Grassland Disco: Honeymoon in Inner Mongolia

Days 1 & 2

It had been almost two months since our wedding and we had returned from our family time in America to our home in China. We had spent the last month eating all of the best of bad food that the States have to offer and spending some much needed one-on-one time with our families. I was so happy to see everyone, and I was also happy to be home. And to finally be going on our honeymoon.

We have spend many hours lazing away by the beaches in Hawaii, India and South East Asia. It was time for something different, completely. So, in true B & L style we opted for the adventure packed, grassland dancing, yurt sleeping, camel riding glory that is Inner Mongolia.

We traveled around China somewhat for the first two years we lived here, but not enough. This place is astonishingly huge, with so much diversity in the landscapes of nature and people, we had to see more of it. I was glancing over the travel ads in That’s Shanghaiand saw something for the Nadaam Festival in the grasslands of Inner Mongolia. One look at the itinerary, which included being able to watch the horse races, wrestling matches, and archery competitions and B was hooked. So, it was like most things in our relationship; not…well, normal.

We packed our backpacks and cameras and set out for Hohhot, the main city in Inner Mongolia where we were met by our fabulous guide, a young bubbly woman named Chelsea, and Chun Shifu, our stalwart driver.

In the city we saw an important military office from days long gone, the newly refurbished Temple, and the forgotten Five Pagoda Temple. We ate a truly tasty lunch of a delicate soup with mushrooms and flowers with homemade potato noodles and Bryan munched on mutton, the specialty of the area.

As we walked through the city and the vibrantly colored temples, I felt waves of excitement and spirituality. The people wore smiles on their faces as they listened to stories of a great man who unified the fighting groups with the peaceful practices of Buddhism while others nodded solemly while soaking in the stories from the turbulent reign of the last emperor and his tiger of a mother. There is a feeling you get when in these places that is unlike any other. It creeps into the base of your spine and prickles your neck, making hairs stand on end. The energy is electric.

Early the next morning we headed out into the grasslands, rolling hills and wild flowers waved as we sped past, and soon the automobile narcalepsy took over and I woke up near our home for the night. We were greeted by brightly and traditionally clothed young men and women who wore blue scarves draped over their arms as they offered us baijiu. We were instructed to dip our ring finger into the liquid, as Genghis Khan once had done to test for poison. Then, we flicked some to the heavens, some to the Earth, and swiped some on our foreheads. Then it was time to drink. I had spent a record two years avoiding baijiu in China, but I did not want to offend tradition, so down my hatch it went. It was not at all the fiery, unpleasant gag reflex inducing concotion I was expecting, it was actually a bit pleasant.

There was an afternoon of eating, wresting and mushroom picking in the abundant fields and then a horseback ride. I should have learned by now that I should not go near horses, let alone ride them, but I never learn. After a short ride around the area, my nose was a faucet and my lungs were wheezing. I nearly stepped on a toad while going into our yurt and fended off a healthy looking spider after that. As I swallowed one more Benedryl I asked myself what the heck I was thinking coming here like this, for my honeymoon no less!

I returned to the dining yurt and watched as the big group across from us and became more and more red and hysterical as the clear liquid escaped from the biuju bottled and into ther laughing bellies. The music began, I wasn’t asthmatic anymore, things were looking up.

About a half an hour later we were ushered to a stage area that was lit up with disco lights and surrounded by high wattage speakers echoing with the exuberance of traditional Mongolian music. The guests laughed and yelled and warmed themselves by the fire. We found some soldiers among us, having a much needed night off, and also learned that the rambunctious group was from one of the country’s leading oil companies. And there we were, two foreigners in the midst of it all. It was pretty amazing.

Things only got better as the music resumed. The baijiu was in full effect and Bryan and I were roped in to many a photo and dance. Soldiers gyrated to the beat and encouraged B to take his shirt off as one of the oil group guys incessantly tried to parade me around the concrete technicolored flashing dance floor, moving his arms this way and that in a zig zag fashion while I tried not to trip over him. At one point we were dancing around the fire in hora fashion. Hands clasped together, feet moving frantically sideways as the music’s beat sped up to meet that of our racing hearts, and in the center of it all was my funky dance partner standing in front of the fire, praying. I took a picture of that moment with my mind and hoped it would last forever.

After a bit more dancing, fireworks, and singing, we watched the last of the sky lanterns sparkling and full of wishes fade into the sky. We said goodbye to our new friends, and headed to the dimly lit yurt. After escorting a few unwanted creatures outside, we put some toilet paper in our ears to avoid them from trying to find new homes in our nice, warm heads, and kissed goodnight. Romantic? Not for most people, but for us it was absolutely perfect.

The Heart of Bali

In this world there is so much beauty in the physical: clear blue waters playfully tickling white sandy shores, emerald mountains filled with ferns caressing each crevasse, exotic faces smiling with their entire beings, bright and juicy jewels of fruit hanging from their coiled vines. Physical beauty and allure is easy to find, especially when one is infatuated with newness. One type of beauty that has become more elusive as outer beauty shoves it’s way further out onto the world’s center stage is inner beauty: peace, humility, acceptance and happiness.

In Ubud, probably one of the friendliest places of all, there is so much physical beauty. There are bright green rice terraces as far as the eyes can see, intricate stone carvings telling the stories of how things began, waterfalls of clear and clean drops of life pouring down black stone, and colors of the rainbow filling plates and taste buds. However, what amazes me the most are the people, so welcoming, so happy, so willing to share, and so humble. To me, they posses true beauty.

When we first arrived, we visited a restaurant nearby Villa Areklo, where we had the great pleasure of staying. There we met the manager Agung, like the Balinese volcano. He was a young man with laughter shining in his eyes. He began to share his story, which helped us understand the complexities of Balinese culture.

The first thing he shared with us was the way children are named; one, two, three, four, and if by chance a mother bears more children than four, the fourth is once again named one. Wayan, Made, Nyoman, and Ketut are the most commonly use names. The next important part of introducing oneself, besides what number you are, is what caste you belong to. The highest class is made up of holy men and priests, the Brahmins. The second highest class is made up of warriors and nobles, the Ksatrias. Next comes the administrative and merchant caste, the Wasias. The last and largest are the Shudras. Men born into a caste are usually there for life, while a woman can marry up. Your caste determines how people will treat you in a relationship, working or otherwise, but one thing I noticed in Bali, and what our bike tour guide Mun said to us is true, “In Bali, I am you and you are me. We respect each other.” This wasn’t just some lip serviced cultural propaganda either, as I saw it in everyone, everyday.

After our meal Agung invited us to his home, in a village called Lovina on the northwest shore of Bali. He wanted us to spend Galungan, a huge Balinese traditional celebration, with him and his family. We couldn’t believe the open heart of this smiling Buddha of a man we had just met, and we came to find that nearly everyone is this way. The people here do not make you feel like you are an outsider, or merely a dollar sign. They genuinely care about you enjoying, learning, and exploring. I am you and you are me.

The next night we met Mush at the Jazz Cafe, and he told us of his place in this culture, of his hopes and dreams, his vision of the beautiful life in California, and of his hopes and dreams for B and I. We must have spent at least an hour just sharing pieces of each other on the veranda in the hot yet sweet Ubud air. This cycle continued, and I began to fall in love with this place for the beauty of its people even more than the beauty of its land.

The humble nature of the Balinese exudes from every pore of its culture. Not only from the relationships and conversations with people, but also with the Gods. On this island, there are over 20,000 temples. Every shop, no matter how tiny, will have a stone altar at which they will leave the offerings of the day. Each family compound, which has a temple that is usually much more grand than the homes in which they live, displays the unwavering belief that one must be humble before God. In America and around the world we see many examples of people preaching this message only to go home in their expensive cars to lavish homes. Not here. Words here actually mean something.

Each day the altars adorning a home, shop, or temple, will be visited by a beautiful woman carrying a tray of offerings: flowers, crackers or rice, incense, and sometimes cigarettes. They are carefully placed in a banana leaf basket and offered with a swift but steady movement of the woman’s trained hand and a splash of a special water. I was amazed at the time and effort put into this practice, even though the baskets would be trampled over or knocked down by monkeys wanting an easy meal in a matter of moments. That made no difference, it had to be done, it was a matter of respect.

After becoming a bit jaded by the face saving culture of China, I needed something like this in my life. To see that in some places in the world, people are still happy without antidepressants and mansions, to see that culture mattered and should be saved and passed down, to see that in some places in the world people respect each other, even without having to do a song and dance to earn it. Suksama, thank you, for giving me hope once again.

“You need to get out of Kuta”

The English bloke frequently found drinking Bintang at J.J.’s behind the Quest Hotel told us, “Ubud is beautiful. It is just like what you see in the movies and read in the books, but better. It is one of the most beautiful places you will ever see.” We had a few days left in Kuta when he and his friend urged us, “Do the things you have to do here, but get out, go see the rest of Bali. You need to get out of Kuta.” We were excited to see the rest of Bali, but first, we explored a bit of the south.

We spent a few hours idling away the time at the beach in Sanur, a beautiful white sand beach with calm, clear, and warm water. It was a perfect way to spend the afternoon, especially for couples with little ones, as the surf just lightly pokes at the shore before retreating back onto the abyss. When you walk down the boardwalk, where the red bricks stretch on and on past shops and beachside restaurants, pick up an ear of grilled corn. It is sweet, crisp, and perfectly charred. Then sit, drink, eat fresh seafood and produce, and watch the blue waves flow back and forth from Lembongan to Bali.

A couple of days later we went to another beach up the way from Sanur. There were many tourists there, and lots of touristy things to do. People from all over put on wetsuits and oxygen tanks to check out the reef, and people donned life jackets to ride the waves on jet skis and banana boats. We decided to go on the banana boat. I was very excited, and couldn’t stop myself from repeating, “Get on de boat, de banana boat!” With a few Bintangs in our system, we straddled the banana, so to speak, and yelled to the driver, “Fast! Fast!” He quickly sped the boat far out into the water, and then sharply turned the boat. Into the water we went, and I struggled to get back on the banana. Once we were all safely back on, he sped off once more. Two minutes later, another sharp turn, and then into the water we went, ever so ungracefully. “Sit far on the back!” the boat driver yelled. Now he tells us. We spent the rest of the time bobbing and turning on top of the banana boat. It was a fun experience, but not one I will likely repeat.

On one warm yet overcast day, we went on a horseback ride along a mysterious black sand beach that sparkled like the milky way, and was dotted with fishermen in straw hats. My horse was named Brother. He was a bit feisty, but a beautiful beast. We rode past a small waterfall, through a shallow river, and then we hit the end of the cliff. There was a bat cave, it smelled like heaps of guano, but I was fascinated by the squeaky black bats, so I braved the stench to take a look. We hiked up a small trail, and at the top a temple was nestled in the tall grass, surrounded by doe eyed cows and volcanoes. It was breathtaking.

A couple of days later it was off to the animal safari park, which I highly recommend. It is great for children and adult animal lovers alike. There was an elephant education show, which was so well done that it brought tears to my eyes. It told the story of the struggle over land being fought between the Sumatran elephants and villagers, and ended on a hopeful note of understanding and respect. Throughout the day we saw amazing things: a white tiger feeding, an orangoutang close up, an animal education show featuring all sorts of animals (including trained guinea pigs and cats), and a safari through an amazing array of animals. We stayed for hours, and I felt like a child, so excited to be so close to the beautiful and alluring creatures of this world.

On our last night in Kuta we ended up back at the Legian Pub. I won’t go into details here, but let’s just say that the next morning, our friend from J.J.’s words rung in my head, “You need to get out of Kuta.” I couldn’t have agreed more. As I shoved my clothes in my bag, head throbbing, stomach reeling, I tried to think of the beauty of Ubud, and it got me through. I said goodbye to Kuta as we drove into the green mountains toward Ubud. I closed my eyes as I dreamt of rice fields.

My Crazy Kuta Challenge!

Kuta is one of those places where lost souls go to dig themselves deeper into the rabbit hole, where Aussie and Kiwi party animals go to get their drink on, where couples go to reconnect, and where families can bring their little ones for an amazing experience. Kuta can be crazy, but it can also be calm and cool. There is something here for every soul, whether it’s searching for something or not.

For me, Kuta was a budget friendly place where B and our friends with a year and a half year old could either laze around all day, go exploring, swim in the pool, or have a fun night partying with fellow travelers and locals alike.

We arrived on January 15th, just after the throngs of tourists had kissed their blissful holiday goodbye and shuffled back to reality. It was perfect because the high season prices were now low, and we weren’t fighting our way through the crowds. It was a bit rainy, but I prefer a bit of stormy weather over storms of people.

I decided to do some things I had never done before, so here it is, my very own Kuta Challenge.

Challenge 1: Drink the Flaming Special at Legian Pub

We had the fortune of meeting a very cool Australian guy named Brad in the lobby of our hotel. Brad had been to Bali 25 times. He knew just about everything anyone would ever need to know about Kuta, he had even written a guide for people like us loaded with places to go, things to do, best bars and restaurants, and where to avoid. He was like an angel with a tan and a cool accent. Lucky for us, he took a shining to our motley crew and decided to take us around for his last few hours in Kuta.

First we went to the fun Legian Pub we drank the local specialty, which may be called the Jimmy Special or the Flaming Special. By the end of the night, we had forgotten the names of most places and people we had encountered throughout the night. First, the liquor is poured into a stemmed glass, and then the glass is warmed with a match before the liquor is set on fire. Then the guys behind the bar shout, “Five! Four! Three! Two! One!” They bang on the bar with their fists, hands and plastic ashtrays as you quickly gulp the flaming concoction through a straw. The bartender adds some milk, cooling the fire in your belly. It is actually quite tasty.

Challenge 2: Sing karaoke with a live band

If you are like me and love to pretend you are a rockstar, go to Bounty where a talented band plays some oldies but goodies as well as a few contemporary songs as you move across the stage like Steven Tyler. Our friend was the first to go, and he sang 5,000 Miles. Of course, his adorable son had to join him and he completely won over the crowd with his melodious babble. Then Brad sang a few tunes, and talked me into joining him for a couple of duets. After that, I was quite comfortable on the stage, and B had to pry me away after four or five solos. I still want to go back.

Challenge 3: Go to Synergy for some martial arts training

I will try almost anything once, so when B asked if I would join him for jiu jitsu, I hesitated, but then agreed. It couldn’t be as embarrassing as me hogging the microphone at karaoke, could it? When we arrived with our friend, I gulped. Most of the guys were twice my size and ripped, then I saw there were a few young boys and another lady, so I didn’t feel so bad. That feeling didn’t last long. The instructor proceeded with showing us various ways to choke someone out, put them in an arm bar, wizard hold, full mount, rear guard, guillotine, the list of foreign terminology went on and on. I watched intently, trying to hide the fact that I was completely lost.

B was very patient with me, and even let me put him in a choke hold. That was pretty fun. We wrestled, practiced the moves (well, I tried to practice the moves), and writhed along the padded floor, grunting all the while. Then the instructor asked us to trade partners and do some sparring. As I looked around at the sweaty guys around the room, I gulped. Luckily our friend, also new to the world of jiu jitsu, was my first partner. I awkwardly lay across his chest and couldn’t help cracking up. We must have looked like a couple of fish in a boat trying to breathe in the air. Then we had to trade partners. The only other woman and I went at it. She was shorter than me, but I am pretty sure she is a former member of the Israeli army. She squirmed out from under me and in about two seconds had me in a hold. “Wow, you are good. Have you done this before?” I asked, hoping the answer was yes. “No, first time.” I was embarrassed. She pinned me down effortlessly about two more times, and then it was time to switch. A French guy, Sebastian, was my next partner. He was more experienced, but was nice enough not to laugh at me when I pathetically tried to “shrimp out” of his hold, and he even gave me a few pointers. I was too exhausted to go on much longer. By the end of the two hour class I was drenched in sweat, both my own and various other partners’, my knees were red, skinned, and bruised, and I had a sprained toe. I was not a pretty sight.

It was a painful yet adrenaline pumping experience, but I think I will stick to the tamer side of martial arts. At least now I know how to choke someone out, if the occasion ever arises.

Challenge 4: Bikram Hot Yoga

I guess I am a glutton for punishment because a couple of days after getting my butt kicked on the martial arts mat I decided to get it kicked on the yoga mat. There was a studio right next to our hotel, so we did the evening class. I had done hot yoga in Shanghai, but it did not prepare me for the sweat session I was about to experience. The room is heated by 5-6 heaters at a temperature of over 100 degrees Fahrenheit. Before we stared I was already sweating bullets, and I am not usually a sweaty gal. We started with standing poses, my heart was pounding like the bass in one of Kuta’s many nightclubs, and my fingers started tingling. I started to feel lightheaded and sat down on my mat, seriously considering walking out of the class, and it had only been about ten minutes. I caught my breath and felt a bit better, and decided not to give up. The next 80 minutes went by fairly quickly, as I pushed, stretched, and breathed myself to my body’s limits. In between each vinyassa, we did the dead pose, which I liked because it helped to slow down my beating heart and gave me the strength to do another set. After we finished, my body tingled again, but this time in a good way. It really makes you realize that you can do anything you put your mind to, and right at the moment you may feel like giving up, just take a deep breath and begin again.

I will definitely be going back.

I Heart Hot Pot

It is no secret that I am obsessed with food. If you have read my other posts you will know that I cannot help myself from mentioning food, multiple times. When I visit a new place one of the first questions I ask is, “Where should I eat?”

Shanghai is a dangerous place for someone like me. Every street is lined with restaurants and street food. Around the city you can find any type of food from any corner of the globe. Shanghai’s community is a vibrant mix of people from every province in China and every continent in the world. People bring their dreams, families, and businesses here. It seems as though the American dream can now be found in China. Every culture brings its own personality to the city, where some places look and taste like Europe, while others look an taste like ancient China.

If it is the taste of ancient China you are looking for, then find a hot pot restaurant near you. The hot pot has been around for over 1,000 years, and although places in the U.S., such as The Melting Pot, have repackaged it and made it “fancy” the original is still the best.

Shanghai can be cruel in winter, and some days the only way to keep you warm and satisfy your appetite is a hot bubbly pot of broth and spicy red peppers. At a typical hot pot restaurant you will be offered a few types of broth, which could be a spicy Sichuan mix or a more tropical and mild coconut mix. Once the broth starts rolling, and the steamy scent fills your nose, it’s time to cook your dinner. You can order just about any type of food that is edible. Meat eaters can eat anything with a tail, wings, four legs or none. Vegetarians will enjoy the plethora of leafy greens, fresh mushrooms, and bean curd of all shapes and sizes. The type of cuisine available will vary by region with coastal cities offering up the fresh catch and landlocked cities and towns serving the four legged beasts that roam nearby.

Each person is in charge of his or her own tasty bites, and one chopstick load at a time, adds them to the savory sauce. The broth only gets better, as the individual flavors of the food infuse into it. If your mouth isn’t watering yet, it will when you visit the sauce counter where you can find peanut sauce, pepper sauce, sa cha sauce, green onions, crushed garlic, cilantro white pepper and more. You can bring back as many bowls as you like. Some taste better alone while others can be mixed in to a delicious concoction that you can drip on your food while it’s still steaming on your plate.

One of the best places I have been for hot pot is Hot Pot King in the French Concession. There the food was fresh and of high quality. The atmosphere is as it should be, full of warmth both from the costumers and the giant pots. Some patrons choose to wear the green apron offered by the restaurant, as it can get messy with all that hot and spicy liquid flying around. They offer an appetizer of thin and crispy flat bread with peanut butter smeared in between. The cost is great too. For a huge meal and the green bottled Tsingdao, it was only 120 RMB for each of us, about $19.

There may be many things about the city that you will find overwhelming at times, but the great thing is that you will always find a comfort food to soothe your soul. For many Chinese who leave their country to work or study abroad, hot pot is one of the foods that will always taste like home.

Hippie Heaven

It’s early morning in Goa. The crows are noisily claiming their territory, the spotted beige crabs scurry sideways from tiny hole to tiny hole. For miles, there is nothing but beautiful beach, swaying palm trees, charming bamboo huts, and sparkling water. Groups of people gather to welcome the day with yoga, saluting the sun, rooting themselves in the earth. Fishermen untangle their nets, which are dotted with last night’s catch. The sun begins to grow higher in the cloudless sky and the sand glitters like gold. Clearly, this is heaven.

Mandrem Beach is a sleepier and less developed part of Goa. South Goa is where you will find the four star resorts, with their concrete structures dotting the various beaches. North Goa is a place to completely unwind, eat to your heart and stomach’s content, and drink copious amounts of the ubiquitous Kingfisher beer. It is the ideal place to detach yourself from reality.

We stayed in a beach hut at a place called Casa D’Calma. The huts are quite charming, although sometimes privacy is a bit lacking, as the only thing between you and your nearby neighbor is a few strips of bamboo. Nonetheless, it has the necessities: bed, ceiling fan, toilet, shower and sink. Over a small hill lies a river, endless beach, and the Indian Ocean. Right next door to us was a place called Dunes Resort that had a great selection of food, and an amazing view of the sunset. The restaurant caters to all sorts of palates, serving everything from Indian, American, Italian, and more. Fresh juice is a big deal here, and the Dunes restaurant served such life savers as the Morning After, with spinach, melon, and mint. The Morning After was concocted to cure your hangover, which was likely caused by the local rum, Old Monk. Old Monk costs around $1.00 per shot, and although it’s not too bad going down with a glass bottle of Coke, that Old Monk will punish you in the morning.

As far as things to do in Goa, there are many. You can be bathed by an elephant, visit the spice farms, go kite gliding or on a dolphin tour, visit temples or the old town, and try your luck at the many casinos. It is easy to see why some people spend so much time here. Actually, in Goa, time seems to almost stand still, dripping slowly like golden honey one day to the next. For what seemed like eternity we strolled the beach, stopping to eat now and then. No matter where we ate, what we ordered, the food was divine. B had the freshest kingfish, rubbed with tandoori spices and fired to perfection. I had the creamiest and most delicious grilled paneer. Paneer is to India what tofu is to China. It is a protein-rich substance with a chewy and satisfying texture. Of course, it is not healthier than tofu, but it tastes a million times better. I also became addicted to naan bread, and would order lots of it with every meal. It wasn’t rare to see me laying on a beach chair, chewing on some naan.

Finally, I tore myself off of the beach and away from the buttered naan, and went to look for something new, that wouldn’t take much effort (all of this eating and relaxing was obviously taking it’s toll). I opted for the massage, as it took the least amount of energy. We were referred to a small and inconspicuous apartment, above the busy street market. I went with the yogic massage, which is similar to Thai massage in that there is a lot of stretching and pressure involved. The practitioner, a stout man with intense brown eyes began to prepare for the massage as he breathed in deeply, and grounded himself. He began by walking on the bottom of my feet, as I lie face down, and it felt quite nice. That nice feeling didn’t last as he dug his fingers in between my shin and calf, I jerked. “You have blocking here.” I believed him because that is exactly what it felt like as he continued to apply heavy pressure there. I gritted my teeth as he pressed and prodded at different parts of my legs. Then, I moved onto my back, he lifted my foot to his shoulder and flexed my foot. I’m holding my breath, hoping to pass out, rather than deal with the pain I guess, “Breathe deep breath.” I follow instructions, and it does numb the pain a bit. The next hour goes by quickly, as I am stretched from limb to limb, socket to socket. I stood up and felt energized, and clear headed. There was something pretty cool about that yogic massage.

As I walk out of the concrete stairwell, feeling like I am floating on air, I see people of all sorts. Burly blond men from Russia, folks from the UK, a few talkative Aussies, and a handful of North Americans. Every once in a while a cow or two would plod past, lazily munching on grass, knowing it’s untouchable. The fine for killing a stray cow or dog is 5,000 Rupees. We learned later from our very friendly and very wise cab driver that there is no fine for killing a person. Imagine that, an animal’s life being more valuable than a human’s.

In this part of Goa, you won’t see are high rise resorts and excess. It’s quite refreshing actually. What you will see are a lot of dreadlocks, drum circles, birthday suits, and free spirits. Word on the street Is that the “real” hippies have gone to another beach, as Arambol and Mandrem have gotten too touristy for them. So, these must be the “fake” hippies then, the ones who don’t grow their own dreadlocks, but purchase them from a stall up the dirt road. I’m not sure I can tell the difference, I just like the fact that people here seem to walk to the beat of their own drum.

We met a lovely couple from Bristol at our favorite spot, the Dunes restaurant, who were on their way to a completely new life in Australia. He is a carpenter by trade, and she worked in insurance. They decided to rent out their flat, close up their affairs in England, and head out for a tour of Asia before settling in Perth. They have been on fascinating travels. On a previous trip around the world they had been to Borneo, Tahiti, Thailand, Laos, and more. On their way to Australia, they just live one moment to the next, going where the airfare is cheap. The night we met them, they were looking into flights to the Maldives. The travel bug is in everyone we meet. We soak in their stories, share our own, and always leave the conversation hungry for another trip.

Mumbai Madness: Part II

Since I didn’t go into detail about our motel, if you could even call it that, I will talk about it here. In Mumbai, there is a place to stay for every budget. You could lie in the lap of luxury at any one of the Taj Hotels, or you could lie in a bed of stained sheets like we did at Traveller’s Inn. I suggest that you do not choose as we did.

I have had good luck using Hostelworld.com, so I used it again for this trip. Traveller’s Inn’s ratings weren’t stellar, but better than other places listed on the site. One thing that caught my eye was a comment about the guy at the front desk being able to help you get into a Bollywood movie. I looked at a few other comments on other sites as well, and thought everything looked good, so I booked it for three nights.

We got there at about 2:00 a.m., and when we got to our room the first thing that greeted us was a roach. The next thing we saw were the stained sheets. I looked at B worriedly. What had I gotten us into? The bell hop came with a towel that would mean the end of the roach, and two towels for us that looked like they had been used for the same purpose. The knot in my stomach grew. Finally, we were offered a tiny tattered blanket and half a roll of toilet paper. I slept in my clothes that night.

The next day I searched the Internet for a different place to stay, but due to the holiday everything was booked. ‘O.K.,’ I thought, ‘At least I can be in a Bollywood movie!’ I asked the guy at the front desk about going to Bollywood, and he told me, with an extremely bored look on his face, “It’s too expensive, 6,000 Rupees.” My hopes of stardom were gone. “Do you have any other suggestions?” I asked hopefully. Increasingly bored he replied “Maybe you can go to the Gateway of India.” Thank goodness we met Munna that day.

The day after our tour with Munna, we were looking for somewhere to go. B found a water park and a spa. If you have read my other blog entries you know that I am a sucker for massages. We set out for The Four Fountains Spa in Bandra. Lucky for me, our helpful manager was at the desk. “Hi! Can you tell me the best way to go to Bandra?” With a nod of his head he said, “I think taking the train is better. It’s half an hour train ride. Taxi will take one hour.” “How do we get to the train?” “Turn right and go straight. If you need, ask anyone and they will tell you where to go.” So, there we were, getting ready for our first experience of Mumbai mass transit.

We found the train station, and it was full of people. A nice boy told me where to buy tickets and for 12 Rupees we got our ticket to Bandra. We went to the wrong platform at first, and a tall guy redirected us to the right platform. We waited a couple of minutes and then the train arrived. Men hung out of the doorways and jumped out before the train came to a screeching halt. I noticed there was a “Women Only Cart”, but didn’t think much of it. Our tall friend grabbed my arm and thrust his body against me so we could get on the train. I thought it was a little aggressive, but I thought he was trying to be helpful, so I just ignored it. What I couldn’t ignore though was the fact that even after the train began to move and we were settled in our spots, our friend kept jamming his groin into me. I thought maybe it was all in my head as I clung tightly to B. Nope, there it was again. I wedged B in between me and our friend in the yellow shirt. He acted as if nothing had happened, and kept notifying us about how many stops we had left. We had to get off the train, and that is when I decided it was time to lose the guy.

We lost him, which was good, but it also meant that we were lost again too. A guy from the last train led us to where we were supposed to be. Another crowded train full of men. B and I moved toward the door, at least no one could stand behind me then, and I gladly pressed myself against the metal wall. Then, I felt something on my leg, a hand pressing against me. I looked down, it wasn’t so crowded in that space that the guy had to do that, but I wasn’t sure. I tried to squeeze closer to B who was hanging out of the door like a dog in a car window, and I didn’t feel it, for a moment anyway. Then, it happened again, and this time I pushed his arm away and hoped that the next stop was ours. We got off the train, and the guy with the roving fingers tried to help us onto the next train. I guess them touching me was an unspoken helpers fee. I was through with these trains and we got a taxi to Bandra.

If you are a woman traveling on the train in Mumbai, please take the women only car. My advice? Don’t take the train at all if you don’t have to.

We had been on the train for nearly an hour, and were still nowhere near our destination. After about 30 minutes or so in the black and yellow cab, forcing its way through the crowded streets, we made it to the spa, which was located directly under Gold’s Gym. The Swedish massage was good, but it ended with a head massage that included pouring thick oil all over my head and hair. Think, pouring almost half a cup of olive oil on your head and you will get the idea. Oils are used a lot in in massages and various treatments here in India.

Then it was time for food, my favorite part of Mumbai. No matter where we went, the food was amazing. Naan, paneer, vegetable pakora, roti, masalas, long grained rice, the list goes on and on. Seriously, at every restaurant the menu is huge! There is a good selection for all Indian dishes, both vegetarian and non-veggie. Then there is usually another good selection on Chinese food. They also throw in pizza and pasta for good measure. I have not left a single restaurant feeling less than happy, no matter if it was at a small street corner joint or a more upscale venture. There is nothing better than dipping a crispy piece of buttered naan in a sweet sauce spiked with peppers, garlic, and cardamom. India knows how to do food, and on that fact alone, I would seriously consider moving here.

After another delicious dinner, B and I headed back to Traveller’s Inn for our last night. The next day at noon Munna came to pick us up. His mouth was smiling, but his eyes looked worried. He ushered us to his taxi and quickly got us on our way to the airport. After we had gone a couple of blocks, Munna looked at us in the rearview mirror and said “It’s very dangerous today, high alert.” B and I looked at each other, puzzled. We had been out earlier to go to the ATM and get a bite to eat and everything seemed O.K., but as we found out from Munna, something big was going on. “I can’t take Ceiling Bridge, too dangerous. Today, after I drop you, I don’t stand outside my taxi. I go home, lock the doors and stay inside.” “What’s wrong?” “The people are very angry with the leader.” Just then we passed a long line of protesters carrying signs like, “Stop the corruption in trade.” People were angry, they were organizing themselves and gathering. The police officers walked along with them, allowing them to demonstrate but just keeping an eye on things. We noticed many more police officers on the street after that.

Otherwise, things were going on as usual. Some people slept on the busy sidewalks, while some advertised their items from a tiny shop front. Gaggles of men walked closely together, old women spread out their vegetables under the bridges. Life went on as usual, but still the sense of urgency was tangible in the thick air. We said goodbye to Munna and I hoped that he and the rest of Mumbai would be safe, that night and always.

Mumbai Madness: Part I

It was Christmas day, Sunday, and we got an early start. The streets were quiet with only a few shops open for business. The rest sat sleepily with their metal doors closed to the world. Our first stop was at a small stall that sold snacks and fresh fruit juice. We got a watermelon juice, and it was an even better way to start the day than coffee. We watched as the men behind the counter discussed something heatedly while one guy chopped up our watermelon. Into the juicer it went and out came our breakfast.

Then we started out for the Gateway of India. I didn’t know much about it, just that it was a place listed in the guidebooks. After walking for a while, we realized we were going the wrong way. We had passed people sleeping on the sidewalks, bright silver carriages, and children bathing outside of their metal shelters. A black and yellow taxi took us to the Gateway for 100 Rupees, it should have cost less than 50. The area of the Gateway was much different than the area we were staying in, near our motel, Traveller’s Inn (more on that crazy place later). They say India is a land of stark contrast, and although it sounds cliche, it couldn’t be more true. On the same street that you see a Hermes shop, you will see women and children with no shoes begging for money. There are malls filled with diamonds and rubies in the midst of slums filled with rubbish and goats. It was shocking to see, and I wasn’t quite sure what to make of the city formerly known as Bombay.

However, as the sun began to warm the city streets, Mumbai started to grow on me. We arrived to the gateway of India and realized it was a sea port, hence the name. It was packed with families, one of which paid a photographer to take a photo with B and I in front of the Taj Mahal Hotel. We strolled along the boardwalk and were asked to buy everything from peanuts to giant balloons. We were approached by many taxi drivers who offered to take us on a tour of the city, all of whom we refused. We were going to find something to eat when again we were approached by a taxi driver. His name was Munna, he was tall, young, and had a very kind smile. There was something about him we liked, so we changed our plans and went with Munna.

Our first stop was Nairiman Point, the commercial area where all of the money was made, then it was to the famed Chowpatty Beach with banyan trees and yellow sand. A nice place to have a picnic, but I wouldn’t swim there. Then it was off to Jain Temple. There we met a boy who loved chocolate, and was so adorable that B just had to buy him some, and a Santa hat too. It was Christmas after all. The boy beamed a missing tooth smile and waved goodbye, clutching his gold wrapped chocolates.

Inside the temple, worshippers lit incense, rang bells, made patterns out of rice and flower petals, and prayed to their Gods. One of the things that is clearly evident here is religion, a stark contrast to predominately atheist China. Throughout the day we drove past many temples, churches, and mosques with people lined up for what seemed like miles, all for the chance to pay their respects to their various Gods. When we asked Munna if he was Hindu, he said yes, then added, “We are all red. Hindu, blood red. Muslim, blood red. Christian, blood red. There is only one great God in the sky.” We agreed.

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After that we drove to the Hanging Garden, so named because under it lies a huge body of water that keeps the gardens green and lush. Huge families sat and had picnics of naan and rice, couples walked hand in hand, and groups of young men roved about. Everyone smiled at us, and sometimes said, "Hello!" often nodding in the truly unique Indian way, not shaking, not nodding, but somewhere in between. At one point, a group of children stood in front of us with their cellphones poised for action. "Can I take a photo?" they asked, one after another, grinning huge grins and talking to their friends excitedly. Of course, we could not refuse, and one after another the children took their best shots. "What is your name?" "Oh, that is a very nice name!" "where are you from?" "Oh America!" We felt like Bollywood celebrities, if only for a moment.

Next, we went to Malabar Hill, another nice park filled with nice people. There you could find the best viewpoint in the city. We perched for a photo and then followed Munna back to the taxi. We drove for a couple of moments, then he pointed to the crows circling overhead. “See those? They are over the Tower of Silence. No one can go there except Persians. Their bones go in the tower, and the rest is for the birds.” As we drove past, I could not ignore the stench of death.

Our last stop was the biggest laundry washing area in all of Asia. We looked over the wall at hundreds of concrete tubs filled with brown water. Men and women, old and young, painstakingly scrubbed shirt collars, bed sheets, jeans, saris, and tablecloths. Heaps of fabric hung in the heat of the day like colored flags.

There is a definite sense of urgency in this city. As you walk along the alleyways and crowded streets, you can feel the fear and desperation clinging to your skin. With the political unrest, poverty, and violent outbursts, it is no wonder it feels this way. The city doesn’t pause, not even for a moment, as if doing so would bring it closer to the great God in the sky. The ominous black and cawing crows sense it, and day after day they circle the city, waiting for it to stop breathing.

A Day in Bangkok

Last week I received an e-mail from Cheap Tickets letting me know that there had been a significant change in my itinerary and to call them. Usually, when there is a change I just get a friendly reminder that there has been a delay, or something small like that. A bit worried I called the hotline and was told that our flight from Bangkok to Mumbai had been cancelled. Luckily (thanks to the lovely people at Cheap Tickets), we were able to book a much later flight to Mumbai, one that left Bangkok at 8:30 p.m. So, what to do with a day in Bangkok? Travel along the canals? Visit the revered Grand Palace? Climb the steps of a monastery? I am a little ashamed to admit that we did not choose any of these fabulous options, but instead we chose to spend the night in a cheap hotel, sleep in, and creep the famous Khao San Road for a few hours before heading back to the airport.

We arrived in Bangkok at 1 a.m., and thought we might just sleep in the lightly padded chairs of the airport check-in area. Why not? We are young(ish), robust(ish), and adventurous. By the time we got through customs it was nearly 2:30 a.m., and all we really wanted was a bed. We went to the hotel booking counter, and for $30 we booked a room at a spot five minutes from the airport. Now, it was nothing spectacular, but the air con worked and the sheets were clean, so we were happy. We slugged around and finally got out of there at about 11:00 a.m.

We embarked on our journey to the famed Khao San Road. We had seen the Hollywood version of it on The Beach, we had read about the ladyboys, entertainment, and touts. You would think we would avoid it, but this is how we roll.

Out taxi driver, who tried to charge us 650 Baht (we only gave him 350, a fair price), dropped us right in the middle of the action. The streets are lined with tuktuks, fried noodles, egg rolls, iced fruit, stalls selling everything imaginable, bars, restaurants, and more. It wasn’t nearly as crazy as I was expecting, but then again, it was early. B opted for a Thai massage while I decided to do something about my winter feet and got a pedicure. Mine cost 150 Baht and B’s 200. That’s just over $11.

After that, we went to a so called beer garden, which just had a few beers on tap. There were also a couple of interesting drinks on the menu, the orgasm and sperms. Although curious, I opted for a good old Thai Chang. We ate some food and drank two big ones. Aft that we rushed to get a cab back to the airport, feeling quite full and a little buzzed.

One one hand I do feel a little guilty about how we spent our limited time here in Bangkok, but at the same time, it was deliciously indulgent. Maybe it was the perfect way to spend Christmas Eve.

A Few of My Favorite Things

The holidays are approaching and everyone is saying their last goodbyes before the break. Some Shanghai transplants will be having Christmas dinner with their adopted families, usually co-workers, friends, and friends of friends. The city is all dressed up in trees and tinsel, so it really does feel like Christmas. Close friends, food, drinks. The only thing missing from that equation is childhood resentment, which I can happily live without. Those who do travel may be going home for the holidays, or to places completely unlike home. B and I chose to do the latter this year and booked a trip to India.

This was the last weekend we could all get together before 2012, and we went out together with a bang.

Friday night about nine of us went to Party World, similar to KTV, to sing us some karaoke. People here absolutely love karaoke, and in every town, no matter how small, one will find a dimly lit KTV sign somewhere. Karaoke here is nothing like back in the states. There is no stage, no bar full of audience, and no karaoke mama to take your requests. I was a little dissaponted at first, I guess because I like to make an ass out of myself in front of everyone, not just my nearest and dearest. So, your group rents a room by the hour, and is in charge of selecting songs, and pushing the button for food and drinks when needed. It had been a while since I went to belt out my favorites, and it felt awesome. There are two mics, so anyone can join you, if they feel so inclined. I spent five hours there, and when I got home my throat hurt. That’s when you know it’s been a good night of karaoke.

The next night we first went to Tiayro Teppinyaki, so good. For 168 RMB, you get all you an drink beer and sake, and all you can eat everything. We spent hours there taking shots of sake, cheers-ing each other, and occasionally breaking out in some sort of song. There were prawns, fish, lamb chops, tender beef, sushi, all kinds of veggies, and more. I have never left that place less than stuffed nor slightly sober. It is well worth the money spent.

Finally, we ended the night with a little driving under the influence, but not in cars, mind you, and not on the road. Disc Go Kart is an indoor karting track with a bar upstairs. The second you enter all you can smell are exhaust fumes, and trust me, it gets you all revved up for the track. Grab a beer and take it with you to drink while you wait in line for your turn (I know, it’s awesome), then get into your go kart and race up to 8 others for 8 laps around the curvy track. At times it looks like people are drivinng bumper cars, and there will be crashes and small pile ups often. You really have to watch out for those hairpin turns, especially when you have had so much sake and gasoline fumes. Needless to say, it is one of the greatest things I have done in Shanghai. Just remember to wear your seatbelt.

I have found many of my favorite things here in Shanghai. Good food, friends, karaoke, and crazy go karts…these are a few of my favorite things.