Valentines Day Eve in Darjeeling

to begin this post, I have to pull myself away from our cosy woodburning stove with the crooked pipe.. I must wind my way slowly, treacherously switching back on myself down down down this immense slope of a quiet fog-wrapped existence in Darjeeling, and remember everything messy that came before..

well. Gregg and I have been talking a lot about if we're just burnt out or if the north has just been a harsher more depressing reality- the truth is probably somewhere in between..

From the last post in semi-peaceful Pushkar (yet still full of people who want something from you..) Gregg arose from the sleeping bag like a man reborn.. no more itchy-ness and no more fever, but a little bit changed I think. I can't tell if it was the fever or the reading of Siddhartha with a fever, but he is eating less and feeling overwhelmed by the dirt and pollution.. We think it may be an up and down existence in India, two weeks of exhilaration, two weeks of disgust- that has been my pattern.

We left Pushkar on a night near or on the full moon. We dined at our favorite restaurant (Third Eye- Israeli and delicious- and you can eat the fruit!!) and met two people from China who grew up in New Jersey(!!).. They gave us hints for China and we talked for a long time- the huge yellow moon was rising over the rooftop restaurant and we immediately slipped into that deeper level of relationship that traveling induces.. Our discussion was so intense that I seem to have thrown the bus tickets onto my empty plate and off it went.. We said goodbye before I realized that I no longer had the tickets. A frantic half hour later they were finally found by the chef in a very gooey state and we ran blindly in a vague direction toward someone who was to drive us to the bus.. It was during this rush in the wrong direction that we discovered the homeless, less lovely part of Pushkar- the bright moon lit hundreds of blanket wrapped bodies lying on the sides of the road. I wondered if these were the priests that tried to sell us prayers or the shopkeepers that sold too little. It was a ghostly reminder of our position in this town. By the way, my last day in Pushkar I bought food for a homeless boy that had been a shadow my whole time there. Such a smile!! I felt so badly that I hadn't bought him something to eat each day there- if I had known the joy it would bring him.. I guess I am sort of burnt out of pity- I can almost ignore the children now, almost. But that numbness scares me.

I also had a wonderful time with the cows on my last day. Have I talked about the cows? Probably- they are one of my favorite parts of India. I have to resist petting all of them.. They are just so nonchalant and calm and they never look desperate or sad.. (even though they are often munching on trash and filling their bellies with plastic..) And even though my first day in Pushkar two baby bulls gave me a head butt, separately, one crossing the road to do it. I was wondering if I smelled like competition, probably at that point I did. But my last day I bought a handful of carrots at the market and spent the day feeding their juicy snouts. They were appropriately appreciative- one even followed me for a while pushing her nose into my butt for more- the shopkeepers got a big kick out of that.. I was almost the pied piper of bovine.

We arrived in Agra, cowless, after another hell ride on the bus. WARNING if you are traveling in India, don't take the private buses unless you or someone you know has seen it first. We realized we had probably made mistake when the jeep that was supposed to drop us off at the bus and "show us which bus to take" left us on the side of a dirt road, alone. Several hours later we entered one of the hottest smelliest vaults I have ever had to suffocate in. There was another class system to this bus: the rich on the top with curtains across these cubicle-like spaces, the middle class in seats that lay back so that you were breathing in some one's lap, and the poor who lay, coughing, on the floor beneath our seats.. and all with horrible breath. It was a long night.

Agra. Oh nasty Agra. How could you hold such a stunning tribute to love and death and be such a shithole? The Taj Mahal is a building that I could just sit and stare at for several hours, which I did. Apparently it changes color with the sunset which I didn't actually see, but I was content in just watching the white marble play with the light. So massive and intricate. But built for a woman after she died giving birth her eleventh child. Maybe she would have preferred to have less children and instead see this incredible building, but who am I to say? I did think of her though when I watched it, how often we express our love when it is too late.

And poor yucky Agra got none of the love from the Taj (and it was expensive!!)

It seemed to be our trek through the north was about death and shit with a tiny slivers of beauty shining through the dirt.

Varanasi. We slept in a tomb of mosquito corpses- hundreds of bloody specks covered the walls- and opened our window to the smoke of the burning dead. And below us, still, sat the septic Ganges. To get to this hotel we had to fight mobs of desperate, almost malicious touts that wanted us to follow them and would cruelly give us the wrong directions.. There is nothing more awkward than sweating with your backpack pushing your way through a cremation ceremony. I felt disgusting. And covered in soot. We had heard so much about the magical aspect to this city and we searched for it in every tiny crooked alleyway. I even got up at 6am to go down to the ghats and watch the bathing.. (we decided not to take a boat because when we asked the man at our hotel if the boats ever tipped over he said "sure all the time, but no problem, the tourists can swim.. Gregg stayed in bed) I saw cold wet people and babies covered with rashes, doused in the dirty water. I did not feel moved. I felt haunted and ill. I imagined how beautiful it must have been at one time- before you could see the crap floating in the river and the buildings slowly started crumbling and sliding into the water..
But today this holy city seems a sewage pipe of souls.

And back on the train to Calcutta.. Another city we sort of wanted to skip but instead got sucked in because our train was 8 hours late (!!) and we missed our connection (for which we had given ourselves a mere 7 hours.) We spent several hours starving in the station while fighting for our money, a ticket, a dose of sanity. Finally a saviour arrived- Mother Theresa, actually, in the form of a train ticket sales agent. He did, in fact, equate himself with Mother T. and he said he loved to help people.. until he asked us if we could get him a job in the U.S., we believed him. So there we were in the city with the most beggars in India with no hotel and it was Late! We took the first hotel that said they had room and got a prepaid taxi. When we arrived it was double the price and the taxi driver was illiterate and couldn't understand from the form that we had paid already. The hotel doorman was so dismissive I felt sorry for him and tried to explain- nothing helped. I wonder if he ever got paid. The room was an overpriced nightmare. More cockroaches and dirt. We did have an excellent dinner though, Calcutta's one high point..

Off the next day to the aforementioned paradise. In two days we will be heading to Sikkim for the Tibetan New Year (wooden mask Chaam Festival) with new friends from Germany and France, and then off to Thailand..

We are sending our love for Valentine's Day, we can't send you any good chocolate, but we can send you a heart-stopping view... (and wrap you in yak wool hugs)

love,
eliza