Wanderlust Heaven!

How random is that…I’ve always said that it pays to be aware of your surroundings (and Hunter S. Thompson famously said that ‘politics’ is merely the art of controlling your environment). Many times I’ve picked up a newspaper or magazine and read a piece related to something I just thought or wrote – examples will hopefully be provided later in this posting.

Had to fend off some thieving taxi drivers in the city and at the airport. They were quoting triple the meter rate, and all I could do was laugh at them and walk away. I doubt any philosophical lessons were communicated successfully, but at least I felt better. Met up with my financial advisor from Hong Kong, who flew down for the weekend. I got together with him, Bob and my ex-colleague John from Monitor. Went to a very nice Thai restaurant – I already forget the name, but take it from me, it was great! Then we went to a private club, much like a hostess club in Tokyo – had some good fun hanging around with some seriously stunning Thai women. I was hanging out with one who was half-Spanish – quite an unusual look. My Hong Kong friend and I shared notes during a bathroom break – interesting to note that our tastes seem at least partly driven by our origins. He prefers very light-skinned, bodacious women – whereas I’m partial to those with a bit of tint and on the lean side. I suppose the grass is always greener…

As I flew away from Thailand en route to Mumbai, India, I felt a real sense of calm – not the usual feeling for someone about to land in India. I was finally appreciating the lack of stress in my ‘new life.’ Perhaps it takes a few months for the change to sink in…and the stress of work had been replaced by travel planning, managing my finances remotely, etc. Still, the difference was immense, and at long last I was realizing this.

Backstory: I spent the summer of 1992 working for Ciba-Geigy in Mumbai (then called Bombay). It took a few weeks to adjust to the chaos of India, but I went on to have one of the 2-3 best summers of my life, and I wanted to stay longer. I arrived there knowing only 2 names – that of my new manager, and that of my b-school friend (really just an acquaintance by that point), Rajan Mehra. Within a few weeks I had joined my first Hash House Harriers Run, gotten a girlfriend, and joined a cool circle of friends that included a German drug enforcement agent (who didn’t seem that bothered by the odd joint), an Indian medical school student who was one of the best beer-chuggers I’d ever seen, and a cabal of three sisters from the far-off province of Nagaland (the capital of which, Kohima, was the farthest advance of the Japanese army during WW2). I also became much closer to Rajan and his group of friends, which included a gentle giant named Jatin and the cynical, witty Phiroze. I went down to the old Portuguese state of Goa with this group, and during my remaining time in Bombay my social schedule was booked solid.

After I finished my stint in Bombay, I traveled north to the state of Himachal Pradesh, where Dharamsala and Manali are located. I joined up with my old b-school buddy Jan and we did a trek from Dharamsala to Bramaur – not an easy trip. Almost died of dehydration one day – went from climbing and sliding down a glacier to climbing avalanches in the searing midday heat. The sherpas pushed us to cut out one day of the trip, so we compressed two into one – and were without agua for the second half of that day. I finally crawled into our destination and dunked my head into a cow trough, drinking in the foul water as if it were the finest nectar in the world. When I lifted my head out, I saw that the village cow was right there, looking at me with big sad brown orbs.

My Indian experience in 1992 has always been right here with me. It took me 10 years to return to the country – to Mumbai, Kochin and Goa – where I did a bit of work and took some holiday in the past few years. Coming back was good for me – to jog my fading memory, to see old friends, to smell the fragrances (not all fragrant) that are all around you in India. But I never had the time to revisit northern India, and I was unhappy about that. When there in 1992, amidst the Himalayas, I had vowed to return before long. Not the first promise I broke – but the vow lingered.

So I was back in India again – and for a real stretch of time, not just a week. I’d be spending almost half of my 7-month journey within India – which made sense, given my affinity for the place and given the sheer size of the place. First, I’d start in the cities and quickly work my way north, all the way to Leh, Ladakh, right near the Chinese and Tibetan borders (note the wording). I landed in Mumbai, and took a taxi to Rajan’s apartment. Took the driver some time to find it – I hadn’t been there in 14 years and wasn’t much help. Anyway, when I mentioned Rajan’s surname to the doorman it wasn’t particularly helpful – his grandfather built the apartment building and most of the flats are inhabited by members of his extended family. Finally tracked down Rajan, his wife Kalli, and their two adorable daughters – I had met Avantika a few years ago, but not Malvika yet. His cousin was away in Goa for a few days, so I had the use of his bed while in Mumbai – very comfortable, and a big change from the modest guesthouses I’d crashed in recently. Kudos to Rajan and his entire family for their excellent hospitality. Rajan and I went out for a bite and a few beers, then I slept till 10 the next morning.

I was only in Mumbai for a couple days – although I plan to use the city as a base and will return there a few more times between now and mid-December. On Monday I got up and chatted with Rajan’s uncle for a while – he’s a voluble businessman and we talked for a while about the trends in the country, and about my situation and travels. He was quite encouraging. It’s funny…I haven’t met anyone yet who’s hectored me to get married soon…people seem to like the idea of freedom, I suppose, and are happy to hear about what I’m up to.

I went out and walked around some old haunts – Churchgate, where I once darkened the doors of Hindustan Ceiba-Geigy, Ltd. Then walked down to Fort, where I inhaled plates of masala padad and tandoor pomfret at Mahesh Lunch Home, an old fave of mine where I had feasted with buddies back in 1992. Rajan had told me that the local beers still use glycerin as a preservative – the stuff gives you a real headache, and I had learned to ‘clean’ Indian beer years before in Kathmandu. Anyway, I had a Kingfisher at lunch and crossed my fingers.

Bought a newspaper – The Times of India – which cost only 4 Rupees (about 10 US cents). Rajan told me that the paper makes all its profits, which are substantial, from ads and not from selling the paper itself. Walked down to Colaba, the dock area, where the Taj Mahal Hotel and the Gateway of India are. Impressive edifices. Sat in the Taj and read my paper. Observed multitudes of local and foreign businesspeople thumbing their Blackberrys and having geeky conversations. Wondered for a sec if I missed these things – then came to my senses. Walked over to my favorite Mumbai café, Leopold’s – where years before I would break the cadence of Indian food with the occasional club sandwich. Leopold’s is truly a global hangout – at any time there are fellows in djellabahs, cowboy hats, safari suits, you name it. Leopold’s also has good draft beers and you can sit there for hours watching the craziness happen all around you. Felt like little had changed, at least within Leopold’s…but of course a new McD’s was next door, and there were Nike and Samsonite shops down the street. And I had noticed some impressive new malls on my cab ride from the airport. India was changing, to be sure – was there any downside to all the new shopping options, mobile calling plans, and eateries?

Had dinner that night at the Bombay Gymkhana club, a scene of some drunken Friday night parties back in ’92. Rajan and Kalli invited their friends, including the aforementioned Jatin and Phiroze. Everyone was doing very well in business and looked prosperous. The reforms that had started when I was there in ’92 – kicked off by the then-Prime Minister PV Narasimha Rao and his Finance Minister Manmohan Singh (the current PM) had, with some interruption, borne fruit for India. India’s politics are probably even messier than Thailand’s, and India’s transition has been a real roller-coaster at times – but you can’t stop rock and roll, unless you’re a senior Burmese general, of course.

Next day, had to get a SIM card for my mobile, and also a fresh stock of anti-malaria medicine. Finally was able to get these the next day, with some effort. To get an Indian SIM card you need to hand over a copy of your passport and a photo – wasn’t thrilled to give these to a random fellow manning the shop desk. But did it anyway, and will now wait to see if I wind up on international ‘no fly’ lists. To get the meds, went to a couple local pharmacies first. Indian pharmacies are awesome – first, you don’t need a prescription to get your stuff. Second, Indian pharmacos weren’t bound by product patent laws (there were process patent laws – so Indian firms just made the pills using a different approach, often more efficiently) until recently, so you can find generic knock-offs of virtually any Western drug, for pennies. Almost worth coming to India for that alone. But I needed mefloquine, and that seems to be a different sort of animal – one pharmacy told me they’d need a couple days to get it, or I could go to a hospital and try there. I tried another place, no dice there either. Walked towards Bombay Hospital, dreading the crush of humanity I’d find there. Saw one more pharmacy near it – and decided to give it a try, sometimes the places near a hospital are a bit better-supplied. And this place set me up – they had 4 boxes left and the price was right. Major errands done, I went back to Rajan’s and then to the airport to fly to Delhi.

On the flight up I reflected on a couple things. One was simply the annoyance of spending valuable time doing errands. Even without working, I carry around my mobile everywhere, partly because it has my dayplanner on it. And I use the dayplanner incessantly – the line-items are no longer chopped down to the 15-minute level, and are more likely to comprise ‘book hotel for Dharamsala’ than ‘conference call with Toshio’ – but I still feel busy. I’d seriously consider employing a manservant/valet to do my dirty work and free me completely. Of course, then I’d constantly worry that he was cheating me, or that I was overpaying him, or…you know what I mean. And while I consider myself an egalitarian American, I’m not exactly a man of the people, and I can see why those with means in India and Hong Kong have servants. In India they’re particularly critical if you want to get anything accomplished – when I was there in ’92 a houseboy ‘came’ with the apartment. I tended to cringe when he called me sir (I was 24 years old) and clean up after me (I was 24 years old), but it wasn’t bad either.

The other thing I thought about during the flight was less esoteric. Simply put, I was a bit concerned about landing it Delhi as night approached. The last time I did that, in ’92, I got screwed by a lying auto-rickshaw driver, who deposited me out of town in the boonies when I refused to switch from my hotel to one he recommended (to get a commission, of course). I kicked his puny little vehicle, swore at him (I knew some Hindi profanities back then – they’re good and dirty), and started walking towards the city center, which I assumed was where the distant lights shone. As I walked into the city on a dirt track, I heard a noise behind me and looked back. Three or four starving dogs were about 30 feet back, tongues out, heading right for me with obvious malice. For some reason an old Bill Cosby comedy piece came to mind: little Bill and his friend Old Weird Harold were too scared to walk home from the movie cinema at night because that was when all the monsters came out.

I momentarily thought of my mother in Boston – and how pained she would be to hear that I was eaten by hungry dogs in Delhi. I also thought it would be absolutely the wrong way to die, so decided to take some evasive maneuvers. I had nothing that could serve as a weapon, and made a mental note to obtain a sword in Delhi. I reached down to the dirt and pretended to pick something up – which I then pretended to throw well past the beasts, who then turned tail and ran after the phantom steak. That moved them back a bit – I picked up my pace, but didn’t run. The dogs started coming back, I again did the phantom toss, and they again fell for it. After doing this 5-6 times I was close to the city, and came up to a petrol station. Another auto-rickshaw driver was resting there, and when he saw me, sweaty and panting, he grabbed a tire iron and chased the dogs off.

That was my intro to Delhi, and I was hoping to avoid a repeat. Thankfully, the airport now offers pre-paid taxi service, and it works pretty well. A regular taxi took me to my Connaught Circle hotel. The hotel was a dump – I had to walk around piles of debris to get to my room. I cursed my timing – my b-school friend Hasmeeth was out of town, otherwise I would have stayed with him and lived it up large. But I was stuck with this place, and dealt with it. I was only in town for a day and a half, en route to the north.

New Delhi looks pretty good these days. Connaught Circle, the heart of the new city (built by the Brits around 1915 or so) is full of western chain stores and restaurants/pubs. Plenty to do for a few days around there. Didn’t get to the old city, where the old Moghul sites and the Gandhi burial pyre/memorial is located – will do that when passing back through Delhi after the north. Still had to deal with the usual Indian hassles – endless touts selling carpets, SIM card problems, an ATM which appeared to be eating my card, and frequent power cuts – the last of which surprised me, given that this was the Indian capital. In Burma, the junta siphons power from the rest of the country to ensure that their Potemkin village of Rangoon always has power. Of course, Burma is a military dictatorship and India is not. I did think a bit about the trade-offs inherent in staying at budget hotels/hostals – you save serious cash, but end up taking time to deal with stupid matters, like getting toilet paper, replacing broken keys, moving rooms when the power fails, etc. You end up remembering and cherishing the small set of budget places that get it right – there aren’t many of them.

Did I mention that there was a city-wide bandh (strike) the day I was in Delhi? Seems the government wanted to get rid of all the unlicensed vendors selling booze and knick-knacks, and attempted to ‘seal’ these outlets. I didn’t see much mayhem, but apparently the east side of the city got pretty ugly…

That afternoon I kicked back and read an old Time magazine. Was intrigued to see a story about the Burmese (Karen) Htoo brothers, I believe I mentioned them in one of my Burma posts. You may recall that these cheroot-smoking lads, under the age of ten, were leading an ethnic rebel army against the Burmese military. Turns out that one of them just surrendered to the government, while the other lives in a Thailand refugee camp with his wife and child. He can’t be over the age of 16. Talk about the CV’s these two could write: ‘Led lengthy campaign against world’s 9th largest army. Negotiated nuanced and durable peace treaty with said army. Successful businessman selling range of products: lumber, cigarettes, and heroin. Etc.’ Seeing these types of stories just reinforces my love of reading – I’m always picking up a random publication and picking up a storyline from years before (or the day before).

While showering that night I fought a short battle against a cockroach on the bathroom floor. My repeated water attacks succeeded in flushing the thing down the drain – at least for a while. I recalled my time in 1992 when I was terrorized in my flat by some sort of insect which kept poking its antennae up from the bathroom sink drain – every day I ran the water, and eventually graduated to ‘flaming’ it with deodorant and a lighter (my Tufts friends will recognize the technique). The thing kept coming back, for a few weeks, until I really went after it with the lighter – then it seemed to disappear. I had bad dreams during that period – the insect would climb from the sink and attack me while I slept. I even think I closed the bathroom door and my bedroom door just to prevent the unthinkable. Talk about lame…

I saw a Japanese tourist in the street wearing a T-shirt boasting ‘I scored last night.’ I doubt he knew what it meant. Weirdness reigns!

Next morning I got up at 3 a.m. to go to the airport to fly up north to Leh, Ladakh. I was surprised on two counts: first, I felt fine despite having only 2-3 hours of sleep, and second, the flight was on time. The problem was that it was scheduled for 5:40 a.m., a bit before I tend to rise these days. But I was excited to get up to Ladakh, I lacked the time back in ’92 and had always wanted to see the place. It’s part of Kashmir state – the safer side of the state – and is so far north and so high up that it’s almost lunar. Leh, the local capital, is 3,500 meters above sea level, and the airport is one of the highest in the world. When you get there, you immediately feel the oxygen deprivation – I took two naps my first day there.

Delhi and Mumbai airports have mobilephone charging stations, sponsored by the phone companies. Very good idea – the power costs are probably negligible, and given that Indians aren’t the least talkative people in the world, the incremental calls made are likely significant.

When you step off the plane in Leh, you immediately notice the military presence. Ladakh borders China, and in 1962 a war was fought over territory near here. There are Indian soldiers everywhere – kind of annoying. They drive like mad all around town and honk loudly – I suspect the locals despite them, although the level of animosity is probably far lower than around Srinagar, where the locals are Muslim and the tensions are high. Ladakhis seem pretty mellow Buddhists – but I suppose Buddhists can bow your brains out too. See Cambodia and Sri Lanka for more details…

You also notice the mountains and landscape right away. Not many trees can survive up here. The sky is intensely blue and bright. Clouds seem seconds away. Sounds (like my thumping heart) seem right in your ear. The ground is rocky and cratered – guess I don’t need to pony up $10 million to visit the moon now.

The plane was semi-full. Tourist season is coming to a close, just a few weeks to go, but still a fair number of travelers coming in. I didn’t have a firm hotel booking, and as I didn’t know Leh I was slightly anxious. I got my backpack off the belt and quickly caught a cab to town. Went to the place I wanted to stay – turned out to be a) a real oasis and very comfortable, and b) not full, so I was in business. As you may have surmised from my posts, when I get to a new place I almost always walk around and get a sense of the place – after that, I’m more relaxed and I can pick and choose my activities (or lack thereof). But in Leh, the altitude is such that you really can’t do much for a day or two…and given that I had had only 2-3 hours of sleep, I needed more anyway, so I plopped down on the nice bed, covered myself with blankets (including one awesome furry number….meow!) and snoozed till noon. Then I did my little walk, ate some fine Tibetan mutton momos (dumplings), and got my bearings.

Leh is incredibly peaceful – unlike Mumbai and Delhi. For newcomers, you really pay attention to your breath, as it’s a bit labored when you arrive. I felt like I was having an extended yoga pranayama class for the first day or so. The people are friendly and relaxed – although the drivers have the Indian penchant for honking when you’re walking half a mile down the road. The outside door of my guesthouse had a sign warning that the door would be closed at 11 p.m. I asked the proprietor about that – I hate having those sorts of restrictions – and he just laughed and said he put the sign there during the World Cup to ‘keep things calm.’ Of course, the World Cup had ended two months beforehand…but what’s the hurry? The air was slightly chilly, although the sun was warm. Ladakh gets some crazy temperature extremes – you can get frostbite and sunstroke at the same time. I think you’d need to actually try to do so…but the point is that one needs to be somewhat mindful when in off-the-grid places like this.

The cool air was perfect for September – the autumn chill reached out and tickled my New England DNA. But that’s pretty much where the New England connection ended. As I sat at my hotel window staring out at the mountains at dusk, I heard bells and chants coming from somewhere in the old town. The smells that drifted by the window were a heady mixture of flowers, incense, cow dung, and sulfur. It felt as if life itself had taken a shower and put on new clothes. In the West there’s no identifiable smell, unless you’re standing next to a dumpster (or my toilet). In places like India, your nose is constantly being given work to do…sometimes the odor isn’t pleasant, but more often than not in my experience it’s quite good. I couldn’t believe it had taken me 14 years to return to northern India.

I visited a tour outfitter to see about some short trips in Ladakh. There were 3-4 distant places I wanted to see, so that pretty much ruled out a multi-day trek, which would only hit a couple of them. Plus, it was getting cold at night. Plus, I was feeling a bit lazy (for me). I told myself I’d do a trek in Himachal Pradesh, out of Dharamsala, as Jan and I did in ’92. I felt a bit guilty at not doing a Ladakh trek – I met a few people who were about to start one, and I knew that Jan had done more than one. But I held fast and decided to make my time in Ladakh more touring as opposed to trekking. Jan had given me the name of his outfitter, and I thought they seemed good, so I went with them for my various mini-trips around Ladakh. More on that in the next post – as I haven’t actually started these trips yet.

Spent my second day in Leh checking out the local sights. Leh Palace was built in the 17th century and is sometimes known as the ‘mini Potala’ after the real deal in Lhasa, Tibet. The palace towers above the town – it’s no longer inhabited, as the local royal family was exiled to the town of Stok back around 1830. The place is huge and impressive, but inside it’s bare and crumbling. Workers were there, and I hear that the place is always undergoing renovations. The view of the town and the nearby mountains are stunning – words simply cannot describe it. But here are a few attempts…

After the palace, climbed a steep switchback road up to the Namgyal Tsemo Gompa, built in 1430. Was sweating hard when I reached the top. I do love the feeling of sweat drying with a cool breeze, so was able to sit at the top and let the winds seduce me for a few minutes…met up with a very colorful looking local fellow, shown here:

Went back to my guesthouse. Listened to the sounds of the canals for a while – if I didn’t know better, I could have sworn it was pouring out. Lit some incense and did a bit of yoga at dusk – the power was out but it didn’t matter at all. The yoga felt mystical and the sound of the water soothed my savage breast. I couldn’t help but smile, really – I think what I’ve truly been seeking in recent years is peace and quiet, and time to reflect. Finally, I was getting closer to my core needs, and was looking forward to smiles coming on freer and easier in coming months.

Postscript: my brother-in-law Dave noticed that several of my recent posts are missing on the blogsite. Seems BootsnAll had a database screwup and lost all postings (everyone’s) between August 17 and September 15 – they’re looking for them now. Anyway, they were cached on Google, so I was able to retrieve them. That’s the good news…the flip side is that the Burmese government can probably read them too, and next time I apply for a visa I might get the Heisman. Anyway, will re-post soon if BootsnAll doesn’t take care of this…thanks for playing.