The wonder lives up to its name.

The Taj Mahal was beautiful to see. It was nice to just spend a little time sitting on the cold marble, watching the colours of the sky, and reflections on the water and the white marble change over time. If you go right at dawn, it's much less crowded for the first hour or so. . . then it gets pretty busy. Also, the cooler part of the day is just so hard to waste. Who would have thought I'd convert to getting up at 5:30am and going to bed at 9:00pm on this trip?

Here's the standard tourist pose for mum. I can't seem to rotate photos and get the dimensions to stay proportionate, but you get the idea.

I wandered around with Boris from Germany and Yoshi from Japan. Boris had just finished a meditation retreat, and Yoshi is off to find somewhere to learn yoga. There is a lot of "spiritual tourism" in India, and many travellers I have come across have spent some time on Ashrams. It seems like it would be an amazing experience, although you will never get me doing yoga in India . . . I'm embarrassing enough back home.

There are more buildings, just as stunning, that are worked into the overall layout of the complex along with the main mausoleum/Taj Mahal.

Bees just like we saw in Angkor were making their home under one of the arches. It's such an interesting style of beehive, I'd love to learn more about them.

Today I'm leaving Agra, and going North past Delhi to the foothills. I'm hoping to get on a bus going to Manali. Should be a bit cooler, and I might even delve into the part of my bag that contains all of my warmer clothes--these haven't seen the light of day since the New Zealand summer (when they saw all too much daylight).

Holi, those kids have good aim!

I spent Holi, the Indian festival of colour, in Varanasi. Varanasi is said to be the cultural/religious center of India. There have been people living in that location for 5000 years. Its streets and buildings seem to be built on top of each other, and the winding alleys are something to behold. Kudos to Veena for pointing me in this direction.

Getting to my hostel in Varanasi, I took an auto-rickshaw from the train station which led to a point where auto-rickshaws could no longer pass, then I got on a cycle rickshaw, until it, too, was too big for the narrow streets. Then I had a porter (just so that someone would show me where to go) carry my bag the last few streets to my hostel. And I thought there were narrow streets in Delhi.

The place where I was staying no longer had internet, because the monkeys had gotten in and chewed through the cords. In fact, the monkeys were regular fixtures as we were eating meals in the open-air rooftop restaurant.

I arrived the day before Holi, and took to the streets. I joined forces with a wee boy called Guru (or at least that's what I think he said) to get myself some ammo for Holi (powder and a water pistol). We got a little carried away, and had a preemptory Holi, with him acting as a sight, and me as the sharp shooter. Later we switched roles.

Guru also took me to a local kids' cricket game, where I batted an over, well aware that the honour of New Zealand, and women everywhere, was at stake. I was clearly the only female in the game, and perhaps the ony who had ever joined in. I don't think I completely embarrassed myself, but I definitely was bowled slowly to :) The teenagers hanging around that area reminded me of hoodlums from the 70s. Great fun.

I had been told very explicitly from our hostel owner not to go out that night, or the next morning, as the men get drunk and rowdy in the streets during Holi.  That night, I had dinner on the rooftop with two American girls who were travelling circuitously on their way home from teaching English in South Korea. We decided not to go out that night, but that the morning of Holi we would brave the craziness.

In the morning, I watched from the balcony (checking out the strategies of five urchins on the neighbouring building, pelting those below with water balloons). That is, until they caught me watching and started throwing them my way. If you do ever visit India during Holi, watch out for your camera, because not only does not it deter kids from getting you wet, they actually aim for it.

Carrie, Tara, and I loaded our water bottles and water pistols, and ran out of the building quickly and turned the corner. Luckily, we stumbled on another kid, Baday, who led us through the streets, avoiding the men, and leading us into the fray with local kids. Suffice to say, we were completely pulverized. Little girls with supersoakers filled with blue paint, no mercy in their eyes, laughed and sprayed us directly in the face. Boys from rooftops dumped entire buckets of orange paint onto our heads as we unknowingly walked beneath their traps. It was amazing. The giggles of delight as they sprayed us with rapid fire purple stripes as we ran for dear life, and the calls of "come back, come back" made me laugh out loud. I've never felt so dirty and disgusting in my life, but it was so much fun. I'm still getting pink out of my hair, and blue from beneath my finger nails. Luckily we avoided the silver paint that reports say can cause blindness.

The following morning the two girls and I went on a dawn boat ride on the Ganges. It was beautiful to see the sun come up, and amazing to see the architecture, and human happenings along that holy river. The area where we were staying was near a ghat in which people are cremated to be spread on the Ganges. Regularly processions of families carrying their deceased loved ones passed us in the narrow alleyways, and from the water, we could see the funeral pyres along the edge of the river.

Varanasi was amazing, but I guess that travel itch starts to take hold, because I have decided to move on already, to Agra, home of the Taj Mahal.

Darjeeling Unlimited with the W word. But not actually Darjeeling.

Travelling in India is one of the best things ever. In most situations/places travelling overnight to save on accommodation costs results in a night of little sleep, and a day of grumpy sightseeing. This isn't the case in India. I have only travelled a couple times as yet, but the cross-country journey was fabulous. I met lovely local people on the first trip, and on the second it was a tourist mini-United Nations. We shared stories and food, and each time I got about 10 hours of really good sleep. This could be due to the fact that my minor super power is sleep, or it could be that they are just that good.

There are some logistical difficulties--sometimes figuring out your platform or when your stop will come is a little difficult, but people seem willing to help.

About the only thing I didn't like about my train trip, was--after explaining what job I used to do in the real world--a nice Indian man proceeded to quiz me on how to build websites. After badgering me into talking about this (despite me repeatedly telling him, that it didn't really work that way, and that I wasn't a programmer), he took notes, and invited me over to his family's for post-Holi feast food, and to teach him more how to build a website. Patricia would be proud of the example wireframe I sketched for him.

He wanted to build this website about spirituality/divinity and Varanasi. He also wanted to make it like Facebook or Twitter, so that it was a community, and he wondered if National Geographic would want to fund it. Suffice to say, despite really really wanting to go to that dinner--if only to taste homemade Indian food--I proceeded to accidentally lose that phone number.

No, I don't want to go for coffee.

Delhi is a mixed bag. I'm amazed and in love with the colours and life, but I am overwhelmed and frustrated at times by the pushiness of the people and the noise/traffic. The drivers seem to drive straight down the middle of two lanes, so as to be able to choose one or the other at a moment's notice. It's really more like an organic being, than an ordered experience of driving. It's amazing the small spaces vehicles can fit into.

Yesterday I spent the morning walking and getting more and more frustrated as I was approached by more and more touts/rickshaw drivers, who were pretty bold and persistent. So, I ducked into the underground (best thing ever) and discovered that the first car of metro trains is only for women. Obviously gets rid of the objectification, but also they're way less crowded, so you can often sit. I had a lovely talk with a woman who pointed me in the direction of an area of town that locals shop for clothes. She told me what I was wearing was fine, but I figured it couldn't hurt (I'd read that people are more courteous if you're wearing local clothing). I do love all the bright beautiful colours everyone wears.

This area of town was much less pushy, and I managed to get outfitted with a scarf, pair of pants and two tops, Indian style. Feeling confident, $20 poorer, but armed with the knowledge that I looked (somewhat) like a local, I returned to the old city area.

Apparently, I still have the same kind of overly friendly touts, but now I also have everyone else. I think while wandering around the Red Fort I had between 10 and 15 groups of people come up and ask to have their pictures taken with me. Kids, couples, families, groups of friends, men, it didn't matter. I pulled one woman (women are crucial in travel--they're so much more helpful) aside and asked her if I was wearing something wrong, or what was going on, and she said I looked fine, that it wasn't to do with my clothes, then giggled. Hmmm. The two answers I managed to get from people were 1. it's the custom here, and 2. maybe it is because you are "U.S.A" and they think you are a movie star. Sigh. There must have been over 30 pictures with me and others together, and then I quite regularly caught out of the corner of my eye other people, less brave, taking pictures from afar. At least it meant I met some locals, because some of them deigned to talk to me for awhile before asking if they could take my picture.

The Red Fort itself was impressive. It's a walled area in Old Delhi built in the 17th century. It's adjacent to the Yamuna River, and is a tiny piece of quiet (except for the photoshoot) in the hustle and bustle of Old Delhi. There's only a small retail area, which is actually quite cute--through the arched entranceway.

Old Delhi itself reminded me of Diagon Alley from Harry Potter. Yes, I did just refer to Harry Potter. Buildings are crooked, alleys are narrow and winding, and there are wires everywhere.  I got hit by a waterballoon to the back, and a few supersoakers, as kids start practicing for Holi. Thankfully it was not coloured yet. I did see a few smiling pink and blue faces, with telltale signs of early festivities.

 So tonight I'm off on a sleeper bus to Varanasi for Holi. I thought it might be slightly less crazy, as it's a very holy/cultural place, and thus might be slightly manageable? A cop out, for sure . . . but perhaps smart, also, as clearly I'm standing out as a single foreign female. Regardless, India is an experience, and I am determined to get as much out of it as I can.

For the geographers out there

My map for Delhi, and the area around where I will be staying.

Turns out what I'm using my "diary" for is mostly maps of places I'm going to and lists. Good thing I'm actually using this blog, then. Because otherwise my tangible mementos from this trip would be scrawled maps (not a bad thing) and lists such as:

* toothpaste

* what are those half monkeys?

* mail mum present

* book accom. 

* look up how to say "no, thank you" in all languages.

Lest we forget

Today I went to Tuol Sleng, or S-21. TL was a high school before it was turned into a prison and center for torture during the Pol Pot regime. The prison has been turned into a memorial museum for those detained there. Portraits of prisoners and guards line many rooms. I didn't take any photographs, as it didn't feel appropriate for the gravity of the place. The estimated figure for prisoners who came through this site from 1975 to 1978 numbers 20,000. Only 7 people survived their internment.

This is what I wrote immediately after visiting.

Faces--young, old, strong, fearful, resigned, defiant, impassive. Showing evidence of maltreatment, or as yet untouched. So many of them. A cross-section of life, from mere children, to someone's grandparent. Some portraits moved me to tears--the fear and despair palpable. Others held a fascination resembling awe or respect with a strong tilt of a chin. Collectively, the sheer weight of the numbers caused tears to stream down my face by the end. Others around me seem to have had the same reaction.

Juxtapositions are jolting. As it used to be a high school, adjacent to a room filled with portraits of the dead is a school lectern. The gymnasium equipment was converted into torture devices.

There are two layers of ghosts here. One, the children and teachers of the former high school. I imagine I can hear chairs creaking as they shift in their seats. The same tiles as found in schools everywhere remain. The second layer is less peaceful. The moans and whispers of those killed during the years of the Khmer Rouge persist as I sit here. As with any of the historic sites I've been to in Cambodia, and elsewhere, my mind strains to see it as it once was.

Today, small group of quiet tourists wander these halls, paying their respects to the dead and gone. Birds sing, trees are full of blossoms, and I sit on a park bench overlooking a courtyard. I find myself being willingly distracted by birds now roosting in the eaves of what once was such a terrible place. What remains is a reminder of those atrocities, and a call to extract our heads from the sand we've happily buried them under to stop this from happening elsewhere.

I have never been much of a news person. It seems it's either too awful, or people have become desensitized to the goings on of the world. My mother tried unsuccessfully to get me to watch, and on one occasion having acquiesced to watching--at perhaps age 12, I turned and said "Why would you ever want me to watch that?" . . . But in the face of the alternative, how can you not.

I'm not brave enough to now go on to see the Killing Fields as many others here will. My heart aches and wonders how this small nation has survived. And how have so many others through history faced similar horrific events. Unthinkable.

I am off to find my tuk tuk driver to take me away from this place, and all I can think of is his parents, grandparents, and neighbours, and what stories he must have to tell. I don't have the gall, nor the will to ask.

**********

I'm officially a big nerd.

Today I had a meandering day wandering the streets of Phnom Penh, turning down tuk tuk drivers left, right, and center. They don't seem to understand that some westerners actually *want* to walk. I even had one follow me for eight blocks. Until I taught him what the English word "creepy" meant :)

I had a great brunch. Kate's right, the reason for travel throughout Asia is fairly heavily dominated by the food :) I also love the addition of sweetened condensed milk to my tea. Great idea, that.

First I wandered northward and saw the Wat Phnom. According to legend, the birthplace of Phnom Penh. The story reminds me of the Romulus/Remus story about Rome from 7th form Classics.

The Wat itself was nothing to get excited about, but there were a few encounters with creatures. Some cute monkeys eating beans and lotus seeds.

And at the top of the Wat, you could buy birds from this little boy to set them free. Presumably to signify your benevolence or as a symbol of peace . . . Phnom Penh having had a terrible history of genocide and human rights issues. I haven't yet made it out to the killing fields/genocide museum. It's currently slated for tomorrow.

Then I wandered through the Old Market area. There are some interesting looking fruits I want to try. I'm just not exactly sure how to eat them.

I guess I should get to telling you why I'm a big nerd.

So, instead of seeing the sites and wandering around Phnom Penh in the afternoon, I got distracted.  I found the cutest little NGO library, Au Livre Ouvert. It has books to read/check out, and some to buy. The books appeared to be in Khmer, English, French, and a few other languages.

Their mission is to propagate the pleasure of reading through quality books. It may not be the biggest library, but I was really impressed by their choices. Many would be called classics, but there's a good variety of new books, too. Look mum--the boxcar children!

Got entirely distracted by a beautiful french water colour book about Paris. Mmmm.

This is a translation/summary of their "help us" page. . . which, happily for me, is in French :)

Au Livre Ouvert exists on sales on books, memberships (as far as I can tell, $15 lifetime member), and private donations. If you're in Phnom Penh, you're welcome to help out covering books or playing with the kids (I had a great time playing duplo with a little Cambodian boy). They're interested in any sponsors who have an interest in education in Cambodia, and all money is used for more books and to keep the space free for users.  If you want to send books/games that you no longer use, their address is:
Street 240, #41, Phnom Penh, Cambodia. Their email address is openbook240@yahoo.com, and it appears that it's run from Singapore.

Oh, and to finish a great day, I had 6 ice creams. Yes, you heard me correctly. Granted, each one was about the size of a marble. Awesome. I chose Durian (blech--only blech one), Sour Fruit, Caramel Crispy, Raspberry Yoghurt, Mango/Passionfruit Sorbet, and Irish Coffee.

Now I just have to make sure I don't go read lovely children's books in French tomorrow, and actually see some of the history/heritage of this fascinating city. Hmmm.

Ko Russei, Cambodia

After a few busy days exploring temples, I decided to go check out Cambodia's coast. It's supposed to be much less busy than Thailand, and at least for now, that's true.

My bus took me to Sihanouk Ville. I don't have much good to say about Sihanouk Ville, except that they have a nice internet cafe, which I'm utilising right now. From what I gather, large numbers of tourists have been relatively new to Sihanouk Ville, and as a result it is a coastline under construction. In the last year and a half a whole number of hotels, bars and restaurants have sprung up. It is also ripe with locals pressuring you to buy their goods.

I only stayed in Sihanouk Ville waiting for a few hours for my boat, and traipsed immediately out to the island Russei, to the resort Ko Ru. The boat ride was fun, and to disembark we tumbled into the surf, as there's no pier. Make sure to waterproof your valuables just in case.

Ko Ru is on the quiet side of the island, and is the only "resort" there. It is quiet, and has a nice atmosphere of fun, but relaxation. Accommodation in the dorm bungalows was $3 a night, and there-and-back boat trip was only $10.

I spent my days reading multiple books, napping, eating, swimming (the water is lovely), playing volleyball, meeting new friends, and sitting by the bonfire listening to tunes on a guitar. It was hard to leave. As long as mass commerce doesn't make its way out there, I'd recommend it to anyone. The food was great, and both the western and Khmer staff seemed to be having fun, and genuinely enjoying each other. In the evenings the locals would come hang out and enjoy the beach with us.

The place was a bit of a menagerie, with chickens, goats, dogs, and lizards running about the place. Watch out for the largest goat, it likes to play. I woke up to the sound of the surf and chattering monkeys in the trees in the morning, and dogs running around the bungalow playing--our bungalow had a door installed on the last night I stayed there, but we didn't use it anyways.

At night, the beach is perfect for sunsets. It's also nice for night swimming . . . the water retains its heat, and it's great to swim under the stars. If you move your hands through the water you disturb tiny creatures that are phosphorescent, so the bubbles appear to glow.

Perfect :)

On our way back to the mainland, I think we were all a little sad to be leaving.

Angkor Silk Farm

Before leaving for the coast I went to a silk farm in Siem Reap called Artisans d'Angkor.

I was able to see the entire process--from the fields where they grow the plants/leaves (Mulberry) for the silk worms to eat, to the finished products. The workers experiment with different varieties of Mulberry to get the quickest/healthiest growing plants, with leaves that the silk worms like to eat.

Once the silk worms have eaten enough (a very short time period--days) they turn a yellow colour, and start to spin silk cocoons around themselves.

The silk worms from Cambodia produce a golden, rather than white thread. As a result, the silk from this area is called Khmer "golden"silk. Their business is conducted using natural colourings from dried grapes, bark, leaves, rust, chili powder, and other natural ingredients.

One thing I learned about the weaving process, is that while some of the pattern is derived from using different threads, part of the pattern is often from tie-dying threads using plastic ties, placed strategically to make a consistent pattern. This kind of seems obvious, but blew my mind :)  On the very complex patterns, sometimes only a meter of cloth is produced in a day's work.

If you're looking for ultra cheap Cambodian silk, this isn't the place for you. This is the place you go for high quality, and peace of mind. It's fair trade, and from what I could see the people there were treated very well, and are paid a fair wage. Part of the business is a school, in which certification takes a year. Each worker starts by being taught each part of the process, and then after a time they specialize into the area of silk making that they are interested in. All in all, a very beautiful, interesting, and humbling experience. When I go to buy a piece of clothing, it's nice to have each part of this process in mind, so as to appreciate all the work and thought that has gone into it--whether or not it is factory or handmade.

Beautiful.