Valentines Day Blog of Hope

“The thousand times he had proved it meant nothing. Now he was proving it again. Each time was a new time and he never thought about the past when he was doing it.” -Ernest Hemingway, The Old Man and the Sea

India is a place that takes some getting used to. I don’t know if it was overcoming the physical aspects of my arrival (cold, sleepy, stomach ache) or the culture shock (a new experience for me) or just my own needing to adjust back into the lifestyle nomadic, but it took me a while to get comfortable here. And I use the term “comfortable” loosely, really it’s more getting used to being uncomfortable most of the time. In a good way. It’s hard to explain. Anyhow, I am feeling much better about things. I made it to Khajuraho, which offers much more than temples. The 7.5 hour bus ride there was rather taxing, but it was perhaps made up for by the brief experience preceding it. I had to take a tuk-tuk to the bus station, and I opted for the cheaper, shared version. I got in one with an elderly couple and we waited for two more people before taking off. Mind you, a tuk-tuk is roughly the size of a golf cart, so not much space, especially after putting my mammoth backpack in the back. As we rode, people flagged us down, and we picked them up until we were finally at full capacity at a whopping 13, including two teenage boys who clung to the sides for dear life as we putted heavily down the road. We pass two men and a small cow. They yell. We start to slow. No, I think. No, it is impossible. But it is not. We pull over, they subdue the bovine, put it in the back and sit on top of it, bringing the grand total to my giant house-bag, 15 people, and one surprisingly well mannered cow. It defied all laws of physics and humanity. I am still confused.

I meet a guy on the bus who owns a guest house in Khajuraho and offers me a price I cannot refuse, so I go with him. He’s a quirky fellow, think: Indian Chris Kattan. But the place is nice enough, and everyone’s friendly, so I stay. I went to the temples, but the best part of walking around there was the quiet. I sat on a bench for the better part of an hour convincing a group of chipmonks it was safe to take trail mix from my hand. I stayed a couple more days there, mostly because there were no trains to where I wanted to go, but also I enjoyed the company at the guest house. The owner’s young cousin took me to his home by motorbike, and I got to meet his family and see the inside of where local people live. He took me to meet “the crazy man’s son, a very naughty boy”. As promised, I was sitting taking tea with the owners wife, when a two year old marches in, immediately throws a water bottle at my face, then tries to stand on his head, then falls over, and then licks a rock. His poor mother seems largely unperturbed by all this, interfering only when he is in danger of cracking his head open on the dresser from spinning too much. They just laugh and shake their heads and say, “very naughty boy”.

I finally board an overnight train to Varanasi, there is simply no where else to go given the train schedules. When I reach my assigned berth, I find someone already in my bed. I show them my ticket, but they refuse to move. Other people start to get involved, no one’s speaking English, so I’m not sure what’s going on, but there seem to be two sides emerging-with me or against me-though no one seems to be speaking to me specifically, like the whole car is having a heated but theoretical discussion about who’s in the right. I sit down with a man and his family as they try to suss it out. He tells me that the person in my berth has paid a bribe to the railway official, so they won’t move him. I’m not sure where this leaves me, but I’m not too worried because certainly no one on board has forgotten my plight. The big mama of the family I’m sitting with says very little the whole time I’m there, but at one point stands up, says something matter of factly in Hindi, and goes. The man tells me she’s going to ‘fix it’, and I’m reminded of my MeMa who would have done the same thing if she were there. Eventually it works out in my favor, I am moved free of charge to a nicer class of car. There, I am placed amongst a group of former strangers now friends traveling some 40 hours from Mumbai. It is one of their birthdays, and they invite me to the party. They proclaim me the guest of honor, fill me with the best sweets I’ve had here, and demand a speech. Then they request we hold a lengthy discussion on the topic of marriage. It’s a good time, but I get tired and finally go to bed. Now I’m in Varanasi. I was supposed to leave today, but the battery in my alarm clock is apparently running out, so my time was off by 30 minutes and I missed the train. There’s quite a bit to say about Varanasi, so much so I think I’ll call it a day here and devote an entire blog to it later.

And I apologize I never really justified the title of this blog, but it felt like a nice name, and though my stomach is once again up in arms, I am hopeful that this too shall, uh, pass.