It's a Man's, Man's, Man's World!

(Disclaimer: This whole post is pretty negative.  Lot's of bitching and complaining.  Funny at times.)

After the nice time and sad goodbyes in Rishikesh, I was on my own again.  And it sucked.  I love to travel, and I love to travel alone, but I hate the fact that there are some places I shouldn't go alone.  Morocco and Egypt being two of them.  I would never travel to a Muslim country where I was obligated to wear a veil.  I would never go somewhere that didn't give women the freedom to walk around without a man by their side.  The liberal feminist in me thought I could handle little ol' India, but it has proven to be altogether too challenging.  I would love to come back with my best friend, or my sister, or my god-sister, but I can't for God's sake handle what happens when there is not a man walking next to me.  Delhi is one thing, the constant hassle, touts, "come look in my shop"s, etc. is par for the course, but the stares of confusion and astonishment that I have garnered from Indian men all over the place has sickened me and really turned me into a hater.  Call me culturally insensitive if you want, but it won't change my disdain for each and every last unmarried Indian man.   

Santosh Puri Ashram, Haridwar

From Rishikesh I traveled to nearby Haridwar, where I spent two peaceful nights in the Sri Santosh Puri ashram.  That was all well and good.  The trouble started when I hopped a bus to a strange place in the Himalayan foothills called Mussoorie.  To avoid having to switch buses in the yucky city of Dehradun, I agreed to take a bus that does a day tour to Mussoorie and returns the same day.  I paid a bit extra than the 2-bus option, four dollars, and decided I'd just hop off in Mussoorie and not take the return trip back down to Haridwar.  Boy, was that a mistake.  I should have listened to Natalie, who told me to avoid Mussoorie altogether, but no.  I wanted a place in the hills, peaceful, nice to look at, and somewhere that I'd feel safe alone and be able to relax before having to return to the armpit of India that is Delhi.  

Momita and Me

And so I found myself on a day tour to Mussoorie with 30 Indian tourists from Calcutta.  We stopped at a kiddie water park, at a temple, and at Mussoorie Lake.  By that time it was 6 hours into the journey (Mussoorie is only 3.5 hours from Haridwar) so, hungry and tired, I grabbed my bag and hitched the last 6 km up the hill on the local bus.  In hindsight, the whole experience was quite comical.  I met a sweet 20-year old girl named Momita, who shared her popcorn with me ("Most welcome!") and passed my iPod around the bus when I pulled up a photos of my mom and sister.  She asked where I was from, and when I told her California, her eyes got big.  "Hollywood?!"  When we stopped at a roadside temple I opted to stay in and read, and the driver locked the bus it from the inside.  When some women and kids from the group came back,  I struggled to unlock the door as the women shouted at me and a monkey hissed and gnashed his teeth at one of the screaming children... I know I shouldn't laugh but every time I think about it I feel like I was the victim of a hidden camera show.

View of the Himalayas from Mussoorie

I finally got to Mussoorie, which was indeed beautiful.  Mussoorie has the largest roller skating rink in India, and I was quite amused to find an Indian hill station full of kids on roller skates.  I went to a hotel I'd read about in the Lonely Planet but it was full.  Then I had the unfortunate task of walking around this hilly town with all my bags dealing with guesthouse owners trying to overcharge me for some of the most disgusting rooms I've ever seen.  I found one that was the right price, but there was no shower head, only a low shower tap with a bucket... "You won't find any place with a shower head in Mussoorie," the innkeeper told me. "It has to do with the water pressure in the pipes because of the elevation."  Yeah right.  Just another nail in the coffin of my faith in these people.  After tirelessly searching, I finally settled on the worst room I could have possibly chosen.  I was just too tired to keep looking.  And because I bargained a special rate, the guy had me pay for 3 nights in full.  What a mistake.  What I love is the business card: "Running Hot & Cold Water" (actually, when I woke up, there was no running water), "TV in rooms" (which did not work), "Luxurious suites" (hahahaha), "Hospitality & Personal Care" (not only did he speak barely any English but the guy was usually nowhere to be found), "Himalayan view" (not from my room!), "Be Our Guest and Enjoy the Splendour of Royal Living." BAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA!!!!  It's funny in hindsight, but it was really a low point of the trip.  A huge thunder and lightning storm came that night and knocked out the electricity within a few seconds.  At 2000 meters, I was freezing, even after I busted out my wool, thermals and ear muffs from the deep depths of my suitcase.  Even if there had been light, there was no heater and I discovered that the window in the bathroom was only half there.  I had a mini anxiety attack as I froze in my self-made cocoon and decided, I'm going back to Delhi tomorrow.  

The biggest problem I had with Mussoorie though was the feeling that I was an exotic zoo animal on display.  The town had one or two other Westerners, and the rest were Indian tourists.  The way these people looked at me, I wanted to punch them all in the face.  Men stood around in groups and stared and whispered.  It was worse than being the new kid in 8th grade.  They would reach into their pocket and pull out a camera, only to get too shy and put it back.  Not that I minded posing for photos, but most Indians have some common courtesy and actually approach me and ask.  I went out for a bite and some teenage boys tried to photograph me from across the restaurant.  The staring and staring and staring eventually started to wear me down and I lost my cool.  "Stop looking at me!  Look away!" I shouted at some guy leaning out of a window.  I alternated between getting hollered at by teenagers and getting accosted by school children who just wanted to shake my hand and pose for photos.  That cheered me up but only until the next strange look.  So I left Mussoorie and of course the hotel guy was MIA when I tried to get my money back.   

Swati and the way Indians do takeout

I got down to Dehradun and got the first bus back to Delhi.  I sat next to a girl named Swati who had gone home to Dehradun for a friend's wedding and was now headed to Delhi to stay with friends for a night before taking a 30 hour train to Pune (near Hyderabad) where she worked doing marketing for a "pharma company".  An hour into the journey the bus started slowing down and pulled over in a random place.  Swati turned to me, "This bus has been punctured."  The Indians kicked up a fuss with the driver and he promised that we'd drive to a place where we could get another bus.  Clunkety clunk clunk down the road for 30 minutes and still no sign of our 'other bus'.  So some of the Indians flipped out at the driver again and we finally changed to a local bus that made a lot more stops and had a guy shouting at every stop: "De-LAY de-LAY de-LAY de-LAY!!"  People briefly swarmed the bus at every stop to sell water, chips, and yummy chickpea salads.   I shared one with Swati and when we were done she told me to toss it out the window!!  Wha?!?!  "There's no dust bin on the bus, Louise.  It's fine".  I felt really guilty littering but it was a 'when in Rome' moment.  We turned off the main highway to go to a roadside restaurant and as we clunkety clunked down a bumpy dirt road, I told Swati, "This reminds me of the bus to Mcleod Ganj on my first night in India!"  She said in her great English, "If my parents come to know that I am riding this bus, they will be shouting at me!"  I told her, "mine too!"  Hehe.

We finally arrived in Delhi and said goodbye, and then I said hello to a bunch of lying, seedy rickshaw drivers.  

Me: I need to go to Hotel Yes Please in Pahar Ganj.  It's supposed to cost 60-80 rupees.

Rickshaw guy: Ma'am, this is in NEW Delhi (acting like it's so far away).  This will cost 150 rupees. 

Me: No, I'll find someone else, thanks.

Rickshaw guy: Ma'am, I can drop you outside Pahar Ganj, and you will have to walk to your hotel.

Me: Um, no.  I'm alone and it's late.  I'm not walking anywhere.  I need to be dropped AT the hotel.

Rickshaw guy: But ma'am, you don't understand.  This whole area is closed to traffic at night.

Me: Oh really?  I will just verify that.  (approached another rickshaw driver)  Excuse me, is Pahar Ganj closed to traffic at night?

Other rickshaw driver: (ambiguous head wobble)

Me: WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?!?!

Other rickshaw driver: I don't know.

First rickshaw driver: Ma'am, you don't understand.  There is a police blockade tonight.  That area is closed.  There is an area nearby where I can take you directly, I know a good hotel for you.

Me: OK, I'll just call and check that with my hotel.

I pulled out my phone and he walked away.  "That man was trying to cheat you," someone else said.  Oh really?  I didn't notice.  Then a group of rickshaw drivers told me it would cost 200 rupee.  Um, someone already offered for 150, you idiots.  I laughed at them and approached another guy.  "Take me here for 100 rupee."  OK.   When we got to Pahar Ganj, he didn't know the street of my hotel and asked someone for directions.  The guy on the street turned to me.  

Creep:  That hotel is full, but I know a better place for you.

Me: I actually have a booking (not true), but thank you.

Creep:  What is your name?

Me:  What is your purpose?

Creep: New friend.

Me: No thank you.

Creep: Why not?

Me: Go driver, go!!!

And we whizzed off around a few corners to the hotel, where I was in the safe haven of a lovely staff and a clean room with a deadbolt lock.  It was not easy to find the Hotel Yes Please, where I was to meet Itamar in a few days time.  There are 4 places with a variation of the name Yes Please.  There is the Hotel Yes Please, the Hotel Cottage Yes Please, the Mini Hotel Yes Please, and the Yes Please Guesthouse.  The guy at my Yes Please said, "We were the first!  They all took our name."  I'm sure that's what they all say, buddy.  

Bangle madness in Delhi

The next day I had a look around the Pahar Ganj neighborhood of Delhi, where most backpackers stay.  I shopped for bangles and spices, booked a day tour to Jaipur, found a fast and cheap internet spot, and drank tasty chai from a rooftop restaurant.  All good, except for the constant hassle of being a woman alone in India.  People come up to me and follow me down the block, trying to talk to me about their tour, their shop, their henna, or just that they want to ask me where I'm from and get to know me.  "No. No. No. No" I say, and shoo them away.  And when they don't stop I have to turn and shout in their face "Leave me alone!" and then they finally do.  It sucks.  I hate being rude.  I hate getting angry with people.  And there's really no way to act mean without infusing myself with negative vibes.  It turns my stomach in knots.  I wish I could wear an ugly mask, or better yet, an invisibility cloak, but then I'd be faced with the burden of seeing what they do when they think no one is looking.  That might be a worse fate than all the harassment in the world.  I have a new approach now which is to look really confused when they try to talk to me and say "No English".  That's been working well.

A terrible thing happened.  I guess worse things could have happened, but it was bad.  I was having dinner on the rooftop of a hotel and watching the busy square below as I drank beer poured from a tea pot (the Indian workaround to not having a liquor license).  I saw a street kid grab a cow by the rope that was attached to it and drag it around the square.  Then a man grabbed the kid by his shirt, dragged him to another man sitting on a bike, and I watched as the other man punched the kid repeatedly in the back, until he fell on the ground, got up and walked away.  I wanted to go down to the square and spit in the man's face, and tell him he is a sorry excuse for a human being.  These people don't care if you insult them though.  They shrug their shoulders, wobble their hands and just turn away, completely unaffected.  Thoughts raced through my head.  Violence is fucked.  People who hit kids are fucked.  The world is fucked.  Maybe I should feel compassion for the guy because he was probably abused as a kid too.  No no no.  For days the video kept replaying in my mind.  I couldn't stop it from popping up out of nowhere and making me feel sick all over again.  

At the Amber Fort, Jaipur

After this awful day I didn't even want to leave my hotel room.  I locked myself in and watched episodes of Mad Men on my computer.  I went to sleep early and woke up at 6am to catch a day tour to Jaipur.  The drive was long, the tour was rushed, but Jaipur was beautiful and I got to visit the Amber Palace where Natalie and Jeff got engaged!  I forgot to bring the blanket Moshe had left me and when I fell asleep on the air-conditioned bus, I woke up feeling that itch in my nose of an oncoming cold.  Second cold in a month, brilliant.  The next day Itamar arrived and all was right with the world.  We didn't go to the Taj Mahal because I wasn't feeling well and he had been on a bus all night.  When we walked around together people stared but nobody talked to me.  It was amazing.  Itamar was my invisibility cloak.  Upon Natalie's recommendation, we treated ourselves to a $30 dinner at the most fancy shmancy restaurant I've seen in India.  The United Coffee House in Connaught Place was divine.  We took the metro one stop and were transported to a different world.  Suddenly there were designer shops and very well-dressed, wealthy Delhiites.  It was the first time in India that I had culture shock.  

United Coffee House

Our dessert sizzled!!

Itamar flew back to Israel last night and I'm out of here tonight.  Overall, India has been a mixed bag.  Linda was correct when she said "it's heaven and hell all rolled into one."  Rishikesh was heaven.  Santosh Puri ashram was heaven.  The great travelers and nice locals I met were heaven.  The chai was heaven.  But until next time, you can keep the rest.  I'll never come back to India without a boyfriend or male companion.  Tomorrow I'll be in Bangkok, and I can't wait to smile (Thai style), walk around in a skirt and tank top, and drink cocktails with cute British and Aussie backpackers on Khao San Road.  Thank you India, for the spiritual awakening, the challenges, and the strength and courage to deal with you.  I'm out.