Every Day is Sunday

In his novel Life of Pi, Yann Martel wrote: “A stint in India will beat the restlessness out of any living creature.”  By the time we arrived in Darjeeling, we certainly felt beat up and far from restless. Our plan was simple: sit, relax and enjoy the famously delicious Darjeeling tea.

Darjeeling differs from other parts of India in some important ways. Perched 7000 feet high in the foothills of the Himalayas, Darjeeling’s skyline is dominated by Khangchedzonga, India’s largest peak and the world’s third-highest mountain. Because of the high attitude, Darjeeling was about 25 degrees cooler than any other city we visited in India.    

Also, there aren’t any cows lining the streets or cow pies to dodge. We could actually walk through the town without keeping our head down. And best of all, the city smells like tea rather than garbage. We finally started to feel like ourselves again.

Darjeeling exports its fine teas all over the world, and we took a tour of the Happy Valley tea factory to see where the magic happens. Happy Valley has an exclusive contract to provide Harrod’s department store with its brand-name teas, so we knew the tea was first-rate.

As you might imagine, Indians in Darjeeling take their tea very seriously. The Cochrane Palace Hotel had their very own expert chai wala on staff with his own tea station and more than 46 teas on the menu.

Our chai wala explained each fragrance and blend in a way that would make a Napa winemaker blush. “The first sip is joy, the second gladness, the third is serenity, the fourth is madness, the fifth is ecstasy.” We found a comfortable spot and put ourselves in his hands.

Darjeeling is also home to the Tenzing Norgay Himalayan Mountaineering Institute.  Norgay, the Nepali Indian Sherpa who led Sir Edmund Hilary on the first-ever Everest summit, is a local hero in this part of the world.

Although we typically don’t like seeing animals in small enclosures, it was worth visiting Darjeeling’s zoo for up-close looks at the beautiful Bengali Tigers and very elusive Snow Leopard.

Wes Anderson fans might be disappointed to know there is no train called the “Darjeeling Limited.” In fact, the only train that runs through Darjeeling is the less glamorous “Himalyan Bird.”  The locals call it the “Toy Train,” and indeed it’s a tiny train that chugs along the street very slowly on its coal-fired engine.  It may not move very fast, but it’s super cute. 

In 522 BCE, a young prince named of Siddhartha Gautama gave up his noble title, his land, and all his worldly possessions and left his family home in search of spiritual enlightenment.  After six years of self-denial, he arrived at a small village at the banks of the sandy Neranjara river.

Prince Siddhartha found a grove in the countryside and settled himself under the spreading branches of a nearby tree to begin his meditation.  He sat under this tree all day and all night until the clouds of ignorance dissolved and he saw the Truth in all its splendor and glory.  At that moment he was no longer Prince Siddhartha; he had become the Awakened One, the Compassionate One, the Light of the World, the Buddha Supreme.

We figured that if the Buddha could achieve enlightenment under a Bodi tree in Bodhgaya, the Wertkinborns could find some peace in this holy city.

Bodhgaya was indeed a welcome change of pace from Rishikesh, Hardwar, Delhi and Varanasi.  As a Buddhist holy site, it is home to dozens of monasteries, hundreds of monks, and thousands of Buddhist pilgrims from all over the world.

Roaming around Bodhgaya felt a little like stepping back in time.  The locals use horses and carriages – not for joyrides around Central park – but as public transportation. 

We spent a few hours each day touring around the various monasteries, and the rest of the time we stayed in bed hoping our fevers would break the next day.  We may not have achieved enlightenment bliss during our week in Bodhgaya, but we both set personal records for number of hours slept in one day –  Jeff: 20 hours; Erin: 16 hours!

After walking through the narrow alleyways of Varanasi dodging motorbikes, garbage, errant cows and shit piles, we stumbled on the peaceful banks of the River Ganges - an oasis in the middle of a difficult city. 

Varanasi is one of the oldest and most holy cities in India.  Hindus believe that bathing in the holy water of the Ganges remits all sins, and millions of pilgrims visit Varanasi every year to bathe in the holy water.  As we walked along the various ghats (or steps leading to the river), we saw women in beautifully colored saris (so bright they are nearly florescent) bathing in the river, holy men draped in orange cloth praying, and others doing yoga or meditating along the river bank.  It was like entering another world.  

Most of the ghats are bathing ghats, but others are used as cremation sites.  According to Hindu teachings, if you die in Varanasi and are cremated on the banks of the Ganges, your soul will be free of the cycle of death, reincarnation and rebirth. Many terminally ill and elderly Indians literally come to Varanasi to die.

We walked along the banks of the river until we came to the “burning ghats” where they perform public cremations.  The cremations are an incredible sight.  The priests and families don’t mind if tourists watch the proceedings, but there are absolutely no photographs allowed. 

Each family member has a role to play in the cremation ceremony.  If a mother dies, the youngest son is responsible for lighting the fire. If the father passes, the oldest son takes on the responsibility.  We saw a young boy about 7 years old stoicly lighting the fire under his mother’s funeral pyre.  We also saw old man who was there to cremate his wife.  But he couldn’t do it.  Her body was prepared but he sat on the hillside just looking out at the water probably contemplating their life together.  It was so sad but at the same time a touching way to say goodbye.

There were 10 cremations occurring while we were standing at the ghat, and there seemed to be room for a dozen more.  The ghats run 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, but somehow they didn’t smell and it wasn’t gross.  It was oddly beautiful.

That night we attended an Aarti ceremony in Varanasi that was twice the size of the one we saw in Rishikesh.  We couldn’t help but be inspired by the sight of thousands of devout Hindus coming together and offering a sincere and heartfelt collective prayer.

The cremation ghats are the most interesting part of Varanasi.  After our experiences we decided to take a break from the assaulting sounds and smells of the city.  Erin was still running a consistent low-grade fever and Jeff’s fever seemed to spike every evening.  We decided to splurge on a hotel with air conditioning and uninterrupted electricity, so we moved into the Raddison and didn’t leave the hotel complex for two days. 

Erin’s fever was worsening as our train pulled into Delhi. The hospitals in Hardwar left much to be desired, so we decided to forgo sightseeing and try to find a private hospital in Delhi.

All signs pointed to the fact that it was going to be a bad day: we were arriving in a strange city, didn’t know where the hospitals were, didn’t know anyone, and had no means of transportation.  Thank goodness we chose to stay at Saubhag B&B and met our hostess Meera.

When we mentioned that Erin wasn’t feeling well, Meera sprung into action.  She called her personal physician (an old family friend) and walked us three blocks to the doctor’s office.  The doctor recommended that Erin get a full blood work-up. 

We braced for a long afternoon a waiting room, but Meera had other ideas.  She called the local hospital and somehow convinced the pathologist to send someone to make a house-call.  We didn’t need to leave the comforts of Meera’s wonderful house while they drew Erin’s blood.  They promised to call us when the results were in. 

The B&B doesn’t usually offer its guests lunch or dinner, but Meera wouldn’t hear of us going out to find food.  She made us the same food she was making for her son and husband, and didn’t charge us anything.

We got the results of the blood work a few hours later.  They ruled out swine flu, malaria, and dengue fever.  The diagnosis was a viral fever and the treatment was rest and fluids.  It was a huge load off our minds.

We decided to take the doctor’s advice and canceled our sightseeing plans for Delhi.   We didn’t get to see Hunyuman’s tomb or the Ghandi statue, but we did meet a wonderful woman and learned a lot about the kindness of the Indian people.

On the sixth day of Erin’s fever, and the first day of Jeff’s fever, we left the B&B and drove to the New Delhi airport.  We already had plane tickets to Varanasi, but we seriously considered canceling our domestic flight and booking a ticket out of India.  In the end, we decided to stay the course and stick with it.  India still had much to offer us and we weren’t about to let a little bug get in our way.

As we waited for our flight in the New Delhi airport, we found seats just a few steps away from a McDonalds.  Yes, India had made us both sick and miserable, but it remains the most unqiue place we’ve visited on this trip and still has the capacity to make us smile. Where else in the world could we find a McDonald’s without any hamburgers on the menu?

We fell in love with India in Rajasthan.  By the time we got to Hardwar, we wanted a divorce.

When fellow travelers told us about India, they often said it was an “intense” place.  We would nod our heads knowingly as if we understood what they meant.  It turns out we had no idea.  For future travelers, here’s our best effort at an explanation:

Most cities in the world have one or two bothersome things about it.  In Addis Ababa the diesel cars spew toxic fumes; in Hanoi motorbikes rule the road and honk constantly; in Buenos Aires the streets are full of dog shit; in Beijing old men sit on the street and spit on the sidewalk; in Bangkok packs of wild dogs roam the side streets at night; in Dar es Salaam the majority of people live in abject poverty; in Kampala there is garbage on the streets, etc….

Cities like Hardwar don’t just have one or two bothersome things, they combine the worst characteristics of all these other places.  The combination of noise, the smells, and the squalor can be overwhelming.  That’s what we mean by “intense.” 

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EE:  I fell hard for India. Like every new relationship, I got butterflies with every new place we visited.  From the giant castles rising out of the desert, to the floating palaces and opulent forts, it was like being in a fairy tale. 

And then it happened.  India and I got into a huge fight that left me crying in the bathroom because I was so sick.  All the little idiosyncrasies and traits I overlooked in my state of infatuation became painfully apparent. Now I wonder what I ever saw in India! 

I tried to get some medical care by going to the local hospital, but I arrived to find a pack of mangy dogs blocking the entrance.  I managed to get around them but upon entering I thought maybe they were trying to keep me out for a reason.  The “hospital” was more dilapidated and scary than any clinic or hospital I visited in a lesser developed country in Africa or elsewhere.

I took a fever reducer recommended by the doctor, but a few hours late it gave me a terrible allergic reaction.  So on top of the fever, chills and utter sickness I was now covered head to toe in a full body rash.

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JW:  I went out to find Erin a fever reducer that she wasn’t allergic to, but before I could find a pharmacy the sky opened up and so I ducked under the cover of a small chai shop to wait out the rain.  For 20 minutes the rain kept coming and coming so that eventually there was more than two inches of rainwater on the street.

There were five other Indian men who had ducked under the cover of the same Chai shop, and we made some light conversation.  As the rain intensified, we started to see garbage start floating down the street.  Then came the horrible smell of feces as the contents of the street continued to flow down the river.  My new Indian friends lifted their shirts to cover their noses.

The scene was sad, but what changed my view of India was what happened when the rain stopped.  The man on my right opened a packet of paan (like chewing tobacco) and threw the wrapper into the street.  The guy on my left got up and relieved himself against the wall a few feet away. 

The filth of the city had just floated under our noses, but it had no effect.  Either they don’t see a connection between their behavior and the filth we just witnessed, or they have bigger things to worry about.  Whatever the reason, I was appalled by the way some of the locals treat their home. 

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The poverty and the living conditions in India are worse than anything we ever saw or experienced in Africa.  We find it hard to believe this country is on track to become any kind of world power when most cities rely on cows and goats to dispose of their garbage.  India has a higher population than the entire African continent combined – which often means there are too many people and too little infrastructure. 

This entry is a long way of saying it’s been a bumpy road.  Some days we love this place and other days we can’t wait to leave…and being sick really didn’t help.

When we booked our tickets to India there were only two places we knew we wanted to visit: Agra and Rishikesh. Agra has the Taj Mahal; Rishikesh has the Beatles. 

Back in 1968, Rishikesh hit world headlines when the Beatles stayed at Maharishi Mahesh Yogi’s ashram.  They stayed for more than a month, studying transcendental meditation and writing many of the songs that later appeared on their double album the White Album.  It was a formative trip for the band and we were excited to follow in their footsteps.

The trip got off to an auspicious start when we boarded the train in Jodpur and found ourselves sharing a sleeper compartment with Swami Shri Girishanandji.  We figured he might be a big shot because he boarded the train with two assistants who carried his bags and arranged his sleeper bed for him.  We knew he was a big shot when random people from the train started coming up to him to pay their respects. 

He was very nice and gave us some literature on his teachings.  (You can check out his website at www.guruji98.com/).  A central part of his teaching was that men and women were equal – his theory was that virtually all men were women in a past life and so there is no basis for any discrimination in this life.  Erin liked him immediately.  The ringtone on his cellphone was a song by Thievery Corporation (a Washington DC band).  Jeff liked him immediately.

When we finally arrived in Rishikesh we caught our first glimpse of the holy Ganges River.

On our first night we went down to the banks of the Ganges for an Aarti ceremony.  Aarti is an ancient Hindu custom that involves lots of singing and chanting.  The Hindu priests then begins to circulate an Aarti ”plate” containing a lighted lamp, incense, camphor, flowers.  All of these items are offered to the diety and, during the singing and chanting, the plate itslef acquires the power of the deity.  The swami then circulates the plate to all those present. The disciplines cup their down-turned hands over the flame and then raise their palms to their forehead which allows the blessing to be passed from the diety to the devotee.

We had high hopes for Rishikesh, but we were sorely disappointed.  It turned out that our time on the train to Rishikesh was more spiritually enlightening than our time in the city.  We couldn’t figure out how anyone could seek enlightenment in a city where there is no peace.  The horns are just as loud as the rest of India, cows and feces line the streets, and garbage is everywhere.  Before long we started to dread leaving the hotel. 

To make matters worse, Erin started running a fever. It was low-grade, but it threw her off-kilter and was enough to make the noises and smells of Rishikesh too much to bear.  We decided to leave a few days early.

The Beatles’ mythology drew us to Rishikesh, but it was only after we arrived that we learned the real story.  After two months in Rishikesh, Maharishi Mahesh’s demands for money and his behavior toward female disciples disillusioned John, Paul and George (Ringo had fled after just two weeks).  Just before leaving India, John penned the lyrics: “Ma-ha-rish-i…what have you done? You made a fool of everyone….”  When the Beatles returned to England and started recording, George insisted that the lyrics be changed if the song was to appear on the White Album.  He persuaded John to change the title from “Maharishi” to “Sexy Sadie.”

There’s only one reason to go to Agra: The Taj Mahal.  Believe the hype – its every bit as incredible as you’ve heard. 

The Taj is the ultimate monument to love.  It was built by Emperor Shah Jahan as a memorial for his wife Mumtaz Mahal, who died giving birth to their 14th child in 1631. 

It took 20,000 people and 22 years to complete the most spectacular mausoleum in the world.  Not long after it was completed, Shah Jahan was overthrown by his son and imprisoned in the Agra Fort where, for the rest of his days, he could only gaze out at his creation through a window.  After his death, Shah Jahan was laid to rest inside the Taj alongside his loving wife.

India is full of color.  We’ve seen women in vivid red saris walk down the street next to men with saffron turbans in a city where every building is blue.  In another place it might seem extraordinary to step outside a taxi and see that every building is painted bright pink.  But this is India, and so when we entered the Pink City of Jaipur we didn’t even raise an eyebrow.

The reason for the Pink City has nothing to do with gender equality.  Indians associate the color pink with hospitality, and in 1876 Maharaja Ram Singh had the entire old city painted pink to welcome the Prince of Wales (later King Edward VII).  The tradition stuck and all of the buildings in the Old City remain pink to this day. 

We left the Pink City to visit the Amber fort, which is rare among Rajasthani forts for the way it blends Hindu and Muslim architectural styles. 

Rajasthan was a Hindu stronghold before the Muslim Mughuls started making their way across India.  After the Mughals took Jaipur, the enlightened Mughul leader Akbar made a real effort to bridge the gap between the groups – encouraging intermarriage and incorporating Hindu influences in his palace. 

The Rajputs are the warrior caste, and they fought with other Hindus just as often as they fought the Muslims.  However, our guide explained that the Rajputs were very civil to each other.  Warring armies would fight to the death during the day, but in the evenings they would come out of their fortifications and play chess with the vary men they were trying to kill just hours before. Then at the break of dawn, they would go right back to fighting as enemies again.

The history of the Fort was fascinating, but even more unusual was the guide we hired to take us there.  When we first met Makul we guessed he was seven years old.

It took him a while to convince us that he is actually 20 years old.  When he finally did, we hired him immediately.  

In Jaipur we got our first sense of just how bad the roads are in India.  There are too many cars and congestion is bad, but that’s not the source of the awfulness.  The real problem is that there are no stop signs, no traffic lights, no lanes, and no rules of the road.  As a consequence, every car, motorbike and auto -rickshaw spends 90% of the time laying on their horns .  And they honk at everything and since the roads are always full of cars, rickshaws, bikes, pedestrians, cows, and camels, they are constantly honking. 

There are no pedestrian sidewalks outside the major cities of India, and the horns make walking the streets almost unbearable.  Just walking four blocks from our Jaipur hotel to a restaurant left us jittery and slightly deaf.

As we walked back from the restaurant we figured out a way to save our ears while at the same time assimilating into Indian culture: florescent pink ear plugs.  They drowned out the intolerable noise and had the added benefit of adding a bit more color to a colorful place.

Ask 10 people to name their favorite city in India and you’re likely to get 10 different answers.  We met fellow travelers who told us to skip Pushkar.  It wasn’t our favorite city (Udaipur or Jaisalmer would take that honor), but it was a great place to hang out for a few days.

Pushkar is a Hindu pilgrimage town and holy city.  There’s a big sign at the city limits informing tourists that no booze, meat, or eggs are allowed within the city limits.  Not wanting to offend what we came to admire, we climbed on-the-wagon (or is it off-the-wagon?) and stuck to a pure veg diet.

One key to surviving India is to find a quiet and comfortable home base.  We found a gem in Pushkar.  With its bright courtyard and comfortable rooms, the Seventh Heaven Hotel was an oasis in the middle of the city.  For only $10 per night, it was probably the best value of any place we’ve stayed on this entire trip.

Steps away from Seventh Heaven was the Old Rangji Temple, and within the temple complex we found a Yogi who was willing to take on two beginners.  For three days in a row, all we did was go to Yoga for sessions in the morning and afternoon, and spent the rest of the time in the courtyard of the Seventh Heaven reading, writing and relaxing. 

After three days of yoga, meditation and a pure veg diet, we started to feel the positive effects of a healthy lifestyle.  It was hard to believe that less than one year ago we were spending our days sitting in front of computers in little rooms with fluorescent lighting.  Washington DC has never felt further away.

We were loving our Pushkar experience, but after a few days on this schedule we felt the urge to get out and explore.  The city has hundreds of temples, including one of the world’s few Brahma Temples. 

The reason why Pushkar is home to India’s only Brahma temple goes back thousands of years.  Apparently the god Brahma wanted to perform a Yagna (self-mortification) at Pushkar’s lake, and when his wife Savitri didn’t attend, he married another woman on a whim.  Savitri, understandably annoyed, vowed that Brahma would not be worshipped anywhere else.  A little harsh, but at least he didn’t have to pay any alimony.

The city’s focal point is Pushkar lake, which is surrounded by 52 bathing ghats where pilgrims bathe in the sacred waters.  No photography allowed.  Some of the ghats have special importance: the god Vishnu appeared at the Varah Ghat in the form of a boar, and Ghandi’s ashes were sprinkled at the Gau Ghat, which is now called the Ghandi ghat..

Unfortunately, Pushkar has its fair share of pushy priests looking to take advantage of the tourists and pious pilgrims.  One priest, who we doubt was genuine, approached us and offered to do a puja (prayer) for us and our family members.  He got us all the way down to the ghats before we decided he was a con man.  Although the happiness of our family is worth a million rupees, we told our pushy, unprincipled priest that we weren’t interested in making a donation. We prayed unaided for our family and friends and left the pushy priest to feast on some other tourist.

Following Seth’s travel credo (whenever possible rent a motorbike and ride into the countryside), we rented a scooter for the day and explored the temples in the surrounding area.  The Pap Mochani Temple had fantastic views of the city.

Although it seems peaceful from up high, Pushkar can be a difficult place to walk around because of the hundreds of sacred cows that roam around the city.  Without steak or hamburgers on any menu, and with no other natural predators, the cows flourish and they are everywhere. 

One consequence of the cows is the ungodly piles of shit that line every street.  As you navigate the narrow streets, simultaneously dodging cow pies and motorbikes you also have to be careful not to get in between a cow and his garbage. 

There aren’t any sanitation companies in Pushkar (or anywhere outside of the major cities from what we can tell) and it seems like most people just throw their trash out their windows.  The cows then go to work serving as an ad-hoc waste management company.      

We enjoyed touring around the city, but nothing could beat our routine of Yoga and Heaven.

If the State of Rajasthan is the “Land of the Kings,” then the city of Jaisalmer is its crowned jewel.  A small trade route town in the middle of the Indian desert, Jaisalmer is a golden city that exceeded all our expectations.

Just 100 km from the present-day Pakistani border, the elite in Jaisalmer made boatloads of cash because of the city’s position on the camel-train routes between India and Central Asia.  The Maharajah decided to invest in real estate (the stockmarket was pretty risky even back then) and built the beautiful Jaisalmer Fort, which rises from the desert like a giant sandcastle in the sky.  

It was an extraordinary experience wandering around the lanes of this living museum, but we found that the majestic beauty of the Fort is best observed from a distance. 

Most people who come to Jaisalmer take a desert safari.  The program is the same no matter what company you use: a camel ride out to the desert, an hour playing in the sand dunes, and a night sleeping under the stars.  It was a hot day and we didn’t feel like wondering the streets looking for the perfect tour company, so we walked into the first travel agency we saw and signed up for a tour.  We didn’t get around to introductions until we were ready to leave.  When our tour guide introduced himself as “Mr. Desert” we knew were in good hands.      

The camel ride was scenic and only slightly painful.

Playing in the sand dunes was a blast. 

But it wasn’t until the sun went down and our host started telling us the story of his life that we realized that we were in the presence of greatness.  The story went something like this:  

In 1988, Jaisalmer held its first-ever Mr. Desert contest.  It was a publicity stunt to draw tourists and was promoted all over India.  A truck driver from the area noticed the ads and decided at the last minute to enter.  With his striking blue-grey eyes, broad shoulders and handlebar moustache, it wasn’t much of a contest.  Our hero successfully defended his title in 1989, 1990 and 1991.  Finally, in 1992, the contest’s sponsors wanted to give someone else a chance and made a new rule that no previous winners of the contest were eligible to compete.  In recognition of his achievements, the truck driver was given the title “Mr. Desert For Life” and became a lifetime judge of the contest.

Mr. Desert became somewhat of a celebrity after his remarkable four-peat.  He took small roles in Bollywood movies and even appeared in a coca-cola commercial. Encouraged by his friends, Mr. Desert decided to leverage his fame and get into the tourist business of – what else? – taking people out to the desert! 

But Mr. Desert wasn’t making any money.  He’d sit in his office all day but no tourists would darken his door.  His friends told him to the train station and meet the tourists as they come off the train.  For weeks he got up before dawn to meet tourists arriving from the overnight from Mumbai.  But his heart wasn’t in it.  It made him uncomfortable to see all of the other touts bombarding the haggard tourists.

Then one day, he got a call and was asked to become the face of “Jaisalmer” brand cigarettes.  He accepted although he’s never tried one and he encouraged us not to smoke.  Soon his face was plastered over every billboard in Jaisalmer.  He framed one of the big posters and put it behind his desk and sat under it.  Tourists would walk by his office, take one look at the poster and the man sitting underneath it, and they would come in to talk with him.  His business started booming. 

A few years later, Mr. Desert was recommended the Lonely Planet and things have never been the same. 

After telling us the story of his life, Mr. Desert went on to entertain us with hilarious stories about tourists and fascinating stories about his travels through Europe.  He was one of the most enthralling story-tellers we had come across on this trip – not a small feat for someone who didn’t learn English until he was in his thirties.

Now in his sixties, Mr. Desert doesn’t take many groups out anymore.  By chance we joined a family who had a developed a friendship with Mr. Desert when they went on his desert safari 10 years ago.  They returned to Jaisalmer this year so their kids could meet the legend, and they persuaded him to lead this tour himself.  We were just lucky to come along for the ride.