Guardians of the Taj

Probably everyone reading this knows something about the Taj Mahal. Still I shall here regal you with some well-known, taken straight from the guidebook, facts about this magnificent monument.

A lot can be gleaned by a name. Taj Mahal is an informal shortening of the name Mumtaz Mahal, which means "Chosen One of the Palace". Mumtaz Mahal was Mughal emperor Shah Jahan's favourite wife (he had many). When she died shortly after giving birth to their fourteenth child, his grieving process took an historical turn when he decided that she must still be set apart from all his other relations. Twenty two years later, her body was enshrined in the newly completed mausoleum, which became known as the Taj Mahal. It is constructed entirely of marble. The only exception to this marble is the precious stones used to inlay ornamentation and verses of the Koran into the white marble. The big picture of the Taj that everyone is familiar with is justifiably famous, but these details deserve the spotlight, I would say, just as much. I kid you not that the level of artistic execution achieved in even a single inlaid emerald petal is second to none. And that's where the trouble started.

Kristen is in touch with her five senses like no one else I know is. She loves the sound of lapping waves on the shore; and she always points out when she smells lilac in the air; our 'morning hug' is an important part of her day (and mine); her chronically overdeveloped interest in photo taking (we currently have 50,000 plus photos from this trip alone) shows how fully she appreciates seeing things (and maybe how little she appreciates the Delete button); and rest assured that taste is still her favoured of the five senses. Anyway, after a trigger happy storm of macro photography, Kristen was getting even more up close and personal with the fingernail-sized-stone-carvings. All of the stone, marble and other, is polished in such a way that it almost grabs your wrist and begs you to run your hand over its facade.

In this particular corner we were the only ones present. We didn't have to share it with anybody. As we have been so many times on this trip (but in general too), we were thankful for this particular good fortune that happened upon us. Here, Kristen gave in to the marble's urgings and put her hand on one of its inlaid carvings. There isn't any sign that says not to touch the stone. But neither was there any information about the Guardians of the Taj. These Guardians are like ninjas: shadows are their home. And it is for this reason that we were made to believe that we were alone. Before she knew what happened, one of the Guardians reacted to her having a hand on the carving. With startling speed and precision the Guardian went right for her hand. Kristen didn't stand a chance. In all of this, the Guardian didn't even so much as leave the shadows to deliver his warning. Giving her a moment to let what happened sink in, he then said, "You can look, but you can't touch."

Or that's at least the most probable translation that we could come up with for "Coo". Without ever showing his beak, he forced Kristen to wash and sanitize her hand, and he forced me to swipe the camera out of Kristen's hands to photo document yet another time that a pigeon had landed a direct hit on my wife.

But let this be a lesson to you. You won't know they're there, but they are. They are keeping a watchful birds-eye view on all goings-on at the Taj Mahal, these Guardians of the Taj. And before you reach out to touch that oh-so-fine geological ornamentation, just think to yourself: Coo.

Moooooo-ve

Soooo, I fed a cow some ice cream the other day. Stop reading now if you already think that this was a bad idea. The ice cream was no good (taste wise) and I was thinking might have been re-frozen, which is bad, according to Jonathan so I was looking t get rid of it. There was a kid passing by, but I thought it might be rude to give a poor kid an ice cream that I had half eaten. And then I saw a cow. Cows beg for food from people like your dog would at the kitchen table. They look at you with their glass cow eyes and push their big, black, slobbery noses (the riches of which are another favourite treat of theirs) at your bag of chips as you pass by (Lays Magic Masala flavour being their favourite). I held the ice cream-on-a-stick out for the cow and he slurped it up right away. Is it weird for a cow to eat dairy? ("You're sick, Jesse. Really sick.") I wondered. But then, as I watched the cow eat my ice cream I started to panic a little. What if he choked on the popsicle stick? What would we do? I didn't want to watch a cow choke and die! Cows are sacred to Hindus. What if they thought I murdered a symbol of their deities on earth? The popsicle stick was hanging out of the cow's mouth, crunching up and down, up and down as he ate the ice cream. I changed my mind about giving the cow my ice cream and reached out to snatch the stick from his mouth. As it would happen, this is the exact moment that the cow inhaled the stick into its mouth. Darn! He probably knew what I was up to. They are smarter than they look. We watched in time-that-seemed-to-stand-still as the cow continued to munch happily away. What kind of person feeds a cow ice cream? I scolded myself. And the plop. Out pops the popsicle stick completely unscathed. Not a lick of ice cream left. Seems as though this cow has eaten ice cream before...funny, since every time we see them they seem to be eating cardboard....

Get 'Er Done

India does not seem to be a country that sits by and lets things happen. (Although we do sit around and wait for trains and buses a lot...) Ever since Gandhi's salt march (and perhaps before), protest, both violent and non-violent, seems to run in their blood. In the first two weeks that we were in India we witnessed two major protests. The main one being, of course, the Anna Hazare fast to end corruption. News of the fast was everywhere. Shopkeepers hung posters, cars were adorned with bumper stickers, an entire TV channel seemed to be devoted to broadcasting Anna's every breath. There were gatherings and ralleys in the streets every night of people showing their support for the cause. It was really impressive to see, in every city, how many people were aware and involved. Everyone was talking about it. Witnessing such a vast country united for one cause was remarkable!

In Vashist, a smalll town a few kilometres from Manali, where we spent our time, we witnessed our second protest. Vashist has a stunning waterfall. We had enjoyed the short hike out to it ourselves and were pleasantly surprised by both the walk and the waterfalls themselves. Turns out there are plans of building a hydro dam to harness the power from the falls and the town people are none to happy about it. They planned a protest. We watched from our balcony. The protest walk sounded like quite the party! There was music and instruments and drums and singing. They held posters and chanted. The most amazing thing about it was that everyone, in Vashist, but also in the bigger city of Manali closed down all their shops and restaurants for the entire day! This is a major tourist destination and these people were willing to lose a whole day's income for the cause. Of course, it wasn't so great for us, since there was literally nowhere to eat, but we did appreciate their commitment. Although, their commitment also meant that I didn't get to buy the gorgeous gold and turquoise silk pashmina I had been eyeing for days, working up the courage to buy... now that was the real sacrifice...

Incredible India!

India. Guaranteed to bamboozle your senses. This country is a true overload of colours, smells, sights and tastes. How it manages all this, and more, within ten minutes of your arrival on the subcontinent, really, is quite impressive.

Our first port of call was Delhi. We stepped out of the modern, air-conditioned airport, and into a wall of hot, sticky, smelly Delhi-ness. Then, on to Delhi's brand spankin' new, ultra-modern Airport Express metro line that wizzes passengers from the airport to downtown in a mere 16 minutes, all while telling you, in English, in that unique English/Hindi accent (Hinglish), where to 'alight'. A complete contrast to the outside world. Its like being on London's 'Gatwick Express,' only cleaner, sleeker, faster, and a tenth of the price. Weird, but wonderful. Then, of course, you arrive at the New Delhi station (too bad it only takes 16 minutes- because that is one luxurious quarter hour) and are thrown from the comfy-cool metro Delhi back into the hot, sticky above-ground Delhi. Couldn't we just stay on the train? I asked Jonathan, sweating withing seconds of 'alighting'. Apparently not.

India's capital is hot, loud, polluted, frantic, chaotically busy, and hot. Did I mention hot? But, really- its just fascinating. I had prepared myself, mentally, for India. Expecting to have to dodge the dodgy constantly and out trick tricksters on the side. But, there we were, standing outside the New Delhi Rail Station and we had yet to have anyone even talk to us, let alone be bothersome. Seriously, no one had talked to us, not even the Indian immigration officer, who just grunted while (rather) forcefully stamping our passports, and that doesn't really count as a conversation as far as I am concerned... It felt like an accomplishment. We had made it this far, without incident. Maybe some rickshaw wanted to take us somewhere, and maybe some guy on the side of the road wanted to sell us a drum or something equally as useless, and definitely everyone tried their darndest to run us over, but it was in no way, at all, the hassle I was expecting (and dreading). Maybe all this chaos is just normal to us now? Maybe taking your life in your hands crossing the road is a given? Maybe we looked like seasoned travellers, not to be bothered? Maybe it was just too hot for people to be annoying? Maybe they were intimidated by Werewolf Jonathan? Who knows? But whatever the reason, Delhi, to us, was a breeze. (Relatively speaking...but without an actual breeze). And, everyone speaks English! What an absolute treat!

India has poverty, the likes of which I have never seen before, and barely like to imagine. In China, they planted huge, emerald rice fields along the train tracks, long long ago, purposefully to paint a picture of China's abundance for train travellers. In India, there was no such scheming foresight. From our grubby, wide open, second-class, train window, the images we saw also leave poignant images in our memory- although of the significantly less pretty sort. People not only live beside the railroad tracks in India. They live on them. On them. Many Indians die because of this. The slums our train passed through on its way from Delhi to Amritsar, were simply shocking. There is no doubt that my jaw was literally hanging open in a mix disbelief, horror and fascination. People live there? Some areas looked as though there had once been a building there. Only it was blown up. Fragments that remained were painted odd, super bright colours. Plastic sheets, ropes and scraps of corrugated metal were somehow strung together haphazardly (or perhaps not) to close the wreckage in. Tiny little spaces held a large number of people.

When we stopped at train stations, small begger children approached our open windows, hoping for handouts. They aren't shy about it either. They stick their little hands through the window bars and poke at your arm until you pay attention to them. Then they look at you with their watery, brown, shiny eyes and put their hands to their mouth- showing that they want food. It was very hard to look at their ragged clothing, dirty skin and scrawny bodies: Many of us from the West have seen beggars before, but here, in India, the poverty is different; it is real in a way that might be hard to fathom. 'Give me your chocolate!' one child demanded. I would have laughed, seeing as the kid had chosen the person on the train who would be most likely to have chocolate, but it was too sad. Older beggars boarded the trains and played music, sang, banged their tin beggar bowls on our seats or just stuck their hands in our face for a long, awkward period of time. Second class train travel is a constant string of people trying to convince you to part with your rupees. Either in exchange for whatever they are selling, or just because they want it. It was exhausting for me, so I can't imagine what it would be like to be on the other end.

While in Delhi we spent a moving afternoon at the Gandhi Smirti. This is where Mahatma Gandhi spent the last months of his life, and where he was assassinated. In a loud, chaotic city, and for being a place where such a tragedy occurred, the Smirti was a quiet, even peaceful sanctuary. The house in which he lived has been converted into a very interesting, interactive museum dedicated to Gandhi's life and works. Gandhi's bedroom and living areas have been left just as they had been. The walls are all white. The only decoration is a small framed piece of paper that reads, fittingly: 'My life is my message,' one of Gandhi's famous quotes. The garden path that Gandhi took to his nightly prayer spot, the night he was shot, has been outlined by small concrete footprints to a small gazebo built in the exact spot he was killed by the Hindu extremist. Visitors can walk along side where the Mahatma took his last steps.

India reveres Gandhi, and for good reason. He was instrumental in their independence, he empowered his people and was passionate about his country, their happiness and prosperity. The Mahatma, a name which means 'Great Soul,' adorns every Indian Rupee note. Being at the Gandhi Smirti where one of the greatest Indians of all time lived out his last days was the number one highlight of Delhi.

J: From childhood I've played a "connections" type of game with myself not completely unlike the Seven Degrees of Separation from Kevin Bacon. I have always been interested in overlapping lives (aka Who do I personally know who was alive when this person was living or that situation happened?). Gandhi, more than any other person in this little game, is most special to me for a few reasons. One reason is that he was such an important historical figure. He had a lot to say about how costly real peace is but was also a living example of how a person can strive for peace despite this reality. Too, along the way he was both serious and funny...and had a penchant for simple dress: something I have an personal affinity for, especially back in Canada. To be more precise, though, I should say his death is particularly special to me (I know that sounds morbid, but I promise you its not). The other reason is how clearly I can picture the day he was assassinated. Its not Gandhi's day that I spend much time envisioning, though. Its the day of my "personal connection" with Gandhi that I have thought so much about: my dad. The date and time of the assassination make it very easy for me recreate my dad's day: he was exactly fifteen days old. Even without being a parent myself, I know there isn't much to the daily routine of a fifteen-day-old infant. Taking the time change into account, it was about midday for my dad. He was either sleeping or feeding at the time (or having his diaper changed, I suppose). He probably cried a little bit that day and was comforted and made to feel safe in Nanny's arms. On top of this, I can also picture Nanny attending to some sick despite having a newborn. And Pappy was probably beaming because of his young son and this could be seen clearly by all the villagers he was working with. Numbers help me think more clearly and having a specific time and date so close to my dad's birth lends itself quite nicely here. To stand right were Gandhi was gunned down and be able to paint that exact hour in my dad's day a continent away, was quite a powerful moment for me and not one I will soon forget.

ps. Yes, our India blogs are a bit out of order. Kinda like the country.

pps. Happy Anniversary (in two days) to Walter and Penelope!!

365 Days of Summer

One year ago today, October 4th 2010, Wally and Karly picked us up for the airport run before the sun had even thought about opening his eyes. Wally was quiet; he was losing both his daughters again for a little while. Karly wasn't talkative either. This could probably be chalked up to the early hour, but she was sad to have to leave, too. It was dark with only some streetlights and our headlights illuminating our path. Pulling from our driveway, Sixpence None the Richer came on the radio. It was their single Kiss Me. Within everyone's mixed emotions in the car, enveloped in a serene darkness, the gentle rhythm of Matt Slocum's 12-string guitar, coupled with Leigh Nash's soft voice seemed the most perfect way to begin our journey. I don't know exactly why that is; it just was.

Not including our touchdown in British Columbia, we weren't sure what was to lay ahead for us after our car ride to the airport. We were alright with that, though. Its part of travelling.

Now, we could give someone a bit of a heads-up as to what to expect in the countries we have visited. We didn't race through them, trying to check off as many countries in the world as possible. We took our time (and even extended our visas if we felt we needed more time) to really try to get even a bit of a grasp on some of the things that are important to each country.

It has given us a good opportunity to learn more about each other and discuss the What's Next? question. Without any doubt we have changed over the course of the trip so far. (K: Maybe the most obvious change you'll notice is in our blog photos: I left Canada with my husband and now I am travelling with a wookie).

So far we have more than 50,000 photos (K: ok, maybe I am a bit snap happy, but how else are we going to remember a whole year, that's 365 exciting days?) We narrowed down our collection 'a bit' to one of our favourite photos from each country we have visited this past year. Boy was it hard!

Black Tusk, British Columbia:
I earned this photo! I had to hike up a mountain for it, encouraged with a dangling chocolate bar in front of me the whole way. So that we wouldn't succumb to hunger on this arduous journey, Adam brought us to the supermarket to stock up on supplies. We suggested looking through the bulk section and Adam replied, 'Do you mean the grazing aisle?' Adam was in no danger of succumbing to hunger in the supermarket that night.




Barry Town, South Island, New Zealand:
We had driven our spaceship Adama down the path to the ocean so that we could have dinner with a view. We were relaxing in our chairs after dining and saw this horse-drawn sled galloping down the beach silhouetted in by the falling sun.







Broome, Western Australia:
Oz is a country of extremes. Its extremely big, extremely hot and extraordinarily beautiful. The contrast of the red rock, blue sky, turquoise ocean and white sand in Broome was simply spectacular. Did I mention that it was really hot in Australia?












Lovina, Bali, Indonesia:
We were in Lovina with our Parisian friend Sandra and heard loud music and clanging symbols down a nearby alley. We investigated and found a wonderful family festival taking place and were invited to join in! The festive-goers were dressed beautifully, there was endless amounts of delicious food and everyone wanted to chat. It was a great day!






Marina Bay, Singapore:
We flew into Singapore for New Years Eve. It was a great place to kick off what I deemed to be 'Our Year.' The epic year of travel. There was quite the bash at Marina Bay and everyone in the country seemed to be there! The craziest thing about New Years in Singapore was that the malls around the Bay were open and people were actually still shopping as the massive fireworks display started at midnight! 'Hello, 2011! And, do you have this in blue?' Our favourite Singapore saying that we saw on a girl's beach-type bag was especially hilarious after we witnessed how much Singaporeans really do like to partake in their 'national pastime' of shopping: "I see it. I want it. I'm buying it!"



Cameron Highlands, Malaysia:
The Highlands were our favourite place in Malaysia. For us, it had it all: Beautiful rolling hills lined with tea bushes, a cool climate, great hikes, delicious food, cheap accomodation and wi-fi. We celebrated our 100th day of traveling in the Highlands and made some great friends. I can't believe that it was, well, 265 days ago! Most importantly, though: the Malaysian roti. Oh my, it was so delicious! Like a pancake, only bigger and stuffed and more pastry-like. Especially yummy when I ordered it with chocolate and peanut butter melted inside. I'm now drooling.





Chiang Mai, Thailand:
We were in Chiang Mai and visited a Buddhist temple up on the mountain overlooking the city. We went late in the afternoon so that we could see the gold temple shimmer in the warm light of the setting sun. It was a very picturesque place with many saffron clad monks, Thai devotees, colours, bells and statues. On the way back down the mountain we had our tuk tuk driver drop us off at Dairy Queen. Now that was exciting! haha





Sunshine School, Vientiane, Lao:
We loved volunteering at Sunshine School! Didi, the headmaster was fantastic and we really enjoyed getting to know the teachers and kids. The students seemed to take a special liking to Jonathan and his facial hair. His beard was a constant source of entertainment for the kids. The just loved playing with it. Poor kids. Who knew what was living in it at the time....




Angkor Temples, Siem Reap, Cambodia:
We half expected to be a little disappointed by the temples of Angkor. How can something possibly live up to such an immense amount of hype? But, happily, we were completely blown away by them. There are so many temples, crumbling but still detailed and fantastic. So many trees with magnificent roots taking over the ruins. So much atmosphere! When we were lucky enough to visit a temple when it wasn't overrun with tourists, the experience was complete magic. Its easy to feel like the Lara Croft or Indiana Jones in Angkor, losing yourself in the abandoned corners and courtyards of even the busiest temples.





Halong Bay, Vietnam:
Touring Halong Bay on a Junk boat was a wonderful experience. Just when you think the calm waters and eerie rock formations of the bay can't get any better, your Junk drops you at a cave with a hidden entrance and you get to go exploring inside its extensive hallows (although lit with a rather unfortunately tacky display of neon bulbs). I loved wandering through the caves and taking in all the unique stalagmites, naturally ornate entrance ways, wall 'decorations', cathedral ceilings, underground rivers and cave dwelling creatures.


Litang, Sichuan, China:
I'm sure you all read the blog about my photoshoot with this 'Tuga, tuga' Tibetan monk. I just love the colours in this photo. To this day I wonder what the monk wanted me to do with all these photos he insisted I take of him. He jotted a page of what we thought were instructions for us regarding these photos in our note pad in Tibetan script. Upon returning to our guesthouse, we interrogated its Tibetan proprietor as to what it says. "Who wrote this?" she asked us. "A Tibetan monk up at the monastery," we replied. She studied the page again. "It just doesn't make any sense. His Tibetan is very poor," she concluded. "Are you sure he was Tibetan?" We just smiled.



Swayambhunath Temple, Kathmandu, Nepal:
Kathmandu has turned out to be our favourite of all the major cities that we have visited this year. Here, we are visiting one of the city's numerous temples high up on a hill (aka- up a million and one stairs). The steep steps are lined with colourful prayer flags and mischievous monkeys looking to steal anything that even remotely resembles food. They will even settle for snatching your water bottle, if you happen to have it sticking out of your backpack! I loved watching the monkey mayhem and could have sat there and photographed their hilarious monkey shenanigans all day long.



Agra, India:
The guesthouse that we stayed at in Agra had two resident baby goats that were tied up outside in the alleyway. They were so cute and every time we passed them to go to or from our room they would strain their leashes to try and get close enough to us that they could rub up against us for a good cuddle and scratch behind the ears. One morning this kid was affectionately playing with the goat the same way we play with our dogs. It was too cute to resist snapping a pic of these two 'kids'! Who says the Taj is the most photogenic subject in Agra?! I love the colours and texture everywhere in India. To me, India equals delicious food and one big photograph waiting to happen!

In three months we will be back in Canada and all of this will seem like a distant dream. Our large amount of time has dwindled down so quickly into what we feel is almost (but not quite yet) the home-stretch. A weird concept, considering that three months really isn't a short period of time at all. Before this trip, the longest we had traveled was when we went to Europe in 2006 for 'A Once in a Life Time Trip, Part II' and that was four months. We can almost fit what was previously our longest trip into the home-stretch of this trip! It's mind boggling for us! Anyway, everyday we wake up and feel extremely lucky to still be traveling. We're 'living the dream,' and we know it. Don't get us wrong, we are really looking forward to coming home in December, but seeing as we still have 79 days left (I just counted! wow!) of our 'Once in a Lifetime Trip Part III' we plan to squeeze the adventure out of every last drop of time we have left!

Happy One Year of Travel to Us!!

Mr. Fantastic...Totally Bombastic

We had just arrived in Rishikesh. It had been a very, very long, frustrating day of travel from Shimla. It was dark and and we had just found a guesthouse to stay in, thankfully. It was hot, even though the sun had long set, we were hungry, thirsty and exhausted. We really wanted some cold water. Conveniently located right beside our hotel was a little store. These are the kind of stores everyone buys everything at in India. No big department stores or supermarkets. Just a collection of little shops, none with doors or windows- all open air, selling everything from shampoo and razors to candy and bulk rice and spices.

'Do you have any cold water?' I asked the shopkeeper, a younger Indian man with a smiley face and big maroon oval (tikka) painted on his forehead. "Everyt'ing is possible!" he cried. Well, is it possible for me to just have a bottle of water then? I thought cynically. 'I have the best and most fantastic water in the whole city!' he reported cheerfully. He was very excited. His enthusiasm over the bottled water caught us off guard. 'Great. We'll take it!' I said, half wondering if our water was going to come with a side of ecstacy. As he reached into his fridge to get us the bottle, he started singing. "Mr Fantastic! Mr Bombastic! Mr Lovuh Lovuh.....Everyt'ing is possible" We couldn't help but smile. After such a rough day, his happiness was a wonderful relief. 'What are your names?' he asked us. Knowing where he was going, Jonathan played along and said, "You can call me Shaggy." We knew, though, that he couldn't hear our response as the incessant honking of the motorbikes and trucks on the road behind us had suddenly increased in already deafening decibel. 'My name?' he asked, without any prompting from us. 'I'm Mr. Fantastic! Mr Bombastic! Mr Lovuh Lovuh...' We laughed. He had his speech perfected. Mr Fantastic continued on his spiel of all that was fantastic and bombastic in the world. He had a lot to say. Turns out, we live on quite the fantastically bombastic planet. Our bellies were rumbling though, so we unfortunately had to move on after hearing only ten minutes or so of Mr Fantastic's bombastic ramblings. Note to Self: don't stop by for one of Mr Fantastic's "Everyt'ing-is-possible-best-super-cold-fantastic bottles of water" if you are in a hurry. 'Ok! See you later alligator! In a while crocodile!' Mr Fantastic called to us, waving goodbye wildly as we left in search of dinner.

The best part about Mr Fantastic was that he was just genuinely friendly. Every time we passed his shop he smiled wide and waved. "Everyt'ing is possible!" he would remind us. Every time. His shop was beside our hotel, on the main road. Mr Fantastic repeated his mantra a lot. Not that it is bad to be reminded that Everyt'ing is possible!

Hoping for some more bombastically cold water we went to visit Mr Fantastic a few days later. There was an older Indian man in the shop and Mr Fantastic was bent over a film camera that looked to be perhaps even older than the old man. He looked up from the camera that he was dissecting, saw us and smiled. 'His camera has a bombastic problem,' he told us grimly. We laughed, despite the probable demise of the old man's old camera. Was his camera going to live to take another snap? Well, it didn't look promising, but as Mr Fantastic would say, Everyt'ing is possible!

ps. Happy First Anniversary to the Fantastic, totally bombastic Mr and Mrs Lovuh Lovuh, Sarah and Ed!!