When I saw this weird story about a decomposing 90 year old woman I was really hoping it wasn’t set in Wisconsin. Wrong again!

I had been in Darjeeling for days and hadn’t seen any sign of the mountains surrounding the village. The next morning I was going to Tiger Hill to see the sunrise. I had been told I had a 20% chance of seeing Kanchenjunga, the third highest peak in the world from the vantage point on the hill. I had to leave the hotel around 5:00 so I slept fitfully. When I finally fell asleep the wild dogs started having a territorial dispute nearby. The dogs were so loud, it may have well been in my bathroom. I drifted back off to sleep, afraid I would miss my alarm. At 4:30 the absurdly loud phone in the hotel started ringing. No one answered it. It would stop for a minute or two and then start again. There was no going back to sleep at this point. I padded upstairs and downstairs to see if I could find the staff. There was no one to be found, at least not without barging in to their private living quarters. I went back to my room and got ready for my excursion ignoring both the phone and the banging on the front door. By the time I was ready to go the night man at the hotel was shuffling around. He led me out through an auxiliary door that led through an alley barely big enough for me to walk through. My taxi driver, the source of the phone calls and insistent banging was ready to go.

We made our way to Tiger Hill. It was still pitch black when we arrived. He asked me which ticket I wanted. There was both "Deluxe" and "Super-Deluxe" to choose from as well as the no frill just park your car ticket. "Super-Deluxe" was the third story view of the sunrise, which meant you were higher than other guests and you had comfortable couches and heaters. At approximately $2 it seemed like a bargain to me. I climbed the icy stairs to "Super-Deluxe". It was disconcerting. I had never been in a room with 20+ saffron couches. It reminded me of a modern art exhibit. The room was cold, but it was out of the wind and there was an array of electric heaters on one end. I found a seat and waited for other to arrive. Other tourists started to shuffle in and each of them seems to bring a backpack full of complaints with them. "Why was it so cold." "The windows aren’t optically pure enough." "The couches are run down." After a few minutes of chatting with a couple and noticing someone had taken my couch for their own, I decided I was in the wrong place. If I went to the parking lot level the view was exactly the same and I probably wouldn’t have to listen to people complain.

I went to the parking lot and I didn’t regret the choice. The people were friendlier, the view was the same and I didn’t have to listen to people complain about the heaters.

In life as well as on Tiger Hill, I have learned more about truth, beauty, sacrifice and hospitality from the people in the "parking lot" than I have from the people in "Super-Deluxe."

I came to the conclusion that my people are generally not in "Super Deluxe" — although thankfully some of us get to visit it once in a while.

I picked up a few books in a little bookstore in Darjeeling. One of the winners was a slim volume titled “Delhi is not far” by Ruskin Bond. I don’t see it available on Amazon, but his “Best Of” collection has the story.

Like many short stories it has a tremendous sense of place including the brooding last two paragraphs.

“This is the real land, the land I should write about. My Mohalla [neighborhood] is but a sickness, a wasting disease, and I should turn aside from it to sing instead of the splendors of tomorrow. But only yesterdays are splendid … There are other singers, sweeter than I, to sing of tomorrow. I can only sing of today, of Pipalnagar; where I have lived and loved.

Yesterday I was sad, and tomorrow I may be sad again, but today I know that I am happy. I want to live on and on delighting like a pagan in all that is physical; and I know that this one lifetime, however long, cannot satisfy my heart.”

—Ruskin Bind, “Delhi is not far”

For the most part, I have refrained from writing about India since I got back. I found my experience pretty overwhelming and I wanted to take some time to really think about it and make sure that I was writing something true instead of simply being a victim of something akin to "Jerusalem Syndrome."

In India nothing is quite the way people described it,  yet it
is almost exactly what I expected. The people are  the real magic in
the spell that overtook me while I was there. Whether it is the breathtaking kindness of old friends or
the con artist looking for another $5 in ‘taxes’ it makes no difference –
India is heady, "through the looking glass", "back of the wardrobe"
magic.

I wanted to go to India for 6+ years. No doubt the anticipation colored my experience. However, I’ve run into lots of people who wanted something for a very long time only to discover that they hate it in actuality — they were only in love with the idea.

My trip was not entirely without minor hardship. I had to change hotel and air travel plans to accommodate the realities of traffic. I was asked to pay taxes that don’t exist. I was pestered by shopkeepers unwilling for me to leave their store without some trinket. I slept in a hotel room with no heat where I could see my breath every night. My driver pulled out in front of a large oncoming vehicle more than once. I ran into strikes that changed my plans and demonstrations that blocked my progress. I could go on, but you get the idea. There were obstacles in my travels.

India itself is a magical place to visit because of it’s sharp contrasts and fascinating history and cultures. Not only are there contrasts between Minnesota and India, there are significant contrasts to be found in India. Every street scene you encounter has the kinds of contrasts and variations that you usually only find in an Ansel Adams print. Beyond the simple magic of the place, I think there were four things I brought to India that helped that made my trip such a positive experience.

I had a good attitude. I’m sure my experience of India, overwhelmingly positive as it was, was colored by my attitude. I generally couldn’t wait to see what was going to happen next. I genuinely hoped that the thing I saw wasn’t the wheels of a speeding Tata truck running me over, but generally I was just waiting for the next good thing to happen. This attitude was my good luck charm.

I was prepared. Based on what I had read and heard from other people I was prepared for realities much worse than what I experienced. I think knowing that you will run into a bathroom on a road side which isn’t configured like the road side rests in the states helps you mentally prepare.

I was lucky. I ate things which may not have been 100% safe. I never got sick. I spent hours in cars on busy roads and didn’t experience an accident.I’m sure my trip would have a lot less fun if things hadn’t gone so well. For instance, being in a car accident where drivers are having heated exchanges would have been difficult. Being robbed would be awful. Being sick in certain circumstances would have been difficult. Combining bad experiences would have been beyond tough. I can understand why long term travelers hit a certain wall where they face difficulties and road blocks for days on end and suddenly reach their wits end where they just want a day without hassles. I wasn’t there long enough to be that “tired exhausted traveler.”

I had friends. In Pune where I spent the first week working with my peers I was the recipient of overwhelming hospitality. They gave me good advice and made me believe I would be just fine. They made sure that I knew I could call them day or night if I was in need of assistance. I didn’t have to call on them, but knowing that I could was a powerful backup plan. I don’t know if it was entirely true, but the way I was received by friends – both old and new – in Pune made me believe that I would make friends while I was traveling. Having the attitude that I would make friends, made the everything better.

I can’t wait to go back. There is an amazing amount of natural and man made beauty to soak up. I think I could travel for a year and still miss seeing entire civilizations and epochs.

Next time I want to spend more time there, both in the office and exploring the countryside.

A few years ago I ran into the web site “Big Dead Place” and it reignited my fascination with Antarctica. I have read a lot of the first hand accounts of early explorers. Reading how people cope with the challenges given current technology and resources makes for an interesting contrast.

I ran into a mention of the book “Life on the Ice” on the O’Reilly Radar. Since I was Christmas shopping at the time, I decided I needed a copy of the book.

The book is a collection of fairly personal essays about Antarctica. The writing was unusually good. I suppose you really get a chance to compose your thoughts during six months of darkness. There were essays focused on the natural beauty, the human relationships and covered some aspects of the science projects that go on. The comparisons between penguin and human behavior made me laugh out loud at least once.

I would sure like to get a chance to visit there someday. I’m not sure if I have what it takes to winter over, but I would love a nice long visit.

Given my next big trip will be to India, maybe I should pick up “Travelers’ Tales India: True Stories” by the same publisher.

Reuters reported that hometown airlines, NWA will begin charging for the right to sit in an aisle seat or an exit row. The program is called Coach Choice.

What are the airlines going to think of next? Personally, I’m expecting pay toilets to be available sometime in the spring of 2007. Maybe in 2008 you can bid for the right to be seated next to people with good hygiene.

[Link courtesy of boing^2]

Tower of Terror, originally uploaded by timbu.

I wasn’t really clear on what was going to happen on this ride — much to the chagrin on the 16 year old girl sitting next to me.

When the bottom dropped out of the ride, I reached out to find something solid to hold on to. Unfortunately that was the poor girl’s arm. I let go quickly, but not before turning 30 shades of beet red. So far this is my most embarrassing moment of 2006.