Day 3: Latin Quarter & the Arc de Triomphe

My next day in Paris was one that took me all around the great city. The morning got off to a start with a metro ride over to the Latin Quarter, home to the Sorbonne, the Boulevard St-Michel and bookshops, cafes and even a fast food hot spot or two.

First I visited the Musee National du Moyen Age, better known as "the museum with the unicorn tapestries." The tapestries to which I refer, for those not in the know, are a series of six massive works woven in the middle ages. They feature a beautiful blonde girl and a unicorn on each one.

The museum was an overwhelming experience, with room after room of objects and art from the middle ages. Almost anything you could think of was there, including chairs, church pews, illuminated manuscripts, statues, carvings, tombstones, shoes, jewelry, paintings, armor and eating utensils. The high lights of the visit were the beautiful unicorn tapestries (ones I've admired since being a little girl) and the Gallo-Roman baths that take up a part of the museum's property and date from about 200 A.C.E.

The tapestries alone were with a visit to the museum. They are situated in a darkly lit room where all six panels are featured prominently along the wall. Benches were lined up for visitors to sit and simply look at the artwork. Some people walked in and out quickly, but most who came in stayed for awhile to simply sit and look at the precious tapestries. I stayed in there for a good 15 or 20 minutes, simply looking and admiring.

The Gallo-Roman baths were imposing and cavernous. It was difficult to imagine what they would have looked like in a different time, and didn't seem like an especially inviting place to bathe in. However, it was fun to be able to walk around and touch the walls of a building older than almost anything else in Paris.

Also noteworthy was the Gallery of Kings, which are 21 stone heads of the Kings of Judah and the various Books of Hours located in the building. I also relished seeing the tombstones, although it was sad to see how many had been defaced in previous centuries. The stained glass collection was beautiful, and featured many harps -- something I can relate to as a musician.

After the museum me and my mother strolled around the Latin Quarter. The cobblestone streets, outdoor cafes and bustling crowds made for a festive atmosphere. This is a wonderful area to grab a bite to eat in -- decent prices, good food and a young, hip crowd to eat with.

I did stop off at a French McDonald's, just to see how different it was from American ones. I ate a 'Le Grand Slam' (cheeseburger) and marveled at the utterly disgusting french fry sauce everyone seems to like. It was a strange mix of mayonnaise and tartar sauce. Yuck! However, the actual building was clean, hip and pumped out strangely soothing techno-ish pop in a seating area full of clean tables and modernistic light fixtures.

Another Batobus ride down the Seine later, I ended up along the Champs Elysees. The fabled street was an oddly disorienting experience. Designer shops, overpriced restaurants and women clad in expensive clothing rubbed shoulders with Muslim beggars in full veils looking for spare change. What was fascinating was the amount of rich Muslim women in the area. They were all veiled, but it was clear they had money as they were all laden with bags bearing the names of legendary stores like Chanel. I found it distasteful that women so obviously intent on being religious were mixing themselves up in worrying about their physical appearance.

While I was taken in by the ridiculous amount of designer stores in the area, the expensive clothing everyone was wearing, and the model looks of half the people walking down the street, I was also turned off by the materialism and cold capitalism that the Champs Elysees was all about. Everything was focused on spending ludicrous amounts of money and being seen while doing so.

My goal was not this fabled boulevard, however, but the even more legendary Arc de Triomphe.

The first trick with getting to the Arc is figuring out how to get to the monument in the first place. You see it floating on a concrete island in the middle of an insanely busy traffic circle, and signs are clearly posted saying: DO NOT CROSS THE STREET. (Idiotic tourists were doing so anyway, however, at the expense of both drivers and anyone who was worried about seeing a fat German get creamed by a car speeding along.)

After approaching a traffic cop, I was told that the proper entrance to the arch was a staircase that looked like it descended into the depths of the underworld, but in fact only went down a short ways to a tunnel. The tunnel, an eerie experience of florescent lighting and echoing voices, snakes under the traffic circle and eventually leads to the actual entrance to the Arc.

What a sight! Upon actually reaching the Arc, you are confronted with a massive monument complete with an equally huge French flag snapping in the wind. A stair case climb or elevator ride up, up, up and away leads to the top of the monument, where amazing views of the city of Paris are to be had.

I got there right before sunset, and it was a great time to view the city's numerous monuments. You can see the Sacred Heart Cathedral, the Eiffel Tower, the Seine, Notre Dame and every other famous building of Paris. It was like looking at a living, breathing map of the city in full color.

I would recommend a visit to the Arc to anyone visiting Paris for the first time. The views of Paris are practically unrivaled (only the Eiffel Tower has better views) and, at the right time of day, the entrance lines are short.

Photos of this tremendous view will be posted soon, for all of you who can't get to Paris or who simply want to remember it!

Day 2: The Marais

My next day in Paris started off late, as both me and my mom slept until the late morning. For whatever reason I found the time difference between NYC and Paris to be way harder to deal with than the one between NYC and New Delhi!

Breakfast was had at a local Montmartre cafe, where neither my mother or I had any idea of what we were ordering. My mom wound up with some god-awful squid salad. Luckily, my dish was a much tamer and less sea-food laden pasta.

The day's goal was a walk around the Marais Quarter. Once an area of marshland and swamp, the Marais grew in importance from the fourteenth century onward because of it's location near the Louvre, which used to be a fort. It became quite popular and fashionable with the wealthy in the seventeenth century, and plenty of beautiful and majestic old houses still stand along the Marais's cobblestone streets.

First stop was the imposing Hotel de Ville, home to Paris's city council. Our trip had unintentionally coincided with a celebration of the liberation of Paris during WWII, and a huge celebration was being readied in front of the building. It had been fenced off, seats had been set out, burly guards were standing everywhere, and a huge flat screen monitor and tv had been placed to project images of the mayor, who would later be speaking there.

Anyway, I didn't get a very up-close look at the building, but what I did see was impressive. The building was so large I couldn't fit all of it into a single shot with my camera. Taut french flags snapped in the wind, and the sky was a beautiful shade of bright blue. Perfect!

An aimless stroll through the Marais followed, with me marveling at the little botique shops, winding streets and all the little pots of flowers people had placed out everwhere. Expensive cafes promoted their steaming cups of coffee and pastries, which proved very hard to resist.

We passed the Musee Carnavalet along the way, although didn't stop to check out the contents of the museum.

Our next stop was a lengthy one at the incomparable Place des Vosges. Magnificent! I loved it here so much I ended up taking a nap in the bright green grass that fills the place.

The Place des Vosges is like stepping back into time. A perfectly formed square surrounded by 36 houses (9 on each side), it is considered one of the most beautiful spots in Paris and one of the most lovely squares in the world. The houses are beautiful, linked up arm in arm and standing tall around the fountain laden park at the center of the Place des Vosges. The entire area is over 400 years old, including the houses.

I can't stress how much I loved this place. It was like being transported to a magical little spot back in time. The fountains were charming, the grass was soft and welcoming, and well coiffed trees (there's no other way to describe them) ringed the perimeter of the park. A look upwards revealed perfectly blue sky; a look to any side showcased a straight row of historical houses that stood tall and proud.

I loved watching all the people who gathered here. There were families and their babies, couples strolling hand in hand, friends eating picnic lunches, teenagers meeting up for an afternoon get together, and old folks who sat quietly under the shade of the trees. There were also plenty of tourists milling about with their cameras and maps of Paris, but most were European, so it didn't feel as intrusive to see them for some reason.

After my nap I listened to a local string orchestra play in the square. They were a musical, well trained group who played classical favorites with flair and style. Needless to say, I was impressed.

My mother and I then poked around until we found the Maison de Victor Hugo, the old residence of the great writer. We didn't go inside (I'm not that huge a fan of the author), but it was fun to touch the plaque that carried Hugo's name on it. Hugo had lived here in the years 1832 - 1848. What a nice place to live!

It was already quite late in the day at this point, and after stopping for some delicious homemade chocolate, I decided to try one of those free automatic toilets that the Paris guidebooks are always boasting about. They are basically self cleaning glorified porta-potties that are hunkered down on the sidewalks of Paris.

It took some figuring out and mashing of buttons, but I finally was able to get into one, only to be greeted with the smell of bleach and the damp interiors of a freshly sprayed toilet and sink. The experience was utterly revolting. It didn't help that I'd heard someone had died in one, and I was so paranoid about flushing the toilet that I made sure to time it to the moment I was about the step outside of the bleach smelling hell. I was NOT going to die an unglorious death in a toilet!

Before sunset I took a Batobus ride down the Seine, getting off at Notre Dame just as the sun was setting and the church's bells were tolling. It was a perfect end to a day filled with exploration and new sights. Ah, Paris!

day 1 continued: sainte chappelle, pont neuf, and more.

Next on the list for my first day in Paris was a visit to the incomparable Sainte Chappelle. I had heard it was pretty, but nothing prepared me for how monumentally gorgeous the chapel was.

Consecrated in the year 1248, the church is a Gothic masterpiece. It was built to house holy relics, including Christ's crown of thorns. Sainte Chappelle has been called (and perhaps rightfully so) "one of the greatest architectural masterpieces of the Western world," at least according to several of my guidebooks. Next to India's Taj Mahal and the skyline of Manhattan, it is indeed one of the most beautiful man-made sights I have witnessed.

The church is built in two stories. The bottom half was for the common folk. Decorated with incredibly rich hues of red, blue and gold, this worship area is magnificent. Painted stars hover against the blue ceilings, giving those inside the feeling of floating in space. Columns and arches are painted red with gold details. The colors are astounding, and must have been astonishing for the commoners who came here in the drab years of the middle ages.

It is the upper level reserved for royalty, however, that has made the chapel famous. Beautiful stained glass windows that are an incredible 50 feet long portray over 1,000 religious scenes including Genesis, Christ's Passion and a rose window depicting the Apocalypse. These windows serve as a visual Bible, telling the stories of the Old and New Testaments with grace, dignity and artistic mastery.

Even the floors are decorated, covered in colored tiles that have glittering centers that depict things like castles. I stood rooted in one spot, looking at each tile around me, amazed at how unique each and every one was.

If you haven't seen photographs of Sainte Chappelle, I highly recommend looking some up online. This is a place that one has to see in order to believe. I was so enchanted with it that I almost believed I was suspended somewhere in heaven.

The chapel is located very close to another famous spot which I visited, Conciergerie. Originally a medival building, it was used during the Revolution as a prison. Marie Antoinette was one of the building's famous prisoners.

It was expensive to get in and honestly not very worth it. It was mildly interesting to see a reconstruction of the ill fated queen's holding cell, and the impressive Salle des Gens d'Armes was striking. However, I wouldn't recommend paying the bloated entry fee to see the place. The vibes were bad, the general atmosphere was horribly depressing, and it kind of sucked to walk around in a carefree manner over the floors where hundreds of people had once paced waiting their executions.

I do heartily recommend a stop at the Crypte Archeologique, which is based at the entrance of Notre Dame. It stretches 393 feet underground, and contains the ruins of ancient Paris. Traces of the ancient Parisii settlement that existed 2000 years ago are here, as well as Roman ruins and an old street that was demolished several hundred years ago. It is an accessible and enlightening place to visit, and it is exciting to get so close to history.

Another Ile de Cite sight worth seeing is the Pont Neuf. This bridge is the oldest in Paris and has been immortalized in books and art for centuries. An imposing statue of Henri IV stands in the middle of the bridge. I highly suggest a stroll over the bridge. It has a wonderful vantage point and it's fun to wave at all the boats that chug underneath.

Finally, the Square Jean XXIII is a charming spot for a picnic lunch and the Flower Market has some interesting floral specimens.

I adored this part of Paris, and found the small size, easy to navigate streets and tourist friendly cafes added bonuses.

Paris: Day One (part I)

Paris, Paris, beautiful Paris ... you are a lovely city, with your parks and palaces and places of note. There are many things that make you magnificent. The Seine River, flowing right through your middle, bristling with boats and barges. There is Notre Dame with her gray towers and soaring spires. The Eiffel Tower, impressive and tall, floating above your sprawling streets. It's no wonder so many people have had a love affair with you. Countless names have adored you, from great artists, writers, musicians, political figures to long dead kings. Paris certainly claims many ardent admirers.

There's the Paris of films like Moulin Rouge, all flash and fizzle. There is the Paris of the literary world, found in works such as The Hunchback of Notre Dame and Tropic of Cancer. And then there's the personal Paris, the city that one gets to know from experience. This is the true Paris, the ultimate Paris, the version of France that is every bit as rich and enchanting as in the books or movies.

My Paris began on a mild evening, sometime shortly after 9pm local time. This acquaintance between me and France began on a rather discomforting note as me and my mother tried to wrangle through the hassles of clearing customs, changing currency and catching a cab. Luckily we managed these tasks, despite the herds of people (and dogs) flooding the airport. Lesson one learned in Paris: the French love their pets.

Our cab driver was a friendly enough guy, wary of our horrible French but game to try out his mildly awful English. He pointed out a few sights such as "zee football arena" during our trip out to Montmartre, where our hotel was. 35 Euros and several attempts at a conversation in broken English later, we were deposited at the hotel and quickly went off to sleep.

My first official day in Paris began with dark clouds, a sullen sky and rain. It was cold, I had the wrong shoes for the weather and no umbrella. Bummer. I wanted sunshine! and white clouds, but no such luck. So it was in this rather atmospheric and appropriately gothic weather that I set out to see what is perhaps one of the world's most famous medival cathedrals. Notre Dame is an iconic structure, and as the star of books, post cards and movie plots, was the very first 'Must See' stop on my list.

Notre Dame is located on a little island in the middle of the Seine River known as 'Ile de la cite'. It was where the original settlement of Paris was located back in the pre-Roman and Roman days. The Ile de la cite is charming and has an old world feel to it, which makes sense for a place that is so full of ancient buildings.

Notre Dame itself was imposing, to the point where it was almost impossible to take it all in. The exterior is intricately carved with the figures of kings and saints, and the three large doorways leading to the interior were decorative masterpieces. Lines of people stood all along the front and sides, staring up in wonder.

The interior was dark and awe inspiring. The vaulted ceilings were so high above my head that I had to literally bend my neck all the way back just to be able to look. The famous stained glass windows beamed colored lights on to the floor, despite the rain and dreary weather.

Incredibly beautiful works of art lined the sides of the cathedral, with various chapels-within-the-cathedral given over to a particular religious figure. Candles flickered underneath the richly painted bodies of the saints, left by the pious visitors who wanted a little heavenly help on their travels or for loved ones. A few spiritual souls prayed on bended knees in front of the flickering flames.

The middle of the church was given over to rows and rows of seating. Mass is still given at Notre Dame, and there is usually a priest present to do services and take confession. (In fact, there were one or two confessional booths that had signs taped to them telling the time/languages spoken by the priest on hand.)

I didn't do the steps up to the towers of Notre Dame or the visit to the treasury, which required payment. I did donate a few euros to the church as an act of charity, however. I also paid out the leg for a book of postcards -- but how could I not? The place was magic!

My over all impression of Notre Dame was that it was a place of great beauty, rich art and a powerful religious tradition. The reverence people had for the church was delightful to see. Even little kids knew this was a special place.

the journey begins: new delhi part I

New Delhi, India / Wednesday, May 17, 2006

"Write everything down," Mark told me. "Don't leave anything out!" So, Mark, here it all is. In bits and pieces, spurts and bursts, but accurate and written fresh from my mind.

Where to begin? ... There's so much to write about. An overwhelming amount, really. So many sights and sounds, people and cows ... (OK, just kidding about the 'lots of cows' part. I've only seen 5 or 6.)

The best place to start, I suppose, is with today. We started our day off early at the (very nice) hotel Nikko in downtown Delhi. I woke up bright and early at 6am, tired but too excited to go back to sleep. We had a yummy Indian buffet breakfast where I discovered mangos. They're OK in the states, but here -- oh, here! So good. Golden, ripe, juicy and full of taste. Actually, all the fruit was amazing, from the oranges to what I think was papaya. The yoghurt was different than in the USA -- much more bitter, with a sharp bite to it. No sugar added and needless to say much tastier.

We met with our guide at 9:30am. We also had a driver who's sole job was to cruise us around the streets of Delhi in his white Toyota van. The seats were covered in linen and the back row even had black cushions with beadwork. Very classy touch.

Driving in India is a mission of suicide. Seriously, it's that bad/fun/scary. There may be traffic laws, but no one pays much attention. Cars vye with trucks who vye with auto rickshaws (3 wheelers called 'tuktuks') who vye with motorcycles for ownership of the road.

Honking is a national pastime while swerving around pedestrians is a national sport. 99% of the drivers on the road are male, which translates to a whole hell of a lot of testosterone behind India's wheels. This manifests itself in the death defying stunts that drivers continously pull. Traffic is heavy and the roads are downright anarchy. Roaring through red lights, parking in the middle of side streets, ignoring lane divisions and liberal use of horns are all common features of India's motorized world.

I love seeing men on their motorbikes with their sari clad wives sitting sidesaddle behind them. The women, in colorful pinks and blues, grip their husbands around the waist and look quite regal doing so. Even when wearing trousers women do not straddle the passanger seat. It is always sidesaddle for them. I suppose this might be a manners thing, but I'm not sure.

Pollution is so bad in Delhi that public transport is required to use a special gas called 'CNG'. I think it stands for 'Compressed Natural Gas' but could be wrong. Anyway, all the buses and tuktuks have a green stripe of paint that signifies the vehicle runs on CNG. Many are also painted 'CNG' as well.

On an unrelated note, vehicle owners love stenciling in 'Honk Please' onto the backs of their cars. Honking isn't rude here -- it serves an actual purpose, unlike, say, in New Jersey where drivers use it to be obnoxious and make their presence felt. In Delhi the horn signals many things. "Get out of my way," "watch it," "hurry up," "stop blocking traffic" and "go ahead" are some of the things a horn may mean. Flashing lights are popular too, at least at night. This serves a similar function as the horn beeps.

Our guide was very knowledgeable. He'd been in Continental Airline's magazine, which he had a copy on hand to show us. He worked with many journalists and was very friendly, confident and a complete professional. Rajan had a business degree from a university in Delhi and spoke to us about how competitive schooling is in India. To become a tour guide one needs a university degree.

Education is important stuff in Delhi. The Hindustani Newspaper this morning had an article on a 15 year old girl who'd commited suicide after worrying about her school exam results. Her little brother had found her hanging in a self made noose -- horrifying, tragic stuff but more common here than in America.

But, enough traumatic stories. Our tour of Delhi began at the Parliment & at the President's House. The President's House was a mammoth structure of over 300 rooms, all ensconced behind impressive iron and sandstone walls and gates.

A big pillar in front of this gate was a gift from the king of Rajasthan.

The guide was mystified over the fact that Mr. President had never married. Of course my dad made some little joke about the president's wisdom in refraining from wedding a woman, which got a small laugh from the guide and rolled eyes from me and mom.

I have a 3:45am departure from this hotel, so have to cut this entry short to get to bed. Will need to write lots more about last night and today, including:

-- the turbaned door men

-- friendly breakfast waiters

-- being celebrities

-- living the luxe life and drinking Kashmari tea.

Notes on The Entry

Mark = my boyfriend of several years.

Cows = are holy in the Hindu belief system. They may not be harmed or killed, and tend to roam free in the streets in smaller towns and rural areas. Delhi has tried to put a stop to wandering cows and has largely done so, but still has problems with bovines stopping traffic.

Parliment = Delhi is the seat of national government in India. The parliment meets here and the president resides in the city.

the journey begins

Taken from my journal I kept during my trip:

Tuesday, May 16, 2006

Are we there yet? ...

Apparently there are only a mere 9 1/2 hours to go until our destination. The plane is gliding above the waters around Iceland, and the moon has just set as the sun has risen. For awhile there the moon was glowing over a thick layer of clouds, and light was reflected off of them like sunlight on ocean water. Beautiful.

***

ARAL SEA

Flying over the Aral Sea -- amazing what mankind can do to this planet. Rapidly shrinking and plundered of resources, the Aral looks like it belongs on a moonscape. The land around her is shriveled and dry looking, sandy and brown. A feeling of wasted lives spent tilling infertile soils is all around the place.

The Aral herself is still beautiful, although the dusty soil of Uzbekistan (or is it Turkey?) seems to be taking the sea over. In the distance the Aral Sea is a serpant's belly blue, and closer in she looks redder, more silt filled. But beautiful yes, still beautiful.

***

Somewhere over Pakistan ... almost there!

a camel grows in samode

I like to tell people a story.

It's a true one and begins like this:

"One day, in the middle of nowhere, I almost died by camel."

The reactions of those listening is immediate. Death? By camel? What?!

I admit, this opening is a rather dramatic way start to a story. It isn't everyday that one comes across a person who admits to a near death experience via a humped, eight foot tall beast. I'm sure I'd be skeptical too if someone came to me with a similar tale. I'd probably mutter something like "death by camel? Hardly. More like death by lies." (Skepticism is, after all, one of my strong points.)

However, it's all true. In the early summer of 2006, I almost died by camel. Well, wait a second. Let me correct that. I could have died by camel. Perhaps 'almost' is too strong a statement. Whichever word I use, however, the truth remains: I do not get along with dromedaries.

My tale begins in the small and dusty village of Samode. The place itself is a westerner's idealized archetype of what a northern Indian town should be like. Samode is small, sleepy and charmingly rundown. The buildings have a sagging look to them, as if they are people who have had the air repeatedly knocked out of their lungs. The sides of homes are peeling paint (if painted at all). Doors and windows have yet to be installed in the vast majority of houses in town, which allowes for intriguing glimpses into the dark interiors within. Open air tea stalls and shops line the main street, which is haphazardly cobbled over with rough stones. A gutter runs the length of this road, oozing brown sludge and dirty water. Cows, pigs and chickens roam freely, pecking away at the dirt and dust. The cattle are a pitiful sight, looking like emaciated famine victims from those Unicef ads. The bovines have ribs that protude at sharp angles and the saddest and darkest eyes I have ever seen. The pigs fare much better, wobbling around on unsteady legs as they root around for trash.

In short, Samode looked like many of the photographs of small Indian towns I had seen in the past, complete with free roaming animals and men sipping tea on plastic lawn chairs. I loved the place immediatly. It was very National Geographic Goes To India.

The arrival of me, my family, guide and driver in our car attracted much interest in the local villagers. While waiting for the camel guides to show up, I realized that I was an object of fascination. Every man and child on the street passed by the vehicle with seering looks, not at all embarassed to be caught trying to steal a peek into the car. There was nothing bad natured or accusatory about their stares; it was more of an emotionless curiosity, as if I were some side show freak.

After several uncomfortable moments of this, our camel guide finally arrived. He was a well dressed man in crisply ironed clothing and with an immacutely manicured moustache. The guide introduced himself and quickly led us out of the car and over to the 'camel compound.' I say compound, because I'm not sure what else to call the place. The location was simply a small house that two camels were standing beside. It was on the main street, and within view of all those passing by -- which once again prompted freak show-like staring among the locals.

One of the animals was fitted with a cart that was designed to be ridden in. The other animal was decked out in a saddle and a bridle that, instead of going through the mouth, went through the camel's nose. Both of the creatures were garlanded with fake flowers and swaths of fabric. It was a very fetching, royal look.

My parents took over the cart, leaving me stranded with the saddled camel. It's very intimidating standing next to a creature that is taller than an NBA player -- and one who is a lot heavier and more unpredictable at that. The camel I was to ride kept shaking her head irritably, giving me evil looks and stomping her feet. I must have looked nervous about the prospect of getting on her back, because my mom offered me a seat in the wagon. But no! I had pride. I had to conquer my nervousness. It was up on the camel I went.


Which, by the way, was no easy process. Camels are trained to bend down to let a rider onto their back. However, it is no smooth ride once they get back up again. First they lurch one way and then the other, all while the rider is clinging on for dear life, praying to the camel gods that no casualities will result from getting tossed about. Needless to say, camels are not graceful creatures at the best of times, and when trying to go from kneeling to standing, are incredibly awkward.

Once settled and mounted, my parents and I began our trek. Mom and dad had a guide leading their sedate camel along, while I had a guide who led my mount via reins. All I had to do was hold on and try not to fall off.

This was fine at first. I'm an experienced equestrian, and have no fears about being astride a horse, or any other animal for that matter. I was a little unsettled about high up I was, but I was getting used to it pretty quickly. My guide was a sweet middle aged man who spoke almost no English but gave me reassuring smiles every few feet. He spoke very softly to the camel when she shook her head, and spent much of our walk nodding at his fellow villagers who shared the road with us.

This train of people and animals -- parents, guides, myself and two camels --walked down the main street of Samode together. This proved to be quite a sight for the villagers of Samode, because by the time we were on the outskirts of town we had a retinue of children, teenagers and men. All sorts of people ran out of their houses and waved at us as we rode by. Kids waved and tried to sell us chocolates, mothers shyly smiled and men shouted out offers of drinks and food. Yells of "HELLO! HELLO!" rang out as groups of excited teenagers followed us. I'll admit it -- I felt like a rock star. Everyone seemed so pleased to see us, and every face had a smile on. I'm sure part of the appeal was seeing three Americans making an ass of themself, but still. I'd be laughing too if I were them.

Since Samode is so small, we were out of town almost immediatly. We headed on to the highway that circles the village, a busy road that is full of camels, trucks, tractors and beeping buses. I tried to swallow my nerves as buses and cars swept by at frightening speeds. An open backed truck full of male workers pulled alongside me, and the entire load of men gave me thumbs up signs, whistles and that perpetual "HELLLLLLLLLLLLO". They eventually drove off, to my relief -- I was convinced they were freaking out my camel.

The congested highway was not pleasing my mount. She had started off irritated, and now she was doubly so. Every few feet she shook her head, wiggled her rump and made irritated noises. As I put it in my journal, riding around on a camel was like being in an "earthquake," a very jostling and jarring experience.

For much of the ride a storm had been brewing. The sky was heavy with rain clouds, and had an ominous, stern cast to it, all industrial greys and tarnished blacks. It was at a bend in the highway that the rain began pouring down. The wind began to whip my face, along with the raindrops falling into my eyes.

We were alongside a half developed area of tin roofed storefronts and unfinished houses. It wasn't an active part of town, but quite a few people were appearing out of nowhere to gather under the overhanging roofs to catch shelter from the sudden rains.

I'm not sure if it was the rain, the wind or all those people, but my camel began to buck. Wildly. I was flung about like a rag doll, holding onto the camel's neck for dear life. My legs were locked in a death grip around the animal's ribcage, and I kept squeezing my muscles tighter to keep from falling off. I let out a little scream. I knew it was a stupid thing to do, but it was instictual -- when one freaks out, one screams. Seeing my mother's horror stricken face didn't help matters, either.

I had visions of falling off the camel. I could see it all playing out in my head: I slip out of the saddle, bust my head against the pavement, and spill my innards everywhere like a bloody spaghetti dinner. Not a tantalizing prospect. A fall from that high up onto hard ground would be disasterous, especially considering no hospitals or clinics were around to help the injured.

The camel handler was able to calm the camel down finally. I was shaking with nerves as he led me and the camel under one of the overhanging roofs and out of the rain. I laughed a little, but I was still frightened. I wanted off the camel. As in NOW.

The rain had really begun to pour at this point, and my parents (still safely in the camel cart) were led under a tree to wait for a jeep to come pick us up out of the rain. An umbrella was being held over their head and they seemed dry enough.

I, on the other hand, was half under a tin roof and half under a live electrical wire that was dangling close to the top of my head. If my camel decided to buck again I would be fried meat. I was also worried that the animal might crunch my leg against the side wall of the building we were parked next to. She had the weight and irritability to do something like that.

My shirt was soaked through, sticking to my skin. I was still shaking a bit, and I wanted to scream at my camel for being such a miserable companion. I had been looking forward to the ride, and now I was left with a simmering dislike of all things dromedary.

Villagers -- mostly male -- were clustered around me, still trying to get out of the rain. The majority of them were smiling at me and joking with one another in Hindi. What a spectacle I must have been! They were all so nice, though. One teenaged boy offered me a cup of water. I couldn't except it and had to decline politely, but it was a sweet gesture. Someone else asked me "mom? dad?" while pointing to my parents across the road. I was asked where I was from -- "USA?" -- and the lone old lady present gave me a warm smile. People asked me if I was okay, and generally projected a warmth and desire to be helpful.

A jeep finally drove up, and I was able to get off my camel alive and well. We had cut the camel excursion short, but I was fine with that, all things considered.

We ended our afternoon at Samode Palace, which was a magnificent mughal home that is beautifully decorated and used as a hotel. The food was delicious, the staff were polite, and a kind old man gave us an informed and cheerful tour of the grounds. Despite the rain and near death by camel, I ended up leaving Samode with a fondness for the place and a desire to go back. The next time, however, I won't be riding a camel around town.

a return to india

Oh, India.

It certainly has been awhile since I've spent much time thinking about you ... or updating this blog, for that matter.

Well, all wrongs must be righted, and so here I am again, attempting another go at this travel blog. Traveling can be such an overwhelming experience that writing it all down feels impossible. However, I will do my best.

My next entry will follow shortly.

Photo: Dog At Rest, Udaipur, Rajasthan, India

getting rest, Udaipur

copyright D.W. '06