Oh hey there!
What's uhhhhhhhhhhhhhp.
Where did I end our story last time? Does it matter? Well, I'd love to go on about how much I loved Bodhgaya and how bizarre and mind blowing sitting under the Bodhi tree was, but alas, I waited too long to update and I've got Darjeeling on mind sooooooo I Guess you'll have to ask me in person when I get home, or you could wait until I inenvitably spew out that story to you, my already travel story weary friends a few months after I get home, and you can sigh at how annoyingly deep and cultured I'll sound when I talk about it.
Until that day though, this will have to do:
Darjeeling.
Yes Darjeeling is where we are now, 2134m up the North-Indian mountainside, and extremely close to both Nepal, Bhutan and Bangledesh's borders. The city is definitely something out of a story book; the decaying streets and colinial styled buildings, the omni present fog and cold and the enormous(yes enormous) diversity in cultures(Nepali, Indian, Chinese, Bhutanese, Bangledeshi and Tibetan to name a few) that are vying for space here in this little town has made me rethink what I've learned about India's cultural identity. And the more I travel from state to state, the more I beleive that India is the most culturally diverse country on the planet. The streets and buildings follow the ups and downs of the mountain it sits on with seemingly no organisation or blueprint. Narrow cement and stone streets blend together with the gray homes and hotels that line them. Because the city is built on a mountaintop, the streets tend to zig-zag down the slope, like a net of interconnected squigally(?(WHO knows how to spell that!)) lines, that merge and seperate continually. And if you are a pedestrian, and there are infinitely more pedestrians than motorists let me tell you, there are hundreds of little alleyways made of staircases running to every house, hotel, and shop that aren't connected by road. It makes for a lot of climbing, and as a result, a very lazy and tired Ben. Those stairs can make you think twice about going to that nice little restaurant you found earlier in the day when you were a couple roads up looking for fabric for the clothing you're having made by one of the hundreds of tailors that are located very conveniently down the street from your hotel next to the market. RUN. ON. SENTENCE. I'll give you absolutely nothing if you can say that sentence in one breath. Okay it wasn't that bad, but give me a break, I can only be so bad a punctuation.
Speaking of Cold weather(and I was.),
It's DAMN cold up here! Ok ok ok ok ok ok ok ok, it's not even as cold temperture wise as Victoria, let alone the rest of Canada, but let me to assure you that 4-8 degrees is F***ing freezing for India, and for my wool covered ass aswell. And to be fair, at home hotels are usually heated, you don't have to bathe with ONE plastic bucket of hot water and you are usually, not the only guests in the entire hotel. But fear not my friends, for I have accoutered myself in armour fashioned of wool, adorned with white eagles that radiate with the brilliance of a thousand suns. I have also aquired black long-johns of synthectic origin which rest beneath my denim trousers of calidity, and equiped with this garb of glory, I have vanquished winter and it's prince, the thermometer, on it's malevolent and serpentine decent towards negative degrees and have taken my rightful place on the throne of warmth, yea, the throne of the sun itself.
Darjeeling is surrounded by mountains(NO. WAY.) which we have yet to see, on account of the fog that has been working dubiously against us on our mission to finally see the himalayas with our own eyes. Every morning we wake up and see what the weather looks like, anticipating the jeep ride to the look out point further up the mountain to finally see the awesome mountainside that surrounds us. Jesus I'm being wordy today, you'll have to forgive me, I'm using thesaurus.com in another window, and unlucky for you folk, I'm really enjoying the whole experience. Everything except actually having to spell the word thesaurus. Ungh, it makes me uncomfortable just thinking about it, yuck. Anybody else find *that word* uncomfortable to spell? no? just me? I'm looking a little to far into this whole thesaurus*shudder* buisness and I should get back to telling you about whatever it was I was telling you about?
I agree.
For once this trip, we're visiting an area in it's off season, which is nice because there are far fewer tourists around, but also bummer(after all those big words that's the one I pick, WOW.) because there are far fewer restaurants open because of the lack of tourists. Which is actually only slighty irritating when you're in the mood for something a little less....worldly for breakfast. I love the food here, but man, I would kill somebody for a cheap continental breakfast right now, either that or pastries with something other than sugar or potatoes in them for flavour. Also, this whole bathing with one bucket of hot water in your freezing hotel room thing isn't exactly a rewarding experience at the beggining or end of the day. It also hasn't boosted my already austere bathing regimen, or hair washing routine either for that matter. In North-India, bathing has become my least favourite activity of the day, which is exactly the opposite from the extremely long and warm showers I enjoy daily at home. We're planning on doing a 2-4 day trek through the forest/mountains to see Everest and the himalayas from a clearer, but still distant vantage-point, and let me tell you this my friends, bathing is something I most definitely will not be doing those four days. But you know what? it really doesn't matter here, I mean, who am I here to impress?(not that the only reason I bathe is to impress...well, Scott knows what I mean, bathing's over-rated. You know what I mean.) I mean, if I was trying to impress anyone I would have cut off the trypsy-like and increasingly horse-mane-y formation of hair that's growing on my head a month ago. A horsemane I will dispose of shortly after I get home, I'm kind of attached to it right now. HA. HA.
That's all the storytelling I've got in me for today children,
I hope you liked reading my novel,
I'll see you soon(ish)
-Ben
post script:
by a show of mice, how many people am I boring now, more than mom I hope.
not that that would be a bad thing or anything...
Monday, February 11, 2008
Friday, February 1, 2008
Newsweek
Greetings! sorry for my absence, well, not really actually, this blog and it's audience have actually become quite the chore *sigh*.
not...(ish)
We just took a 55 hour train ride completely across the country to get to Bodhgaya, the exact place where the Buddha attained enlightenment under the bodhi tree, but more on that later, there is a story to be told!
The Trip wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, it was actually kind of nice...well, as nice as a two day plus train ride can be I guess. We went from the south-western coast in Kerala, to the north-eastern state of Bihar, just below the Himalayas and Nepal. The train was as eventful as a train ride can be in India, which is to say, it was eventful by Canadian standards. The biggest and strangest part of the trip was on the second night, when we crossed the equator and woke up in the morning in the fetal position and my saffron coloured Tibetan shawl vacuum sealed around me. It was like waking up in a whole other country, everyone was wearing scarves around their heads like little old ladies, and pants and sweaters that came straight out of 1975. The night before they were wearing Longees(Man skirts) button ups, and sandals, all of which would also be right at home in the 70's. The food vendors were selling completely different foods, the temperture had dropped by about 20 degrees celsius and I had to dig out my shoes,socks, sweater and jeans that had been burried deep at the bottom of my backpack for the last month or so. The writing on the signs and buildings had all changed from Tamil to Hindi(Tamil is the language spoken by most of the southern provinces and looks a lot like burmese actually.) I could actually use the tora tora of Hindi I've managed to learn again. Kerala is India's first and only democratically elected Comunist state(wrap your head around that one.) so there were no more Comunist propaganda posters or Tamillywood movie posters anywhere to be seen. It was an extremely sudden change in scenery, climate, language and culture. A change that I my recently awoke and slightly valiumized mind wasn't exactly prepared for, but one that I excitedly embraced. Woah woah woah woah woah, I did NOT just write that. Excitedly Embraced? Who am I? What is this?
Jesus,Vishnu and Buddha.
AS I WAS SAYING...
I Excitedly embraced the very dramatic and slightly un-nerving change of South to North with the fervor of an obese child presented with sweets.
A few interesting facts about Indian Trains:
1: Go and see "The Darjeeling Limited".
2: Good, now forget everything you loved about the train they stayed in except for the scenery and the fact that the main characters were, in fact, on a train and in India.
3:In reality There are but two trains like the one in that movie and it's called "The Palace On Wheels" and for about $300 a week you can live like a king on a train similar to the one in the movie(Anyone interested in going, talk to me after europe this summer, I'd be more than happy to make the trip.). The rest of the trains that you sleep on are pretty, ok very basic in design.
4: The outside of the train is blue, the inside of the train is blue. There are 72 beds per Sleeper class train car, there is one corridor/hallway that runs the length of the traincar and there are exactly 9 doorless compartments that sit on the left hand side of the corridor. The bunks are...you guessed it, blue. Throughout the day starting at 5 or 6 am and finishing around 7 pm, there are kitchen staff that haul around big pots of coffee and tea, yelling, "CofFEEyah, Coffee Garam!" or "Chai! Chai Garam!"(Tea, hot tea!) I must have drunken about 20 to 25 of those little paper cups of tea from the bastards in 55 hours, and came up with as many or more plots to kill them for waking me up in the morning. Plots shared among my associates I am sure.
5: The food.
As one of our Indian coach-mates(oh yes, coach-mates.) put it best, "Train food is not good, but it is not bad." Meals consist of vegi-curry, rice, dhal and pickled mango. Mmmmmmmmmm mmm. Other than that anyone and everyone seems to be selling toys, jewellery, fried bananas, cashew nuts, pens, stickers and tatoos. Not to forget ou good friends the Chai and CofFEEyah men that harass us eternally, and the beggars that paw at you and children that look at you with kitten-like eyes and ask you for rupees. Fortunately for me, my heart is made of ice and I am immune to their guilt-tripping ways. Yes indeed, riding on a train in India is quite the experience.
I really hope none of you took that last bit seriously, I really do feel terrible about seeing people living like that, my travels melted the glacier that was my heart long ago, don't worry. Giving to Beggars is frowned upon justifiably by the community because if tourists give them money, they will keep on begging. If someone someone asks for rupees or food, or "just some rice for my baby, sir", a lot of the times they just sell back whatever you just bought for them to another, or the same shop(and it happens a lot, which is depressing). Actually, I just bought a little boy outside some books for writing, and Joseph just came in and told me he'd just done the same to another little boy. It was a scam, and we fell right into it, the little kids justsell the books right back to the bookstores. You want to give to everyone because you have so much, but the sad reality is that beggars are beggars here because it's a job, and it pays pretty well. I just read in India Today that Beggars in India make more money than the average working Indian. This fact was re-inforced to me today by two teenaged monks Joseph and I hung out with all day today, There are A LOT of poor people in India, but you cannot give to everyone, and a lot of parents get their kids to beg instead of go to school to support the family. It's a terrible cycle. That's why I try and give only to those who are in need and are polite and kind about asking for something, not just, "hey! Hello! money? rupees? please sir, I need to eat, one biscuit" It happens everytime I go outside of the hotel room, every single day. The two monks I got to hang out with today were really smart kids, and both left their extremely poor villiage lives to become monks to study. Unlike in Asia, Buddhist monks aren't supported much by the community and they rely on donations and sponsors from people in the community and visiting Buddhists to study. I was truly humbled by their dedication and honesty. I helped them out and they were extremely thankful. These are the kinds of people I wish I met everyday, I wouldn't have any money left, but I'd feel great about ACTUALLY helping someone out. It was a fun day, and I wish those two monks the best of luck.
tear.
By the way, Joseph is a Frenchman we met in Goa and who is traveling with us now. he's 6 feet tall, with light brown hair, great bone structure and a killer smile, he likes long walks on the beach and has modeled for Dolce and Gabbana. But really, he's done just about everything you can think of, including proffessional GoGo dancing
What started as an expose on the Indian Railway system turned into an expose on poverty and Buddhism, and now it's an ad for hot singles. I'll take that as my cue to stop writing. I've got a ridiculous wholly wardrobe I need to start building now that I'm in the northern hemisphere again.
Buh Bah,
-Ben
not...(ish)
We just took a 55 hour train ride completely across the country to get to Bodhgaya, the exact place where the Buddha attained enlightenment under the bodhi tree, but more on that later, there is a story to be told!
The Trip wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, it was actually kind of nice...well, as nice as a two day plus train ride can be I guess. We went from the south-western coast in Kerala, to the north-eastern state of Bihar, just below the Himalayas and Nepal. The train was as eventful as a train ride can be in India, which is to say, it was eventful by Canadian standards. The biggest and strangest part of the trip was on the second night, when we crossed the equator and woke up in the morning in the fetal position and my saffron coloured Tibetan shawl vacuum sealed around me. It was like waking up in a whole other country, everyone was wearing scarves around their heads like little old ladies, and pants and sweaters that came straight out of 1975. The night before they were wearing Longees(Man skirts) button ups, and sandals, all of which would also be right at home in the 70's. The food vendors were selling completely different foods, the temperture had dropped by about 20 degrees celsius and I had to dig out my shoes,socks, sweater and jeans that had been burried deep at the bottom of my backpack for the last month or so. The writing on the signs and buildings had all changed from Tamil to Hindi(Tamil is the language spoken by most of the southern provinces and looks a lot like burmese actually.) I could actually use the tora tora of Hindi I've managed to learn again. Kerala is India's first and only democratically elected Comunist state(wrap your head around that one.) so there were no more Comunist propaganda posters or Tamillywood movie posters anywhere to be seen. It was an extremely sudden change in scenery, climate, language and culture. A change that I my recently awoke and slightly valiumized mind wasn't exactly prepared for, but one that I excitedly embraced. Woah woah woah woah woah, I did NOT just write that. Excitedly Embraced? Who am I? What is this?
Jesus,Vishnu and Buddha.
AS I WAS SAYING...
I Excitedly embraced the very dramatic and slightly un-nerving change of South to North with the fervor of an obese child presented with sweets.
A few interesting facts about Indian Trains:
1: Go and see "The Darjeeling Limited".
2: Good, now forget everything you loved about the train they stayed in except for the scenery and the fact that the main characters were, in fact, on a train and in India.
3:In reality There are but two trains like the one in that movie and it's called "The Palace On Wheels" and for about $300 a week you can live like a king on a train similar to the one in the movie(Anyone interested in going, talk to me after europe this summer, I'd be more than happy to make the trip.). The rest of the trains that you sleep on are pretty, ok very basic in design.
4: The outside of the train is blue, the inside of the train is blue. There are 72 beds per Sleeper class train car, there is one corridor/hallway that runs the length of the traincar and there are exactly 9 doorless compartments that sit on the left hand side of the corridor. The bunks are...you guessed it, blue. Throughout the day starting at 5 or 6 am and finishing around 7 pm, there are kitchen staff that haul around big pots of coffee and tea, yelling, "CofFEEyah, Coffee Garam!" or "Chai! Chai Garam!"(Tea, hot tea!) I must have drunken about 20 to 25 of those little paper cups of tea from the bastards in 55 hours, and came up with as many or more plots to kill them for waking me up in the morning. Plots shared among my associates I am sure.
5: The food.
As one of our Indian coach-mates(oh yes, coach-mates.) put it best, "Train food is not good, but it is not bad." Meals consist of vegi-curry, rice, dhal and pickled mango. Mmmmmmmmmm mmm. Other than that anyone and everyone seems to be selling toys, jewellery, fried bananas, cashew nuts, pens, stickers and tatoos. Not to forget ou good friends the Chai and CofFEEyah men that harass us eternally, and the beggars that paw at you and children that look at you with kitten-like eyes and ask you for rupees. Fortunately for me, my heart is made of ice and I am immune to their guilt-tripping ways. Yes indeed, riding on a train in India is quite the experience.
I really hope none of you took that last bit seriously, I really do feel terrible about seeing people living like that, my travels melted the glacier that was my heart long ago, don't worry. Giving to Beggars is frowned upon justifiably by the community because if tourists give them money, they will keep on begging. If someone someone asks for rupees or food, or "just some rice for my baby, sir", a lot of the times they just sell back whatever you just bought for them to another, or the same shop(and it happens a lot, which is depressing). Actually, I just bought a little boy outside some books for writing, and Joseph just came in and told me he'd just done the same to another little boy. It was a scam, and we fell right into it, the little kids justsell the books right back to the bookstores. You want to give to everyone because you have so much, but the sad reality is that beggars are beggars here because it's a job, and it pays pretty well. I just read in India Today that Beggars in India make more money than the average working Indian. This fact was re-inforced to me today by two teenaged monks Joseph and I hung out with all day today, There are A LOT of poor people in India, but you cannot give to everyone, and a lot of parents get their kids to beg instead of go to school to support the family. It's a terrible cycle. That's why I try and give only to those who are in need and are polite and kind about asking for something, not just, "hey! Hello! money? rupees? please sir, I need to eat, one biscuit" It happens everytime I go outside of the hotel room, every single day. The two monks I got to hang out with today were really smart kids, and both left their extremely poor villiage lives to become monks to study. Unlike in Asia, Buddhist monks aren't supported much by the community and they rely on donations and sponsors from people in the community and visiting Buddhists to study. I was truly humbled by their dedication and honesty. I helped them out and they were extremely thankful. These are the kinds of people I wish I met everyday, I wouldn't have any money left, but I'd feel great about ACTUALLY helping someone out. It was a fun day, and I wish those two monks the best of luck.
tear.
By the way, Joseph is a Frenchman we met in Goa and who is traveling with us now. he's 6 feet tall, with light brown hair, great bone structure and a killer smile, he likes long walks on the beach and has modeled for Dolce and Gabbana. But really, he's done just about everything you can think of, including proffessional GoGo dancing
What started as an expose on the Indian Railway system turned into an expose on poverty and Buddhism, and now it's an ad for hot singles. I'll take that as my cue to stop writing. I've got a ridiculous wholly wardrobe I need to start building now that I'm in the northern hemisphere again.
Buh Bah,
-Ben
Friday, January 18, 2008
Rules of a Trypsy (trip-gypsy/travel-hippie).
The crotch of your pants must not sit higher than your knees.
When the waiter brings you your menu, ask for a flute instead. You know he has one. If not, try the tabla.
A bongo is your perfect accessory.
Poi is the highest form of dance.
All health issues can be solved by reiki, ayurveda or deep-breathing techniques.
Grooming must be limited to dreadlock-maitenance and keeping up your suntan.
Have you rediscovered your birth memories yet? Well what are you waiting for?
If it's not an earth-tone, it's not a colour.
Children are meant to be naked. Period.
-Amelia (Ben, will add to this, I'm sure).
When the waiter brings you your menu, ask for a flute instead. You know he has one. If not, try the tabla.
A bongo is your perfect accessory.
Poi is the highest form of dance.
All health issues can be solved by reiki, ayurveda or deep-breathing techniques.
Grooming must be limited to dreadlock-maitenance and keeping up your suntan.
Have you rediscovered your birth memories yet? Well what are you waiting for?
If it's not an earth-tone, it's not a colour.
Children are meant to be naked. Period.
-Amelia (Ben, will add to this, I'm sure).
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Those darned kids with their video-whatsits and their i-dingys!
Alright, another handful of pictures have gone up on my facebook, so you know what that means ladies and gentlemen: ask those pesky rapscallions that you call your offspring to show you what a facebook is.
And no chastising comments on my captions, I can only be so tame. Just trust me when I say that yes, I know what I'm doing, and no I am not in fact an idiot and I am not, contrary to popular belief, an irresponsible young man/and or hooligan(It's not popular belief mom don't worry, all my friends' parent love me, mostly, I was just making a joke.). So chill out, do whatever it is that you do to relax, and enjoy the pictures.
I hope you like em'.
Edit:
This is the lnk to the album for all of you without facebook:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=82340&l=af0ef&id=531255270
And no chastising comments on my captions, I can only be so tame. Just trust me when I say that yes, I know what I'm doing, and no I am not in fact an idiot and I am not, contrary to popular belief, an irresponsible young man/and or hooligan(It's not popular belief mom don't worry, all my friends' parent love me, mostly, I was just making a joke.). So chill out, do whatever it is that you do to relax, and enjoy the pictures.
I hope you like em'.
Edit:
This is the lnk to the album for all of you without facebook:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=82340&l=af0ef&id=531255270
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
where love was more intense because it seemed like a shipwreck
Flashback to Mumbai, since I never got around to telling you about the Bollywood fiasco that Jo and I got ourselves into. It goes something like this:
All tourists who come to Mumbai head to the same city district, Colaba, mostly because of the multitudes of not-so-expensive hotels, English style pubs, and the chances of meeting your own kind. But they also come with the hopes of making it into the background of a high-budget Bollywood movie, happily doing their part as the token white person. Now really, if you're not Indian, all you have to do is walk down the street (and be at least marginally good looking) and you'll be snatched up by some agent trying to make his quota of blonde haired girls for the big party scene that's being shot the next day.
So the three of us are shoe-ins. We were "spotted" and agreed to do a day of extra work at one of the main Bollywood studios. 9:00 am- 6:00 pm, five hundred rupees, free water, meals and transportation, plus a chance at fame.
When Jo and I both woke up with oozing bowels (sorry, but it's true) on the morning of our shoot, we knew the day was doomed. We tried to weasle our way out, but the agent guilted us into coming by saying that his job was on the line. This may or may not have been true, but we got our act together and waddled out of the hotel in great pain.
This is when he dropped the bomb on us -- in fact, it was only the first of many bombs -- that only Ben was needed in the Bollywood movie. So instead of the star-studded fame we had envisioned, Jo and I, along with two girls from New York, were to be shipped off to a smaller studio, where we would play small parts in an Indian family sitcom. It was a big disappointment, but we went along with it. I have a feeling one of us probably spouted that most optomistic of phrases, "Well, at least it's an experience!".
It was a good hour's journey to the lot, and the place looked exactly like you imagine a TV studio to look. Kind of like a big warehouse, but furnished inside like a expensive, modern condo. They used the entire room for the set. Each wall looked like a different part of the house. It's easy to see how a TV show can trick your eyes into thinking they're actually shooting the footage in a real house, just by moving the camera from place to place and blocking off the stuff they don't want you to see with fake walls.
We were basically dropped in a room with zero information and told to wait for however long it took to get to our scene. We had no idea what we would have to do, what our characters were or what kind of show it was. After a good two hours had passed, we got bored of the waiting room and decided to go watch the shooting. I don't know how many of you have seen any Bollywood films, but all of the acting is exaggerated. They overdue the hand gestures, facial expressions, even their heads bob in a way that normal Indian people would never move. On top of that, every line is dramatically enunciated, to the point where the people look like total cartoons. So this show was one of those slapstick family comedies -- kind of like something you'd watch on a UPN weeknight-- done up in Bollywood speldour. Absolutely horrifying.
The actors flip back and forth between Hindie and English on set so that bit by bit we started to piece together the plot: an American cousin was coming to visit the family. This didn't exactly explain where we came in, but we still had faith that SOMEBODY would be giving us some information soon. In fact, a short while after that we were fitted with pencil skirts and blouses (that were completely see-through HELLO), which just confused us more. Secretaries...?
Fast forward, oh, a good 7 hours. We still have no fucking clue why we're even there, the studio is sweltering hot, we haven't been fed since about 10:00 am and every time we bring up these facts, some crew member goes, "No, no. You're scene next. Five more minutes." This same line was repeated to us God knows how many times until we realize that it's 7:00 pm, an hour past when we were told we could go home. I'm sure you can imagine how frustrated we were by this point. We asked one of the actors when the shoot would end, since he seemed to be the only honest person in the building, and he told us that we'd be lucky if shooting finished by 10:00 pm.
This is when we attempt to walk out. The director flipped out saying that it was totally unfair for us to leave since we had agreed to do the work, which I argued into the ground because we had NOT agreed to stay that long and we had been totally ignored all day. So of course they pull out the whole, "Five more minutes" line again, which I just laughed at -- and then, in a moment of brilliance, demanded more money. So my bartering skills kicked in and they finally agreed to pay us an extra 100 rupees for every hour that we had to stay overtime. Not much money, but still a victory. The crew was effing pissed.
Okay, so this is how it went. Our two scenes were shot last, at about 9:30. We would be wearing our street clothes for the first scene and the business suits for the second. We were never told what our characters were.
We walk on set, absolutely clueless, as the director shouts our only stage direction: "Seduce That Boy!"
He's pointing at the actor who plays the teenage son, an Indian version of Jonathon Taylor Thomas -- who's looking as excited as Augustus Gloop before he falls into the river of chocolate -- and in the total mute, shock of the moment, we don't have the gall to say no, having been so worn down by the 14 hours of hell, and reaffirm every Indian myth about how all white girls are big, big sluts. Now thank God it's India, because there's no kissing in Bollywood, so it was all very tame. Just a lot of cooing and stroking of hair and googly eyes and TOTAL HUMILIATION while the entire cast and crew watched, barely stifling their laughter. I got delt the worst hand. I had to actually nuzzle around with this kid acting like I fucking loved it.
Okay. Breathe. The worst part of the story's over. The next scene involved us -- bafflingly dressed in office clothing -- massageing the feet of the youngest daughter and feeding her chocolates. Still terribly embarassing, though nothing compared to the earlier situation.
We were the generic white girls in the two children's dream sequences about how awesome America is. If we had known what we were in for, we never would have come, but it's a testament to the power of surprise that we didn't just walk off set when we were given our first direction.
Not a fun day. Good to laugh at now. Hopefully a fun story to tell the grandchildren.
And we'll NEVER EVER tell the name of the TV show. So don't ask. As funny as it would be to watch, I'd rather not see myself act like such a dolt.
Ben SO got the better deal.
All tourists who come to Mumbai head to the same city district, Colaba, mostly because of the multitudes of not-so-expensive hotels, English style pubs, and the chances of meeting your own kind. But they also come with the hopes of making it into the background of a high-budget Bollywood movie, happily doing their part as the token white person. Now really, if you're not Indian, all you have to do is walk down the street (and be at least marginally good looking) and you'll be snatched up by some agent trying to make his quota of blonde haired girls for the big party scene that's being shot the next day.
So the three of us are shoe-ins. We were "spotted" and agreed to do a day of extra work at one of the main Bollywood studios. 9:00 am- 6:00 pm, five hundred rupees, free water, meals and transportation, plus a chance at fame.
When Jo and I both woke up with oozing bowels (sorry, but it's true) on the morning of our shoot, we knew the day was doomed. We tried to weasle our way out, but the agent guilted us into coming by saying that his job was on the line. This may or may not have been true, but we got our act together and waddled out of the hotel in great pain.
This is when he dropped the bomb on us -- in fact, it was only the first of many bombs -- that only Ben was needed in the Bollywood movie. So instead of the star-studded fame we had envisioned, Jo and I, along with two girls from New York, were to be shipped off to a smaller studio, where we would play small parts in an Indian family sitcom. It was a big disappointment, but we went along with it. I have a feeling one of us probably spouted that most optomistic of phrases, "Well, at least it's an experience!".
It was a good hour's journey to the lot, and the place looked exactly like you imagine a TV studio to look. Kind of like a big warehouse, but furnished inside like a expensive, modern condo. They used the entire room for the set. Each wall looked like a different part of the house. It's easy to see how a TV show can trick your eyes into thinking they're actually shooting the footage in a real house, just by moving the camera from place to place and blocking off the stuff they don't want you to see with fake walls.
We were basically dropped in a room with zero information and told to wait for however long it took to get to our scene. We had no idea what we would have to do, what our characters were or what kind of show it was. After a good two hours had passed, we got bored of the waiting room and decided to go watch the shooting. I don't know how many of you have seen any Bollywood films, but all of the acting is exaggerated. They overdue the hand gestures, facial expressions, even their heads bob in a way that normal Indian people would never move. On top of that, every line is dramatically enunciated, to the point where the people look like total cartoons. So this show was one of those slapstick family comedies -- kind of like something you'd watch on a UPN weeknight-- done up in Bollywood speldour. Absolutely horrifying.
The actors flip back and forth between Hindie and English on set so that bit by bit we started to piece together the plot: an American cousin was coming to visit the family. This didn't exactly explain where we came in, but we still had faith that SOMEBODY would be giving us some information soon. In fact, a short while after that we were fitted with pencil skirts and blouses (that were completely see-through HELLO), which just confused us more. Secretaries...?
Fast forward, oh, a good 7 hours. We still have no fucking clue why we're even there, the studio is sweltering hot, we haven't been fed since about 10:00 am and every time we bring up these facts, some crew member goes, "No, no. You're scene next. Five more minutes." This same line was repeated to us God knows how many times until we realize that it's 7:00 pm, an hour past when we were told we could go home. I'm sure you can imagine how frustrated we were by this point. We asked one of the actors when the shoot would end, since he seemed to be the only honest person in the building, and he told us that we'd be lucky if shooting finished by 10:00 pm.
This is when we attempt to walk out. The director flipped out saying that it was totally unfair for us to leave since we had agreed to do the work, which I argued into the ground because we had NOT agreed to stay that long and we had been totally ignored all day. So of course they pull out the whole, "Five more minutes" line again, which I just laughed at -- and then, in a moment of brilliance, demanded more money. So my bartering skills kicked in and they finally agreed to pay us an extra 100 rupees for every hour that we had to stay overtime. Not much money, but still a victory. The crew was effing pissed.
Okay, so this is how it went. Our two scenes were shot last, at about 9:30. We would be wearing our street clothes for the first scene and the business suits for the second. We were never told what our characters were.
We walk on set, absolutely clueless, as the director shouts our only stage direction: "Seduce That Boy!"
He's pointing at the actor who plays the teenage son, an Indian version of Jonathon Taylor Thomas -- who's looking as excited as Augustus Gloop before he falls into the river of chocolate -- and in the total mute, shock of the moment, we don't have the gall to say no, having been so worn down by the 14 hours of hell, and reaffirm every Indian myth about how all white girls are big, big sluts. Now thank God it's India, because there's no kissing in Bollywood, so it was all very tame. Just a lot of cooing and stroking of hair and googly eyes and TOTAL HUMILIATION while the entire cast and crew watched, barely stifling their laughter. I got delt the worst hand. I had to actually nuzzle around with this kid acting like I fucking loved it.
Okay. Breathe. The worst part of the story's over. The next scene involved us -- bafflingly dressed in office clothing -- massageing the feet of the youngest daughter and feeding her chocolates. Still terribly embarassing, though nothing compared to the earlier situation.
We were the generic white girls in the two children's dream sequences about how awesome America is. If we had known what we were in for, we never would have come, but it's a testament to the power of surprise that we didn't just walk off set when we were given our first direction.
Not a fun day. Good to laugh at now. Hopefully a fun story to tell the grandchildren.
And we'll NEVER EVER tell the name of the TV show. So don't ask. As funny as it would be to watch, I'd rather not see myself act like such a dolt.
Ben SO got the better deal.
A day in the life.
Oh beach culture, how I love thee.
I am so relaxed right now I could attain enlightenment. And no I'm not on drugs, I just have nothing to do, and it's incredible. If Arambol, Goa is a drug then I'm high as a kite. I think I made a post like this last year when I was on Koh Lanta in Thailand. I don't think it was received very well because of the jealousy if prompted from reader((s) I hope there's more than one of you). And since I don't really care about your feelings, and I'm really happy with where I am right now, I'll explain an average day in Arambol:
I'll usually wake up around 11ish, and Amelia is just leaving to go get breakfast. I'll lay in bed and ponder awhile(Often about nothing in peticular because I can) and maybe scratch at an ant bite or two before making the great and exhausting journey that is getting on my feet and out of bed.
Joanna is still asleep, and I take my time putting my day bag together:
One Journal, check. Malaria pills(I know, I can't believe I'm taking them either, but they cost almost nothing, so sue me.) check. Discman, headphones, mini speakers and batteries, check check check. A very torn and raggedy looking Issue of Time magazine, my Drum tobacco and rolling papers, sunscreen for the beach and mosquito repellent for sunset and I'm done.
I'll usually remember to brush my teeth and pee at the last minute, just when I thought I was home free. At which point I'll choose to be a little more Trypsie(trip gypsies) or a little more Ben, depending on whether or not I choose to be hygenic or not. But who am I here to impress? forget it, I'll pee in a bush and brush my teeth with my eggs and bacon.
There is a Dutch owned restaurant across the road from the tattoo shop two minutes down the "main" road called Double Dutch(I say main, because it's no more than 10 feet wide and lined with restaurants and shops on both sides) where we like to eat breakfast. The food is a little more expensive, but you can actually get bacon, sweet salty, fatty bacon. Having bacon on the menu is like giving you a chritmas gift every morning with breakfast. I've been Vegetarian almost the whole trip so far, but it's Bacon and eggs! I can't resist it, and wouldn't anyway. At Double Dutch They have long picnic-like tables set up, so the amount of new people you meet and talk to is huge. I ended up talking to a couple of Sweedes yesterday for two and a half hours after breakfast. I love just listening to people talking around me, and trying to count how many different languages I can hear being spoken, there are usually more than 4 at least. I'm fortunate that english is my first language, because most everyone here can speak it, so I don't have to worry about dusting off my non-existent Sweedish or Hebrew to have a conversation with someone I meet.
After breakfast the choice is up to me, I can go back to sleep, hang out on the internet, go lie on the beach and swim, maybe head over to the "sweet lake" down the beach where the river meets the ocean. Play some pool at Bohi beach side restaurant near our hotel, or just sit and read at a random cafe and have some more Masala Chai(Indian tea). What I do not want to do is exert myself, unless it's to go swimming and body surfing, which is a lot of fun. I guess I could make a trek past the sweet lake and hang out with some sadduhs(those holy dudes) in the forest at their little camp under a massive mango tree and hang out the the trypsie elite, but I think today I'll save myself from that spiritual journey today.
I settle on a little Mexican cafe to read through the rest of that weathered Time magazine I've been carrying around since Mumbai a week ago. Vladimir Putin is on the cover and he's Time's Person of the Year(really interesting stuff if you're interested, I would highly recommend it). I shy away from the Mexican food on the menu because I know better, but maybe for dinner I'll risk it, but right now I just want some fruit juice and maybe another glass of chai. I finish reading the magazine cover to cover, rip out some book and music reviews I'd like to remember to look up later, throw the magazine away and head down to the beach.
Joanna's been on the beach for awhile now, and she's trying to get the tan her Scandinavian heritage has been refusing to give her for the last few days. We hang out and go swimming periodically, and when the sunlight begins to get cooler, we move off of the beach and into that beach side restaurant I was telling you about for some(more) food and drink. Amelia will meet up with Jo on the beach before I arrive, or afterwards at the restaurant or hotel room. We hang out and talk for a bit before heading back to the hotel to wash off the salty, sandy water that covers us head to toe. We won't however wash our hair, because beach hair is something to relish and hold on to, like a bar of dark chocolate you paid far too many rupees for.
At night there are beach parties, and different restaurants to try out. Arambol is a small enough place, that if you meet someone on the beach or in a cafe, chances are you'll see them later on, so we always manage to find people to hang out with. The night ends whenever it ends, and maybe we'll go on the internet for another hour at 1am before heading back to the hotel. I've been learning songs as we go along so I'll just play around and hum along as we chill, and if we're not too lazy, bring out the hookah I bought in Mumbai for some shisha before we turn out the light.
If I managed to entertain and hold your attention this far without offending you too much with my pretentiousness, I've done my job. Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it. Now if you'll excuse me, all this writing is making me awfully tired, I think I'll go and have a nap.
-Ben
I am so relaxed right now I could attain enlightenment. And no I'm not on drugs, I just have nothing to do, and it's incredible. If Arambol, Goa is a drug then I'm high as a kite. I think I made a post like this last year when I was on Koh Lanta in Thailand. I don't think it was received very well because of the jealousy if prompted from reader((s) I hope there's more than one of you). And since I don't really care about your feelings, and I'm really happy with where I am right now, I'll explain an average day in Arambol:
I'll usually wake up around 11ish, and Amelia is just leaving to go get breakfast. I'll lay in bed and ponder awhile(Often about nothing in peticular because I can) and maybe scratch at an ant bite or two before making the great and exhausting journey that is getting on my feet and out of bed.
Joanna is still asleep, and I take my time putting my day bag together:
One Journal, check. Malaria pills(I know, I can't believe I'm taking them either, but they cost almost nothing, so sue me.) check. Discman, headphones, mini speakers and batteries, check check check. A very torn and raggedy looking Issue of Time magazine, my Drum tobacco and rolling papers, sunscreen for the beach and mosquito repellent for sunset and I'm done.
I'll usually remember to brush my teeth and pee at the last minute, just when I thought I was home free. At which point I'll choose to be a little more Trypsie(trip gypsies) or a little more Ben, depending on whether or not I choose to be hygenic or not. But who am I here to impress? forget it, I'll pee in a bush and brush my teeth with my eggs and bacon.
There is a Dutch owned restaurant across the road from the tattoo shop two minutes down the "main" road called Double Dutch(I say main, because it's no more than 10 feet wide and lined with restaurants and shops on both sides) where we like to eat breakfast. The food is a little more expensive, but you can actually get bacon, sweet salty, fatty bacon. Having bacon on the menu is like giving you a chritmas gift every morning with breakfast. I've been Vegetarian almost the whole trip so far, but it's Bacon and eggs! I can't resist it, and wouldn't anyway. At Double Dutch They have long picnic-like tables set up, so the amount of new people you meet and talk to is huge. I ended up talking to a couple of Sweedes yesterday for two and a half hours after breakfast. I love just listening to people talking around me, and trying to count how many different languages I can hear being spoken, there are usually more than 4 at least. I'm fortunate that english is my first language, because most everyone here can speak it, so I don't have to worry about dusting off my non-existent Sweedish or Hebrew to have a conversation with someone I meet.
After breakfast the choice is up to me, I can go back to sleep, hang out on the internet, go lie on the beach and swim, maybe head over to the "sweet lake" down the beach where the river meets the ocean. Play some pool at Bohi beach side restaurant near our hotel, or just sit and read at a random cafe and have some more Masala Chai(Indian tea). What I do not want to do is exert myself, unless it's to go swimming and body surfing, which is a lot of fun. I guess I could make a trek past the sweet lake and hang out with some sadduhs(those holy dudes) in the forest at their little camp under a massive mango tree and hang out the the trypsie elite, but I think today I'll save myself from that spiritual journey today.
I settle on a little Mexican cafe to read through the rest of that weathered Time magazine I've been carrying around since Mumbai a week ago. Vladimir Putin is on the cover and he's Time's Person of the Year(really interesting stuff if you're interested, I would highly recommend it). I shy away from the Mexican food on the menu because I know better, but maybe for dinner I'll risk it, but right now I just want some fruit juice and maybe another glass of chai. I finish reading the magazine cover to cover, rip out some book and music reviews I'd like to remember to look up later, throw the magazine away and head down to the beach.
Joanna's been on the beach for awhile now, and she's trying to get the tan her Scandinavian heritage has been refusing to give her for the last few days. We hang out and go swimming periodically, and when the sunlight begins to get cooler, we move off of the beach and into that beach side restaurant I was telling you about for some(more) food and drink. Amelia will meet up with Jo on the beach before I arrive, or afterwards at the restaurant or hotel room. We hang out and talk for a bit before heading back to the hotel to wash off the salty, sandy water that covers us head to toe. We won't however wash our hair, because beach hair is something to relish and hold on to, like a bar of dark chocolate you paid far too many rupees for.
At night there are beach parties, and different restaurants to try out. Arambol is a small enough place, that if you meet someone on the beach or in a cafe, chances are you'll see them later on, so we always manage to find people to hang out with. The night ends whenever it ends, and maybe we'll go on the internet for another hour at 1am before heading back to the hotel. I've been learning songs as we go along so I'll just play around and hum along as we chill, and if we're not too lazy, bring out the hookah I bought in Mumbai for some shisha before we turn out the light.
If I managed to entertain and hold your attention this far without offending you too much with my pretentiousness, I've done my job. Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it. Now if you'll excuse me, all this writing is making me awfully tired, I think I'll go and have a nap.
-Ben
Friday, January 4, 2008
the scent of bitter almonds
Ben just posted some pictures of us on Facebook. If you don't have facebook yet, get with the program. There are 30 million of us over there, and we know you'll give in one day, so why not now?
We're on the beach now, and what with the fresh fruit juice, white sand and lazy atmosphere, we have very little motivation to blog. Be patient.
-Amelia
We're on the beach now, and what with the fresh fruit juice, white sand and lazy atmosphere, we have very little motivation to blog. Be patient.
-Amelia
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