Safe and sound in Delhi

In the last 3 days I've gone from Boston to Delhi through Paris and Munich. And I'm a little tired. All I saw of Paris was the airport, but it was enough to remark on how stunningly beautiful French women are. It's unearthly and unnerving. German women, thankfully, are a bit more plain.

My flight from Boston to Paris was lovely, in so many ways. I watched a French movie called Bienvenue a l'Chti, about a southerner who is transferred to work in Bretagne. It was awesome. My travelling companions were also awesome. Until my screen stopped working and I switched seats I was sitting next to a guy 2 years younger than me who had just finished college. He was from Geneva, but his parents were American classical musicians who played for the Geneva symphony. He had just gotten a job in IP consulting, an area that, as many of you know, is of particular interest to me. Then, when I switched seats I sat next to a lovely old Frenchman, who was very curious about my ability to follow the french film. We talked about everything from LePin to French immigration to genetics. All in French, his impeccable and mine embarrasing. By the time I switched flights at Charles de Gaulle I was grateful for the reticence of the Germans. No conversations to distract me from my mutter fatigue on the way to Munich. Yet somehow I managed to press on and get to Marienplatz.

Not before I spent a good hour finding atms, internet and trying to call Delhi at the airport. Finally I gave up on calling Delhi, having received some solace from my friend Mila in London via gchat, and decided it was time to get out of the airport. Marienplatz, the center of Munich, is about 40 minutes from the airport on the S-Bahn. As soon as you get out of the metro, you step into old Europe. I had just missed the glockenspiel, so I went on to wander. I found a cathedral where there's a black foot at the entrance that legend has it belonged to the devil. I wasn't very impressed, but there was a great tower up which one can climb to see a panoramic view of Munich for only 3 euros. After descending, I tried to walk to the English gardens only to make a giant loop around Marienplatz. On the way, I decided to try some doner kebab, in order to avoid German food. I decided to have lahmajun (armenian pizza) instead, and the vendor suggested a doner kebab with lahmajun. One of the most delicious things I've ever eaten in my life. Tomatoes in Germany were for some reason much juicier than American ones. I went on to the bazaar, which was like something out of a fairy tale. I'll post pictures to confirm that claim when I get back. Finally I took the train to find the English gardens, which are very impressive in a sedate, relaxing sort of way. I would love to go to Munich with friends, or a special someone, as there's so much to enjoy there with others. Germans are very humble about their linguistic skills, I've noticed. Everytime I asked if someone spoke English, the answer would be "a little", but they were able to carry on conversations and always answered my questions. I quickly changed, showered, bought a shawl and once again futily attempted to call Delhi only to discover that cell phone numbers in India are blocked from public payphones. I tried not think about arriving in Delhi with no one to meet me, knowing that the Chabad house would be there if I needed it. My flight to Delhi was not very entertaining, mostly because I was too numb to enjoy anything. Many different kinds of people were on the flight, most notably white businessmen, two young African muslim men, and lots of aunties in saris.

Thankfully, and miraculously, Sumeet was in Delhi when I arrived. She has kept me sane and at peace since I've been there, haggling with rickshaw drivers, directing me to cheap neighborhoods, and reassuring me every day. I'm so lucky to have a friend like her. Today we realized that it's been 8 years since we've met. It' hard to imagine, partially because many years go by between seeing each other. The last time I saw Sumeet was in New York in January of 2006, while she was in DC working for the world Bank. It's my second day in Delhi and I already have 2 salwar kameez with matching bangles, a working cell phone, 2 mangoes, 5 liters of water, 3 oranges, 6 autorickshaw rides and one metro ride under my belt. I also had lunch with my tour guide company, which was lovely, relaxed and delicious. Now the only thing I'm a little worried about is how sick I feel, and I sincerely hope that it's just the flu. With that, for now I will try to sleep off this thing in time for Gosha's arrival. More to come, in more cogent fashion, later.

Getting Ready

After many many years of stifled wanderlust, I have finally begun to travel. Last year marked the beginning, but in very small steps. I went to Armenia, the land of my father, and Russia, the land of my birth. In both countries, I was always surrounded by family and friends. Not once did I have to make any travel arrangements, book hotels, or even pick a museum. I was lucky enough in Russia to be with my grandmother, who planned absolutely everything as a graduation present from college. In Armenia, my father drove his American imported Jeep from the mountains of Karabagh to the green valleys of Dilijan, without me lifting a finger, except to help feed his rabbits, and pet my new best friend, Koto, the most beautiful dog in the world.

This year, thanks in large part to the bravery instilled in me by a very dear person, I have become much bolder. Some examples: I climbed up what seemed to be at the time a 100 foot high wall of ice, (it was in fact probably 6 feet, but perhaps the inaccuracy can be explained by my vision and depth perception failing from fear), and I even ride a bicycle on the sidewalk. Fortune favors the bold, as the saying goes, and so, despite all odds, I managed to get time, tickets, a passport, a visa and a tour guide to go to India this year. Part of me, for the sake of this dear friend, wishes it wasn't the first real independent traveling I was doing in my life, but another part of me is so grateful that it's finally happening. And why not make as big of a splash as possible?

So, in two weeks, I will arrive in Delhi, most likely with no one to greet me except a driver from the hotel. I decided to go a few days ahead of Gary, this dear one I keep mentioning for those of you who don't know yet, because I hoped to see a very old friend who was stationed in Delhi while working for the World Bank. She, unfortunately, may be required to stay in Orissa for her work, which, while disappointing for me, is very exciting for her. She'll be living in a village that's as remote as one can imagine, and I wish I had the time to travel there and visit her.

Many of my friends know my obsession with bollywood movies, postcolonial Indian literature, and spicy South Indian food, so in a way, coming to India is also a return, because I'm beginning to think that while Russia is the land of my birth, Armenia the land of my father, America the land of my citizenship, my heart belongs to India. Phir bi dil hai hindustani.