PreGrad ASIA-M.E.-AFRICA

THE IDEA:

Andrew Miller, aka. Kenya Pete, is a friend of mine who has been living in Kenya for the past year and a half. I told him that I would come to Kenya sometime during his Peace Corps stint so long as we would plan one hell of a trip to a region I had not visited. K.P. put together one hell of an adventure and I commend him on its logistical precision.

THE ASSEMBLAGE:

Correspondence had begun three months earlier to arrange all the pieces of our journey. The idea was to rent a car and drive to Lake Turkana, 500km to the North (known by some as Lake Rudolph or the Jade Sea). This is a remote area bordering Ethiopia and inhabited by the Samburu and Turkana tribes. It is the largest inland desert lake in the world, though the water is heavy in soda and salts. Jon Robbin from Providence joined in as number three and was crucial for his law abiding skills. As for the logistics, K.P. had become friendly with the white Kenyan community, which resulted in his introduction to Roving Rovers ltd. and the Birch’s who subsequently became our guides.

THE CAR:

Roving Rovers is owned by a Dutch Kenyan who has bought up a number of older Range Rovers and Defenders and put them to wrench and torch. The suspensions have been modified, jack points added to the rear and front, roll bars constructed within the body, spare fuel pumps, igniters, chokes, and roof racks on each. Our first car was a little lacking due to its recent purchase (this will be explained later). The cost of the car was $90 per day which included unlimited millage, mechanical support, insurance, etc. We were told that if the car was stuck anywhere in Uganda, Tanzania, or Kenya, a mechanic would make his best effort to travel and remedy the problem (which happened…)

THE GUIDES:

The Birchs were born in Kenya, but with British ancestry, and grew up traveling the country. Collin Birch’s father was a safari guide and thus, his experiance was extensive. They were recommended to K.P. by his boss at his NGO. The Birchs were well known as the experts on this region, having traveled there with clients for the past twenty years. Additionally, they owned a house boat on the lake and had a smaller fishing boat for deep sea Nile Perch catching. Believe it or not, they have only one of two houseboats in Kenya and the only one on the lake. So, they were truly the only ones we wanted to go with.

THE PLAN:

The plan was to drive North until we met them in a designated area. For three nights we were to travel in convoy to some of their favorite camping/hiking spots until reaching the lake. We would then spend two nights on the houseboat and fish if weather permitted. Afterwords, we would continue alone South hitting up Aberdare National Park and finally arriving home.

Read on for the day by day experiance.

Just to clear up any confusion, I will be arriving back in the states on the 10th of January. I will be in Detroit from the 12th until the 16th before heading back to NYC to begin classes.

Ok, so with that off my chest, lets begin the bitchin’

I don’t have all that much time to write, so more will have to come in two days when I arrive in Israel. I am currently at the Nairobi Safari Club hotel, compliments of Kenya Airways. Yes, I have been promoted one more time, with the exception of an overbooked flight and a screwed up bus journey from Cairo. Let me explain.

I arrived to the airport today with the expectation that I would be in Cairo by nightfall. Instead, the damn airline told me that there was no more place and I would thus have to fly another day. Well, with the way I planned my return to Israel, that nonesense would not stand. After watching the plane take off without me one hour after it was supposed to leave, I received a few hundred dollars and a night at Nairbi’s five star hotel. The flip side is that I will be arriving in Cairo in the afternoon, and thus my bus to the Sinia/Israel crossing will have to take place at 2 in the morning. But, such is travel. I guess my odds have been pretty good along the way of my 17 seperate plane rides.

I’m sure you all would like to know how the trip went in the Northern regions of Kenya. Well there is much to tell. However, at 10 shillings per minute (16 cents) I need to get off this darn computer. You guys won’t believe the pictures of this place, Turkana. Just awesome.

Happy New year, Chanukah, and Christmas.

Ethan

I have arrived in Kenya!

After a stopover in Khartoum (a bunch of aid workers got on the plane) we arrived at 7am in Nairobi. I got a ride to the Matatu station (overpacked minibus) and headed 146km in the direction of Nakuru. The road was in worse condition than I remembered five years back, so the trip took almost 3 hrs. But eventually I made it to the stem hotel, where I alerted Andrew to my arrival.

Yesterday we went camping for a night in a private game reserve (Andrew knows the owners). We must have walked 20 km and almost got killed by a bufallo hiding in the woods. But the Flamingos were as beautiful as ever and the weather warm and dreamy.

With Jon arriving tonight, we will be on our way to beggining our trip to Turkana. After two months of planning, this is going to be a memorable one. We have rented a range rover with a roof rack and will be loading her up with 200 liters of fuel and 50 liters of water. We will be making three stops on the way to the banks of the lake, where two guides have already set up camp and packed food with dry ice. This is no easy place to make camp. The temperatures can reach 38-40 degrees celsius and the winds are legendary. But don’t worry to much, I expect us to make it up there without a hitch.

I’ll report our success in the next newsletter.

Be in touch, whomever is reading this darn long journal entry….

Ok, so now I’m In Cairo. I’m thinking before the flight…three days, what will I ever do in that amount of time. I have always thought of Cairo as a dense, dirty, sprawling metropolis. It turns out that it is sprawling no doubt, but with relatively clean air, and streets that are well maintained and debris free. For once, everything seems so darn clean and organized after having been in India. Funny how that works.

My flight touched down after only and hour in the sky. I was bummed out because I had just dropped my camera case on the ground, screwing up the focusing element. Upon entering the Customs line, my heart p0unded when I saw the officials run their fingers between everypage looking at stamps.

-What if he realized that I just came from Israel and have no stamps in the passport. He will want to see my Israeli Passport and my trip will be screwed. And like that it was over. He glanced at me a few times and then motioned for me to move on. I was on the mainland- finally. If you dont know the story, then no sweat, but really I wanted to take the bus to Cairo. The problem was the 10% chance that they would not issue me a visa like had happened in Tel Aviv.

Ok, so I called the hotel I had circled in my lonely planet guide: The Windsor Hotel. Some Mighty Python actor stayed there, and it once was the British Officers Club. I like history and orginal furniture sounded very old world. Mohammed gave me the price of $37 dollars over the phone and I excepted with the understanding that everything was negotiable upon seeing the room. I told him to make it $30 because I was staying three nights, and we ended up at $32. A good price for a hotel with charm, and original furniture in the rooms.

Mohammed told me about a trip that was heading out the next day. Usually, I stay away from group outings, but he was right, there were only three days and much ground to cover. So I handed over the $12 dollars for a day with Samir, the honest tour guide. I accompanied five Americans: a girl with her grandmother, and a family from Alaska. I got lucky, as everyone was nice and incredibly interesting. The older man was one of the signers of the Alaskan constitution! Anyway, we got to see some old masqs in the Islamic quarter, how they make papurus ( which I did not buy) and the pyramids of Giza. Everyone in the group took Camels except me. I spotted a horse that looked more comfortable and would provide more comfort. Lets just say that after one camel experiance, you tend to look elsewhere for transport.
My god, there is nothing like galloping through the sands of Giza with the three grand Pyramids at your side. My yoga positions are a little off, but the adrenaline kick was sure worth it. That evening, I took it upon myself to shower up and sit down with some men at the shisha bar. I played backgammon and sipped mint tea until at least 1 am. Egyptians really like to hang out in the cafes, like I have never seen anywhere else.

The next day group of egyptian kids picked me up on the street and invited me to an outing on the Nile. By the end, I had an invitation to one of the girls home to meet the father and sister *the one I was going to marry. One thing led to the next, and I never made it over. Instead I had two hours to view the burial chamber of Tutenkamon at the National Musuem. If there is one thing that you should do, its come to this place. The sheer size of the pieces contained in the museum are impressive. The ancient Egyptian were some people with a grand vision. On the way back to the hotel, I found a camera repair place with an owner who had trained in Japan thirty years ago. He got my Mamiya back in shape in no time.

In the evening, I took a car and driver to a hip music space called Makan- literally means Place in Arabic. Its something you would find in the Lower East Side. A group of mostly woman and two men were preforming Zar, a traditional form of music sung by woman leaders, and which has an aura of exorcism or trance. Think of Hatian spirit raising plus a three beat rythem. The crowd was made up of intellectuals and a few french woman. I was dancing for a good two hours. Very cool indeed. Even better was the fact that I met this cool guy by the name of…. Mohammed who is egyptian, but lives in New York. Get this, he is the drinks designer for the entire Smith & Wollensky chain of restaurants. We continued the nights activities with a drop in at the Cairo Jazz bar. They played incredible versions of the Gypsy Kings but with Arabic words. Some American Univeristy Cairo students were near buy so asking them about life in Cairo was cool as well. The night ended somewhere around 4 am. Tough day

Last but not least, the next afternoon, I went to visit the Citidal, the Geyer-Anderson Museum, and the Ibn …. Masq. All three of these should be on your list. The Masq is the only Iraqi type design outside of Sammara. And if that was all not enough for one day, I then went to the Khan Al- Khalili Souq where I picked up two antique lighting fixtures. The man who took me around, was such a gentleman, that I offered to take him out. We sat and ate quail and Kufta in one of the most famous restaurants in the market. A real treat. As a thank you from him, we sat at the Al Foushrey Cafe (another ultra famous hangout) and smoked the Shisha on his tab. A wonderful way to end my three days in Cairo. A trip back is garunteed.

For all of you who want to see some pics, I have posted them online with Kodak.
Take a look.

http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=2cii14lt.52j7qly1&x=1&y=unzby4

Next stop: Kenya

My first night in Cairo was smooth sailing and without the craziness that I have come to expect out of the Egyptians. The one day outside of Israel has given me the chance to reflect, if only for a day, on the three weeks I spent within her boarders.

I have only two words to describe the experience: new eyes. Yes, this time was like no other. I was able to get out of my mother’s house (as beautiful as it is) and be with people my own age in the cosmopolitan environment that is Tel Aviv. It was more like Be’er Sheva, Jerusalem, Tel Aviv, with several interweaving circles between the three. I was on a track to hang out and see things happen from street view rather than drag myself to cultural and religious landmarks. I did not enter the walled city of Jerusalem. I did not visit the museum of modern art, and I did not even go to Synagouge with my grandfather (shield me). I partied to 3,4, and even 5 in the morning, waking up late to enjoy cups upon cups of instant coffee. I readied myself for the intensity of New York.

Israel has really transformed herself into a first rate country with every amenity that is expected. If it were just not for the damn war, insurgancy, or call it whatever the hell you want, this place would rival Barcelona and Chicago. FACTS: A few new skyscrapers have been put up in Tel Aviv and the toll road connecting Afula with Jerusalem has been minted to perfection. The people are all good looking and the styles range from dreaded hair, to prada jumpsuits. At least every person has traveled to at least Thailand, India, or South America. English is more like a first language, with Hebrew being the secret tounge that is more comfortable between countrymen. The beach was warm even in December, when everyone was predicting heavy rains (I lucked out all month) The Sabich sandwhiches were mouthwatering, surprising because I had never had one before and its just eggs, eggplant, Hummous, and tomatoes in a pita.

What made this time so delightful was that I made a good Israeli friend in Northern India and I reconnected with Yuval. He is a friend of a friend in D.C. who slept during the day and lived for the evenings at Tel Aviv’s hippiest clubs and bars.

And between all the fun and games, when did I see my mother? Well, by the end of the week when I was tired out and ready to eat better and catch up on reading I headed North to Karkur. Her garden is the most relaxing place that I know of next to the beach at Wing Lake. She is doing great although her cats are totally unfriendly.

By the way, if you have any interest in viewing my pictures from the First part of the trip, you may want to check out the link below. You might be impressed by Adam’s nasty mustache

http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=2cii14lt.52j7qly1&x=1&y=unzby4

I left New Delhi early the next morning, while Adam’s flight only left that night. I was happily ungraded on my Qatar Airlines flight to Doha, Qatar becuase of yet another overbooking. The service was splendid.

Doha was another desert city on the Gulf whose name gained recognition during the begining of operation Iraqi Freedom. I believe that the main U.S. M.E. Command is stationed here and i’ve heard that soldiers living here are on R&R. But I was only around for an hour to change planes. I boarded the next flight with one traditionally dressed Yemani man, a scary looking guy with a red and white Kafiya, and a minimum of thirty giggly 20 year old Phillipino girls. I must have garnered attention because I was the only Westerner on the flight. I over heard one girl say under her breath “He thinks that we are short”. I quickly turned around and commented that quite to the contrary, short was beautiful. They laughed in unison, and I continued on my way. They were heading to Amman, Jordan for work as nannies, house cleaners, and by some accounts, prostitutes. The Middle East is a funny place. Don’t fool yourself into thinking all the Jihadist are Virgins.

I spent the next day and a half in Amman. I found the city to be clean, organized, yet a little conservative and dull. I found a cool cafe in the Jebbel Amman neighboorhood where they were playing Bob Marley. Iwalked in and order a plate of french fries and a glass of tea. Tea?, they exaspirated. I guess coffee has become the cool thing here too. We spoke for a few minutes and the kids told me that they were Iraqi but their families had just moved to Jordan due to the security risks. I had to laugh when they asked me about Bush reading the childrens book upside down on Sept, 11th. You realize that all people want the same thing, and that extreamism is frowned upon in any society. The cab drivers showed me the three hotels that were bombed just a few weeks earlier.
“we want to kill Zharkawi” they said. I happen to agree.

A friend that I made drove me to the King Hussien Bridge and I waited patiently in line for passport control until I was ordered out. They told me that Israelis could not pass at this crossing because it was Palestine, not Israel on the other side. I should have used my American Passport. After conversing for a few minutes with the chief police officer about his cousins in Dearborn, Michigan, I got into a Taxi and headed further North.

Much to my luck, there was another border crossing in the Galilee of Israel near Afula. It actually saved me time, because I no longer had to take the bus up the coast in Israel. They gladly took my Israeli Passport there, and in no time I was in the promised land. Crossing from any of country bordering Israel into Israel is like entering a different world. I was convinced Israel was different. But I realized that this was the first time I had entered directly from the East, rather than from the states. The modernity, the loose clothing style, the long hair and cavalier style, the smooth paved roads, and napa like grapefields, the modern security systems, and familar tongue played straight to my heart. I was beyond words and happy to be back in a familiar place.

One thing that I want to put forward though, is that Jordanian people are some of the best around. They are friendly, honest, and have the structure that Egyptians (the only other country i’ve been to in the immdiate area) could learn from. I encourage you all to go there when traveling in Israel. Skip Amman though and head straight to Petra.

My mom picked me up from the cafe next to the gas station where the bus let me off.

Tomorrow was going to be our first day of vacation, I was thinking. In the morning, just a few hours away, we would be on a domestic flight down to Cochin, Kerela. The flight took four hours, because of a stopover in Hydrabad, and we were given a choice between vege masala, and chicken biriyani, neither of which looked appetizing. I did however sit next to a gentleman who worked for ICICI Bank in their commercial lending departement. He explained to me that in India, much like in the US, everyone was buying real estate, and home ownership was at record levels. It occured to me that he was quite right. On every street corner there seemed to be a sign promoting a new highrise, or single family home in a quiet and safe residential neighborhood. However, the prospect of the majority of people putting together 5,000,000 rupees (roughly 100,000 dollars) in their lifetime at a salery rate of 300 rupees per day, seemed unlikely.

Kerela, is a province/state located next to Tamil Nadu on the southern (left side) tip of India. It has been at the center of the spice/commodity/people trade since Marco Polo and Vasco de Gama wrote themselves into history. The Portugese were here, the Dutch, the Chinese, the Persians, and even a few Jews who built their synagouge right next to the Maharaja’s Fort. People spoke of Kerala landscape like a holy person speaks of the lapping waters on heaven’s shores. It’s heaven on earth, they said. So, we had to go.

Cochin, is a old fort city on the coast 200km north of Trivandrum (the tip). It is well known for its old european and oriental architecture. There are a number of five star boutique hotels, and several top notch restaurants. Travel and Leisure just did a piece on this place. I recommend it fully.

Upon arrival, we found what ended up being the best hotel for the money. The Raintree inn, owned by Edgar, a cool Indian guy who worked for Dennis Kozlowski’s Tyco for a dozen years. With five rooms, each bearing the traditional accents of Keralan design, and the cleanliness that Adam required, I was quite pleased. Edgar introduced us to his friend Sanjay, who had just put up a brand new Tea house and brunch type cafe, and as they say in Hebrew, “a si new chaim”, we made a life.

The next morning I woke up and decided that I had to try the traditional Aryvidic massage of Kerela. Its known by many people around the world, and I met several people who had come down for several months, to treat a variety of ailments. It is based on some meathod involving chakras, mantras, and basic eating. I just wanted the hot oil lathered on my body and dripped down my forehead. So I went next door and met a young guy who told me to come back in a half an hour after he had finnished up with a guy from St. Louis, USA.

I paid my 500 rupees, and stepped into a stripped down room with a concrete floor and some sort of vinyl covered massage table. The guy handed me tatters of was seemed to be woman’s bikini bottoms. I was shocked.

-Would you like help putting them on, he asked?

Oh…, don’t worry, I think that I can figure this one out, I replied.

Is this normal, was this guy checking me out, what the hell was I supposed to do, there was no place for me to fit in. Without the privacy a westerner is used to, I tied on my loin cloth and tried to relax myself on the table. Scented oil was applied over my skin and he began rubbing my arms and legs. I was thinking, “when are you actually going to massage my back, neck, anything besides shooting blood to my fingertips.”

Done. He told me I had finished. I was standing with glistening oil cascading down my every limb. He handed me a bar of soap and a small washcloth. Go, shower, washup.
Not as easy as it sounds. Kind of like cleaning a dirty bike chain with a paper towel or pulling gum out of your hair. People all day noticed that I had gotten “treatment”, by the way my hair seemed to reflect their image when they walked past. I think that i’ll stick to Biotherm under eye moisturizer next time.

Anyway, our days continued to be fruitful with activities. We met a half dozen intersting people from around the world who accompanied us on various excursions. The best of which was Jew Town.

Yes, my friends, like China Town, Little Tokyo, and Mexican Village, there is a Town called “Jew”. The story of how the jews arrived is depicted in twelve paintings hung in the salon of the 500 year old synagouge. The burning of the second temple led to mass diaspora, which led to Portuguese Jews, which ended in the inquisition, which ended up sending the black hatters to India, and beyond. The Jews coming off the boats being greeted by the Maharaja’s court was earily similar to the picture of Columbus exchanging gifts with Pocahontas and Chief Kicking foot on the beachfront of Massachusettes (or wherever the hell it was- excuse the ignorance). Yet, this relationship truly ended happily. The Jewish people did quite well in these woods, and only fifty year ago did the majority of families pick up and move to Israel at the time of Independence. The synagouge is now a relic of the past, as well as the Dutch Fort that was built for the Maharaja which sits neatly beside the other. It looks like the two were destined for replacement by democratic institutions a world apart.

Sanjay told me that the only jews left are the furniture jockeys that although not of the faith or skin color, have the same nack for buying and selling, as their predecessors did! He was joking obviously. Yes, this is also the place to buy hand made beds, armours, chairs, tables, etc. The Kerelan design is a beautiful blend of European and Southern Indian motifs and everyperson seems to know exactly where and how to send it.

For the last three days of the trip, Adam and I decided to make our way even further south, to catch some waves on the palm fringed beaches. Kovalam beach is to India what Laguna beach would be to California. Small, touristy, and beautiful when you dont happen to come when its storming, has high winds, and full of stark white middle age British tourist. I hope you, Tom and Claire are not reading this!. The six hour train trip brought us right into the eye of the storm. The one day we had, was marred by what we had never come to expect.

Much to your surprise, the best part for me was getting down there. First, I bought the wrong class of train ticket. I thought that sleeper was good. I forgot to ask for A.C. Even my Indian friends have told me to upgrade whenever possible. Good god, I thought. And we only had 50 cents in Indian currency remaining. I opened my back pocket up and voila, five hundred more rupees. The conducter took every last penny until I was left with a 30 U.S. cents. Oh the thrill of travel!

A group of men ate with their hands, mixing the rice with gravy as Adam looked on with surprise. There were two toilets on the train, one that said “western style” the other “Indian Style Latrine” How to decide, how to decide. I left Adam in the compartment as I ventured toward the exit of the train. Although a little irresponsible at 50 mph, I put on my headphones, turned up Cat Steven’s Peace Train and held myself out the open door like Leonardo DiCaprio in Titanic. Small children laughed, and I smiled as we passed small towns and beautiful open stretches of land and water. Rain drizzled from above and I was in bliss for twenty memorable minutes.

The way back was more experiential, less blissfull. The express bus back to Cochin from Trivandrum (Kovalum) two days later made me question the girth and depth of my gluteous maximus. Instead of two seats on either side of the isle, there were three. Within an hours time, the blood flow to my legs was severly restricted. I told the man standing in the isle that I would be happy to replace him. I stood on the bus for two and a half hours, and I gotta tell you, that was the smartest move I could have ever made. I turned to the guy next to me and asked what he did.

I’m studying genetic engineering, he replied.

Ah, of course, a true dichotomy of culture and intellect. A bus with no room, full of bright students and business people possibly studying physics and conducting import/export trade. If you were to ask me what India was really about, those few seconds staring into the eyes of that young man said it all. How do we move ourselves forward while living in a population time bomb, and poorly managed socioeconomic system. As Jaypal said whenever our eyes lit up.

This is India my friend, anything is possible

The last day of our six day adventure tour with Jaypal Singh was in the City of Agra. The city is well known today for one monument: the Taj Mahal. You might call it one man’s eternal love for his dead wife in the form of an architectual masterpiece. Beside the building, Agra is a dirty industrial city with the craziness that reminded us of Delhi.

We arrived late at night and headed straight for the fancy western hotel the travel agent picked for us. Afterwords, we got back into the car and headed for dinner. When we stepped back into the vehicle, Jaypal looked as though something terrible had happened. Whats wrong?, I asked. What he told us, did not strike me as life threatening, but was a little bit of a bummer. Jaypal looked like he had just hit a crowd of schoolchildren and drove off into the night. What is it, I asked again.

-You will not be able to see the Taj Mahal tomorrow. I forgot, they close it on Fridays for the Muslim prayer. I have never done something like this in my whole life. You are like brothers to me. How could I have forgoten!!!

Adam then asked why we even needed to see the Taj Mahal, like he had never even heard about it. I turned to Singh and told him to relax. I figured, telling him, that if there was one thing that I would see upon returning to India the next time around, it would be the Taj Mahal. It’s kind of like going to Paris and missing the Eiffel Tower. Its not a fleeting image. Its been around for hundreds of years and will continue being there long after.

Surprised by our empathy, he promised us the only thing that was available to him: seeing the Taj from the backside. The next day we did just that, and quite honestly, It was just fine. I had more fun negotiating for and eventually walking out on the stores that sold leather goods and inlaid marble tables. We bought very little in Agra, and were ready to get home and embark on the last portion of our trip.

Another seven hours in the car negotiating our way through traffic, wedding parties, around autorickshaws, and past cattle crossings, brought us back to our humble home in Defense Colony where Promila and Surie waited for our stories and their servents attended to our needs.

It was a real whirlwind tour, one that I would not change. It was damn lucky to have found the driver and the car that we did. Jaypal even allowed me to drive his car on the highway for a half-an-hour on the way home (remember, its british style with the wheel on the right and the stick shift on the left!). The next day, Jaypal would have to start all over again, repeating a similiar but different journey with the next couple. Please call me if you need Mr. Singh to pick you up from the airport. He has got a great tape with the latest Indian pop singles.

You know, I never gave how one transports camels much thought. But it struck me that the best way to get them from one place to the next is via the highway. I didn’t just strike me that morning after the festival, rather the sight of camel herds walking one after the next on the shoulder took me by surprise.

The highway from Pushkar to Jaipur was pretty good. We only had one flat, but even that went bad after an hour, so another sutture was necessary. To fix a flat in India is quite easy. Just look for a little shack on the side of the road where a kid of no more than 18 sits ready for your utter distress. And would you believe, a tire can be taken apart by hand with two metal crobars! Belle Tire look out, the 30 rupee quick change is about to take over the world. Seriously though, these kids are quite skilled, but for the amount they recieve, its amazing that anyone can survive.

Jaipur is one of three cities in the golden triangle: Delhi, Agra, Jaipur. Meaning, that tour groups hit these three cities first when they come into the country. Jaipur is well know for a few things: the City Palace, the Amber Fort, and the loose gem stone trade. We hit all three, though, I hesitated to buy any loose stones because of my ignorance when it comes to understanding the business.

Gem stores advertised their location on every street corner. People say that you cant go wrong, but what would I do with a 3 Kt. Ruby? It’s hard for me to keep a watch on my wrist already. The best situation we landed in, was in meeting “papau” the nickname of a gentleman that owned a mediocre textile factory harvesting the talents of street children to produce wall hangings, and clothing for export. Jaypal had known him for only six months, but obviously, he either gave good commisions (many times in the form of gifts during the Diwali season ex. cellphones, watches, etc.) or Jaypal thought that he was fair on prices.

In Pushkar, Adam and I met several people that tried selling us expensive Pashmina. In the end we just took the information an prices instead of the products as comparisons for Jaipur, where they come from in the first place. We negotiated with Papau for two hours before settling on half-a-dozen expensive pashmina scarves, knowing full well what value we were getting. In addition, I had him create a set of duvee cover’s for me, which he had never tried before. They excited him so much that he created four of each, and sold them all to a British couple that came buy the next afternoon. Papau agreed to hire me on as a consultant if I had any other ideas for bedding. I was seeing into my own future: Orley linens.

Adam and I stayed at a heritage property that was still owned by the Maharaja himself. We had a large suite with period furniture and the original paint on the wall. It was quite extravagent, although the service was lacking for what we paid. Interstingly enough though, I was invited to crash a wedding that was being held on the grounds of the building.

This was no ordinary wedding. For one thing, we were at a pretty prestigious hotel, and the guest were all decked out in the latest Indian fashions. Woman in their best brightly colored silks, and the men in long colorful turbins whose tails reached their ankles. The suits were more like long coats with around twenty buttons reaching the knees. Topping it off were skin tight pants and ballet shoes. Must be something that I am not familiar with, cause people say that I am a snazzy dresser.

It all started when Adam and i were in the room with the door open. A woman with an American accent stumbled in and asked if we knew where the bathroom was. We said that she was free to use ours, as the old hotel was confusing enough to begin looking for another. Upon returning, she asked where we were from and how we arrived. It turned out that she was half Indian and married to a man in Houston, TX that knew the groom.

-Why don’t you come down and join the party?, she asked

Well, what would a trip to India be without an invitation to an Indian wedding.
I put on my best white shirt (a must while traveling- you never know when it might just come in handy) and entered the forey. We sat among a group of smartly dressed guys in their mid twenties all discussing political and economic current events in their best Brit-English. We exchanged greetings and I quickly became aware of the fact that this was no farm cooperative. The Maharaja of Jaipur’s son’s wedding? What a coincedence, I just visited the now defunct fort of his majesty. Although it is now in the hands of the corrupt officials there in Delhi- I exclaimed!

I turned to the gentleman beside me, asking him what his official business was.

-I am exporting scarves and shawls abroad, he answered.

-Tell him what your real title is, one of the guys from Calcutta insisted.

Well, to my left was none other than Chandrapol Singh Jonaw, the future King of Agra, home of the Taj Mahal, seventh wonder of the ancient world. Embarresed about his title, he quickly lowered his brow at the comment, and tried to keep his modesty. He was about my age, and seemingly shy, so I parlayed the surrounding anxiety into small talk about where to go in Agra, our destination the next morning.

-Of course, the Taj Mahal, he murmured. It should not be missed. The irony of the moments comment would only reveal itself the following evening.

Before leaving for Rishikesh, we booked a driver and a car to pick us up and drive us back to Delhi and for the entire trip through Rajahstan. Jaypal Singh was a tall guy, a former high school long jumper to be exact, and had this litely colored red patch of hair in the middle of his head. We learned a lot about Singh and the capabilities of his Tata (like a geo metro) during the 6 hour ride back to Delhi. For one, NO ONE CAN PASS him. He could be a formula one race car driver if team India ever discovered him. The man was an animal. Before he picked us up, he had just completed a 22hour driving shift. Driving regulations in India are flexible you see.

The next morning, he picked us back up from the Surie household and we began another 7 hour journey to Pushkar. Now, in general, I try not to travel so hard, but what choice did we have? I wanted to see everything. Only a private car could do the trick. In case you are wondering, it is not expensive to do such a thing here, it only seems ultra classy.

Our first stop was Pushkar. Pushkar is a holy city in the province of Rajahstan. This literally means, “land of the Rajas, (or kings)” The Raj’s gave up control of their fifedoms back 50 years ago when India democratized. And with that went the lap of luxery: wild orgies, ultimate power, and palatial estates. However, many of the children and grandchildren of these Maharajas do quite well today, enjoying second homes in foreign ports, playing polo matches, and marriage engagements to other international royalty.

Pushkar has become famous over the years because of the annual camel and cattle trading fair that takes place here. Right or wrong we decided to go. With over 20,000 camels attending, how could we miss out on the fun. For your information, a cheap camel may go for 5,000 Rs ($130) up to 22,000 Rs. ($600) These are not like Hamood Altooqi’s racing camels that fetch upwards of $500,000. The price is based on age and strength. These are work animlas in this part of the world.

Our accomodations were more than average. We stayed in this three room canves tent with running water and a sitting room. Everyone’s tent was within the government compound that included all meals and 24hr security. Just imagine the setup for officials organising a PGA tournament. Most of the other tourists were French, American, and German. We must have been the youngest people there. All in all, I do not recommed the event. Although the largest in the world, tourism has affected the essence of the event, and subsequently, the government has had to subsidize many of the traders to encourage their involvement with the event. When the government has such a good moneymaker its easy to see why they would do anything to keep the foreigners coming.

Probably the best thing that came out of it was the chance to visit a local Rajahstani family. Singh took us on a ride through some local villiges. We were getting hot and decided to stop in front of a traditional looking home to rehydrate. Next thing I new, we were invited inside the home to allow me to take pictures of the family. I hope to send some of these photos out when they are developed. Ethan’s dream come true: the opportunity for a private photoshoot with traditionally dressed Rajahstani woman.

Our next stop was Jaipur, the city of precious stones.