humans are funny

Category: tourists

  • Day 1: I am Bruce Willis. With more hair.

    I met a boy! A man. It wasn’t love at first sight, but after 11 hours together, it was surely love.
    Two tourists with nothing to do but see, we met early on a scorched Indian day and decided to tour Delhi together. Why not? What is so fun about seeing a Mughal tomb alone? It’s much better to marvel together at the shitting cows and the men simultaneously selling juice and spitting. Especially when your two cultures are so distinct. Then there are questions and answers to be had amongst gardens and palaces.

    He: from an Indian village in Rajasthan.
    I: from a little suburb of Chicago filled with hairy Italians and Greeks.
    He: What is it like not living with your whole family?
    I: How many times in one day does your mother go to the well to get water?
    He: Do people really have sex before marriage there?
    I: I’m supposed to eat this entirely with my hands?
    He: Do your nightclubs have a couples-only policy too?
    I: What is it that makes the cows so holy?
    He: What if someone gets pregnant and they are not married?
    I: What should I see while I’m in India, the most holy places?

    My new man really took that last question seriously. And he took it upon himself to help me plan the most awe-inspiring route. He didn’t even mind coming with me to the travel agency to ask about trains.

    “I want to build something this big for my wife one day,” he said as we sat near a picture of the Taj Mahal.

    Oh! His innocence was so charming. It made me want to corrupt him ever so gently. At first I wasn’t attracted to him. But I loved his dark skin. His dark lips blended in with his face save for two pink islands swimming in the chocolate of his mouth.

    We went to three government agencies and instead of information, they each tried to sell me expensive tours to Kashmir. But what made me most angry was that each agent ignored my new fiance outright.
    I must be witnessing the caste system in action, I thought. How could they know his caste just by looking? We’ll show them. We’ll build the biggest house in the village WITH electricity and running water. Then we’ll see who ignores who.

    Even though I refused to buy an expensive tour to Kashmir, we hired a car for the day and went together to explore the delicacies of Delhi. We sat in the shade near Ghandi’s ashes, and he asked me how many people I’d slept with.

    “Just one,” I answered honestly.

    Of course sex was his favorite topic since his culture frowns on partaking. He explained that most Indian men believe Western woman will have sex with anything at any time.

    “Only sorority girls from USC,” I told him.
    “Maybe we shouldn’t be talking about this in front of Ghandi,” he said.

    Oh, he was funny. My mother would like him. The introduction would be a bit tricky, but me and my new beau– what was his name? Kumar. — me and Kumar would cross that bridge later. He invited me to his village, and after 11 hours together, we made plans to meet on a certain date close to Jaipur.

    “I’ll email you,” he said.
    “I thought you’d never seen a computer?”
    “Well, I’ll have my friend do it.”
    “Oh. Ok. Bye then. See you in Jaipur!”

    He didn’t offer his mobile number. Hmmm…
    I began to walk away. Then I turned to have one last glance, but he was gone. Ten steps over crushed plastic bottles and orange rinds and cigarette stubs, it all became so clear. I was suddenly Bruce Willis at the end of The Sixth Sense. I wasn’t dead, but I’d been had. Been cheated like an algebra test.

    Here are the clues that had been apparent for 11 hours:

    -A tourist, he just happened to know where all the travel agents were. COMMISSION

    -Caste system. Shmaste system. The travel agents already knew him, so of course they didn’t introduce themselves.

    -The breakfast and lunch at the same restaurant, the hiring of a car, the rides in the rickshaw… all COMMISSION.

    -Virgin! HA! I’ve since gotten this line a billion times.

    – “Oh no, you can’t take public buses. Indian men are so repressed like me. They will touch you. It’s much better to fly.” Or to buy the trips that my friends are trying to rip you off with!

    – “Oh no, I don t mind spending time with you in these agencies. I don’t have anything else to do today.” Because you are working right now!

    – I want to build something like the Taj Mahal for my wife one day! Why didn’t he just throw paneer at my face? (That’s Indian cheese.) What was I thinking?

    Swindled on my first day. I thought 6 months of travel had prepared me for such professionals. But he was SO GOOD. Not good enough to get me to buy a trip to Kashmir though. Sucka! Thanks ‘Lonely Planet’ for advising not to book a Kashmiri guesthouse sight unseen!
    At least I got to be in love for a few hours.

    THOUGHTS: So this is the India everyone warned me about. SHIT! This is the India everyone warned me about.

    Here’s the jerkwad in action. Doesn’t he look in love?

    He waited outside while I saw this monument. Something about his friend getting kicked out of here once. Sure it was your friend, Buster.

    At least I found out what happened to that bald Malaysian peacock.

  • temples & cheese

    The temples of Angkor, ancient home of the Khmer empire, the world’s 6th wonder, and a spiritual stop on my list. I figured it might be a good spot to renew my meditative vows that had been waning since my stop at the silent forest monastery in Australia. Luckily, I met a Dutch guy in Vietnam who was also into meditation (like, really into it…. talks about light bodies and chakras and stuff.), so we made plans to meet in the lotus position in front of Angkor Wat.
    It was a date I really anticipated since I figured the peacefulness of the expansive temples would seep into my bones and ingrain into me the act of calm meditation.

    And when I got there, I knew it would happen. The place was shocking. Really. Evidence of a truly spiritual group of people. I guess it was more than a group. In fact, the Khmer empire used to span the whole of Southeast Asia from the 9th to the 13th centuries. There were over a million inhabitants at a time when London housed only 50,000. It was a big deal, and I don’t remember ever learning about the Khmers from the Illinois school system. In fact, I don’t remember learning about anything but pilgrims and Abe Lincoln in my ‘history’ classes growing up. Either I was too busy writing notes to Chris Apostolopoulos or public schools in the states have forgotten about the world. Or maybe my memory disappeared during college. Whatever the reason, I was shocked to learn that such a beautiful culture existed for so many people and is still very much alive today in Cambodia.

    The city of Angkor was the political, religious, and social center of the Khmer empire, and each monument in it houses more symbolism than Citizen Kane. Not a sliver of temple is left without a carved deity or message, mostly about worshipping Hindu gods. But also about Khmer history. King Jayavarman VII, a king born from the Gods, made it his mission to have the history of Khmer/Cham battles carved into the most important of temples. He wanted to preserve history in a most beautiful way. The current and last God King, His Majesty Sihanouk, funded the Khmer Rouge and asked that he be able to rule away from the throne so he could focus on his movie career. I think the genes of the Gods really start dwindling after being passed on so many times.

    To walk through the hallways of Ankgor Wat is a playground for the imagination. Though the peaks have crumbled and there are weeds creeping through many of the cracks, the grandeur of the place is undeniable, and I found so much pleasure in simply sitting on a windowsill and imagining the worshipers who used to wander through the same halls thousands of years ago. It made me really appreciate period pieces. I finally understand why people like to recreate a different era for the cinema. I still won’t ever see Marie Antoinette because frankly I can’t stand to look at Kirsten Dunst’s teeth, but I now understand the magic in the recreation.

    To meditate at Angkor Wat is another story. Not only are there ants the size of mice lurking under every Banyan tree, there are even bigger tourists lurking in front of every bas-relief. It is the most unspiritual spiritual place I’ve seen.

    So, after seeing the temples every morning, the Dutch guy and I would ride bicycles to Siem Reap, the area of town built specifically for those same tourists. And we would eat. A lot. For most Khmers, the key to economic freedom lies in the hospitality industry. They’ve created an entire Disneyland-like town devoted to gourmet restaurants.

    In order to support the Khmers in their mission to capitalize in the culinary, we ate. My mouth made acquaintance with warm goat cheese salads, crispy vegetable samosas, tofu stuffed with raisins and cashews, red curries, creamy pumpkin soups, and even plates of French cheeses. Everything made my esophagus sing. I couldn’t get enough. After each meal, I felt pangs of sadness because it meant I would not be able to eat for a few hours. Sometimes I did anyway. I ate several croissants on the hour.

    We figured it was the best way to see the temples, an hour or so in the morning (after a large mango pancake and pineapple shake, of course) and then to the food! When we took a day off from the temples, we spent our time in the kitchen learning how to make local Khmer dishes! Amok is the most popular, a curried mix of lemongrass and galanga and keffir lime leaves. Mine came out on the bland side, but it looked nice served in a folded banana leaf.

    When it was all over, we had stayed in that fake town for 9 days. 9 DAYS OF EATING. My stomach is surely a deflated balloon.

    When meditation involves cheese, I will definitely make it a priority.

    The exterior of Bayon, my favorite temple. If you look close, you will see thousands of elaborate faces carved into the stone.


    These are the aspara dancers, a very important part of Khmer culture. The God kings used to have thousands of dancers perform for them at once inside the temples.

    This relief depicts a battle between the Khmers and the Chams.



    Mmmm… my finished amok.

    Best tourists ever.