world below us and I was blown away.  Checking the in-flight map we were flying over Afghanistan and Pakistan.  There was a wonderful dusting of snow over the hills and wonderful mountain ranges, it was all I could do not to try and rip the window open to be able to get a better view.  I know things are not to welcoming to my kind at the moment but I look forward to the day I can go explore those mountains!

The boarder control went smoothly and finally we got through to the outside world found a phone and more importantly, coffee.  After a little working through the language and volume barrier it became clear that we should get a prepaid taxi.  We found the booth, paid them and then the right stand and a nice young man helped us load the pigs, our packs that is, into the van and away we went.

Being a passenger in Delhi traffic is what I imagine you feel like trying to survive an avalanche.  It was both awesome and at times a little scary. Lines on the road (when there are any) are generally ignored in favor of using horns to let folks know where to drive.  Though we took bigger roads to get to Karol Bagh, the area where are hotel was, in the district the roads clamp down significantly.  Here there is a general sense of drive on the left but really mostly you drive wherever you can swerve around the guy in front of you.  I think it was the point where the driver started asking us where the hotel was that I began to get a little nervous.  We of course had no idea and were hoping that he would, apparently unfounded.  It looked like there was no hotel for a while, but finally one of us spotted it and we clambered in the hotel, signed in, and collapsed into bed for a direly needed sleep.

Beyond the Gaudi sites and bustling wide streets full of shops, there is a quiet, old-world quality to Barcelona tucked among the smaller twisty-turn-y streets. Maybe it’s because I’ve read two beautiful and mysterious books that take place in Barcelona (this one was my favorite), but there was something about these areas that really drew me in and made me want to wander for hours.

One of our first days in Barcelona we went to see the Santa Maria del Mar Church, which was beautiful in its simplicity and symmetry. We exited out the other end of the church, and ran into a little wine bar that Ben and I had been hoping to stop at. They had a lovely wine list and we shared some wine, ate some cheese, and decided whatever the little bird they brought us to snack on was delicious.

While we sat, a woman came into the middle of the square and sort of meandered around aimlessly. She wouldn’t have really been that noticeable if she hadn’t been carrying around a table with her. Soon enough she had set up a small speaker and was dancing with her table. And when I say with, I mean the table was her partner. It was actually pretty incredible the way she spun around in the table’s arms (I mean, legs) and got into dramatic backbends and “lifts.”

My favorite part was the end, where after some funny scooting around with this piece of cloth that looked more like a bag than anything else, she transformed herself into a ship.

I loved it.

Another magical corner was an area I discovered while trying to hunt down a yarn shop. My first attempt was foiled, but when I returned, armed with not one but THREE addresses, I not only found a delightful little yarn shop

but also this little shoe shop.

Something about the shoes in the window made me feel like the store was from another time, so I stayed outside the shop to keep my illusion intact.

We stumbled upon the Barcelona Cathedral one rainy afternoon, and spent a few hours admiring the graceful arches and guarding geese (seriously!).

Another favorite spot was the Palau de Musica, which is a beautiful old theater. Mom had wanted to go there just to see the building, but when I took a look online I realized there was a Spanish guitar concert that night and we decided to get tickets. The building itself is lovely – most of the buildings columns are covered in intricate colorful tile, and the inside of the theater is both dramatic and intimate.

The musician was really quite talented – he played some classical music, some classic Spanish guitar music and some works that he had arranged himself. At one point he played a song written by a friend of his who had written the piece after he had lost his son and almost lost his wife, and the sorrow that came through the guitar strings was tangible.

My favorite part of the whole night was the end of the concert when he came back out for an encore – not because it was my favorite song, but because the combination of songs and gestures and general comedy made my mom laugh so hard. And if you’ve ever attended any play/musical/theater event with my mother, you will know that having her laugh next to you will probably be the best part of the show. She was laughing so hard she was crying, which in turn made me laugh so hard I cried, and Ben just chuckled at the two of us.

The sentimental side of me just needs to give my mom a huge shout out for coming all the way to Spain to hang out with me and Ben. It’s one thing to decide to go on a big round-the-world adventure, but I think part of what made it possible to really take that leap was not only knowing we had the support of our families, but having them come across a big ocean to see us and be a part of it all. Which meant more to me than I could have realized.

Thanks, Mom. I love you.

1. Last peeks at Spain.

2. The madness that was Delhi.

3. The beaches of South Goa.

4. The temples and incredible landscape of Hampi.

5. Rock climbing with friends in Badami!

6. An inside look at a yoga ashram (how does Emily handle eating only two meals a day? how do Ben and Emily handle hours of meditation and chanting starting at 6am?? stay tuned to find out.)

In the meantime, we hope you’re enjoying holiday time — family and friends, good food, general coziness in life. It’s hard to be on the other side of the world at a time we are used to hugging loved ones.  But knowing that we have all of you dropping in on our blog helps to warm the cockles of our hearts, having you all interested in what we are doing is a wonderful gift. Thanks for following our adventure!

Park Guell was my favorite of all of the Gaudi work that we saw. In part because it was outside, and obviously I’m a sucker for that kind of thing. But it was also the combination of bight mosaic-ed color along with the warm natural tones that made up the stone walkways. There were arches and pillars that echoed the geometric patterns you see in many churches, but with a twist: pillars leaned in towards you, stones were not cut with smooth or perfect edges, but had a beauty all their own. Some made me think of tree bark, others of the dribble castles I would make endlessly at the beach as a little girl.

The color, symmetry, archways and nature made Park Guell a place that I somehow felt both in awe of and extremely comfortable in.

Our next Gaudi excursion was La Pedrera, which was his last civil work before he devoted all of his time to La Sagrada Familia. La Pedrera, also known as Casa Mila, was built for the Mila family between 1906 and 1910. My two favorite parts were getting to see the roof and the museum that takes up the “attic” of the building.

The “attic” was amazing for its archways, and the models on display that really helped me understand the construction of the rooftop.

I also really loved all of the colors in the inner courtyard.

We almost didn’t go to Sagrada Familia, mostly because the line that is constantly wrapped around the side of the building of people waiting to get in seemed like more work than we were willing to put in. But after seeing Guell Park and then La Pedrera, my mom and I were both really taken with Gaudi’s work, and decided we’d regret not going. A little internet research got us the “don’t wait in the big line” tickets, and we followed the advice of some friends who had said to go first thing in the morning.  So while Ben took care of a little matter, Mom and I made our way over to the church named for the Sacred, or Holy Family.

This church has been the work of many artists over the last 110 years or more, and they are still working on it. There are cranes all over the place, and we even saw one worker being lowered down over one façade to get in some detailed jackhammering.

I had been really impressed with Gaudi’s work, and had definitely developed a crush on it. But Sagrada Familia truly convinced me that he was a brilliant artist. Not that his other works aren’t spectacular as well, but there are so many different aspects of the church that are so meaningful, beautiful, and striking. There is honestly no way to do this place justice in words or photographs, so I’ll just tell you the few things that really struck me.

There are four sides, and four very different facades to the church. Two that face opposite each other are the “Passion Façade” and the “Nativity Façade.”  The Passion Façade is a combination of smooth planes, sharp edges, and bleak in color and feeling. The faces that are clearest are full of mourning and sorrow.

The Nativity Façade is warmer in color and overrun with detail. Here the faces are full of love, devotion, and awe. I have to say that this was one area where I was grateful for the audio guide, because when you first look at the Nativity Façade, it’s overwhelming, and a little hard to figure out where to look.

But take a minute to sit back and look at all of the amazing pieces of it, and you see this intimate scene of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

The three Kings kneel nearby, offering their gifts.

Then you go inside, and you stare and stare. The pillars are soaring, the light coming in is soft and yet illuminating, the stained glass windows add depth and simple beauty.

Gaudi devoted himself to Sagrada Familia for the last 20 years of his life, and he is buried in a crypt within the church.

Perhaps what is so incredible about all of Gaudi’s work is that it combines so many elements. Nature, Christianity, classic lines, whimsical curves, brilliant colors, and subtle neutral tones.  It’s hard NOT to be surprised by his work, because just when you think you’ve seen “Gaudi’s style,” you turn the corner and see something totally different, but somehow familiar.

So back in early August we printed out of all of the forms to get our India Visas, filled them up, and got a good friend to give us the contact information of an uncle who lives in India.  Then off to the post office in Silver Bay to get some outgoing and return envelopes, and deal with getting a money order, perhaps the most annoying part.  We sent our passports off to the visa-processing center in NYC, and went on our way up to Maine.  When we got to New Jersey for our last week of prep our passports were there waiting for us. Easy!

But easy is sooo boring and my subconscious took over to give me a personal challenge.

2) THROW THAT VISA IN A RIVER. I had a little incident where my passport and I were separated and so my visa was gone as well.  I managed get a new passport relatively quickly, but suddenly I was five weeks away from entering India with no visa. The Indian consulate in Edinburgh said it would take them three weeks for them to process it (roughly 13 more days than we had).

3) GO TO A COUNTRY WHERE YOU DON’T SPEAK THE LANGUAGE. Really, as much as it was a trial to get a new passport, it was never that bad.  A few logistical hurdles for sure but nothing that seemed impossible.  So I turned my eyes to Spain.  Here there would be the added challenge of not knowing the language at all.  This turned out to add a layer of challenge to everything yet to come.

4) TAKE SOME TIME OFF AND SEE THE SIGHTS. I found that out that there was an Indian Embassy in Madrid and a Consulate in Barcelona.  We flew into Madrid, but our time there was only long enough to have dinner, a nap, and breakfast.

We drove off to Andalusia where we were treated to the wonderful towns of Ronda, Cordoba and the Costa del Sol in general.

5) PRINT THE PAPERWORK. A week or so later we jumped a train from Malaga to Barcelona. The first order of visa business was to get the paperwork printed and filled out.  We headed over to a nearby printshop, but of course it was closed as we were still trying to figure out the subtleties of hours of operation in Spain.  We decided that we would have to wait until the following morning and go as soon as it opened to be able to get to the Visa office as early as possible.  Though it meant getting to the visa office later it did give us the chance to make some copies of my new passport as well as print out some new copies of our plane tickets.

6) FIND THE CONSULATE. Finding the consulate online turned out to be a bit challenging even using our old friend google maps.  The first several times that I entered the address it showed me a largely abandoned road next to a F1 racetrack an hour or so outside of the city, which seemed quite unlikely. So instead I searched Arke BLS  (the name of the consulate) and up popped a pin in the right spot. The street view did not fill me with confidence, but seemed more right than the empty road by the racetrack.  We then navigated the bus system with the help of my teeny electronic map,

getting off in an area that was a mix of corporate park and box store wasteland. We followed our trail and went deeper into corporate park land, finally finding this

Well, at least we made it to where google said we would get.  I think if we had not seen the picture we would have felt greater confidence that we were in fact heading to a consulate or even just a processing center but this was not the façade I was expecting.  It was not until another man went through a small door over on one side of the building that we actually considered going inside. We followed him into a tiny office with a woman at a desk and some black and white pictures printed on a home printer of the Taj Mahal and elephants.

7) FIGURE OUT THE PAPERWORK. I knew I was missing some pieces of the application but wasn’t sure what to do about it. Thanks to Emily’s and the woman-behind-the-desk’s translation skills we found out that we had to get a receipt of deposit into one of their bank accounts and an address where we could send a courier envelope. But we could not come back that afternoon because the only accept applications in the morning.

8) FIGURE OUT HOW TO PAY FOR YOUR VISA. Making a wire transfer conjured up a picture of old times. Like “olde” old. Perhaps that’s because I’ve only ever seen them done in old movies about heading to Africa or something.  Or maybe It’s that I mix it in my mind with the telegraph.  Anyway, trying to organize a wire turns out to involve filling out a lot of forms in person at your home bank which clearly I wasn’t going to be capable of doing, but fortunately Em’s mom had just done a wire transfer through a third party and we began to put the pieces together missing just a four character code that we could find no reference to on the website at all.

So I sent a frantic email asking for it, and ran out to find a bank on the list that would give us their bank code.  We found one bank on their list and after a little confusion realized that particular location was a commercial branch, then ran to the next bank where after a little confusion we got a code.  Upon returning to the apartment, I got an email saying that the visa center doesn’t take foreign transfers but that we could deposit cash into one of their accounts.

I always thought US banking hours were inconvenient but the Spaniards really have us beat.  It was five ‘til three on my watch and the banks generally close at three.  We turned on our heels and ran back to the bank, cash and account number in hand. We just got past the guard locking the door and to the teller and got our receipt of deposit just before being ushered out.

9) DEPEND ON THE KINDNESS OF STRANGERS. Now all we needed was an address to have the passport and new visa sent in three weeks.  The only snag there was that we had no idea where we were going to be.  We had been hoping to make our way across eastern Europe to see a friend in Istanbul but these aspirations were obviously dead now as the Visa would take up to three weeks (frighteningly close to the day we supposed to fly to India).  Here fate and the amazing international web created by those working to abate the climate crisis started to serve us in perhaps the most tangible way I have known.  A colleague of my sisters was living in Barcelona said he was more than happy to let us use his address. Thank you Oscar!

10) JUMP THE LANGUAGE BARRIER. Finally I had all the pieces together!  The next morning I headed out on my own, both to not drag Em along on anther boring excursion and to give her some time with her mom to explore Sagrada Familia.  I got to the office and all was going so well until she got to the line with my phone number.  It was my phone back in the states, but it had to be a Spanish number, which again I obviously don’t have.  The woman behind the desk said it was not possible to submit without one. We had gotten as far as we could using exaggerated facial expressions and hand waving. Finally I begged to use her computer to use google translator.

Here we started to break the barrier a bit, with her understanding that I didn’t have any sort of Spanish phone number.  So I asked if I could email Oscar to ask for his phone number, which she was happy to let me do. She then typed something into the translator that came out in English as “Hope!”

After sitting for ten minutes, I realized that whatever number I put in there I would never receive a call from so I might as well find any Spanish number.  So again I asked to get on the internet, found the group Oscar worked for and found an office number. With that, all the paperwork was finished and all that was left was for it to get mailed back hopefully a day before we were to leave for India.

11) WORK ON YOUR BAKING SKILLS. We spent a few more days with Em’s mom before heading southwest down the coast to a small house in Sant Pere de Ribes.  The forced respite in Ribes turned out to be a blessing.  We worked through our graduate school essays, worked on perfecting our technique for both wheat bread and croissants.

12) GET A VISA. After two weeks of writing and puttering and cooking we finally got the email confirming that a package for me had made it to the flat. We planned a little excursion into Barcelona starting with a hunt for some yarn stores and then to the only, as far as I could tell, brew pub in Barcelona for my first beer in a month (Yes a whole month without beer when beer* was available everywhere!  I kind of want to rant on about my beer experience but maybe another time), then over to Oscar’s flat where his flat mate met me at the door with a courier package.  I barely made it down the stairwell before I ripped it open and there, TADA!, was a brandy new visa.

I was going to join Emily in India after all.

Ahhhhh.

* Here I am talking about the that wretched industrial piss water masquerading as pilsner served ice cold to hide its putrid nature throughout world.  Se most things being spit out by InBev