Food weekend in Laguna Beach

Every beach town has its own personality, and Laguna’s is laid back, health-conscious, and well-to-do. Seriously, I have never seen so many obscenely expensive cars and surgically altered women. Even without the plastic surgery, California is just full of attractive people that make you hate your life, but to top it off, they don’t just have the genetics, they have the money, too. So that naturally wind-blown-curl look was actually painstakingly styled at one of the city’s many “Blow out” salons, which does nothing except styling (not cuts or color or anything else…because apparently you can make a living having a salon that does nothing except perfectly blow dry people’s hair).

Despite clearly caring too much about appearances, this town wins everyone over. Seriously, everyone who visits Laguna wants to move there. I want to move there.

My friends already DID move there after visiting, and subsequently getting married there. Now Maci and Jeff live an amazing life of dog parks, beaches, ubiquitous amazing food and almost perpetually perfect weather.

(This makes me ponder why we humans insist on living in climates where the only way we can survive is by conquering nature? We are clearly not biologically designed to occupy northern Europe. If we all lived on a beach we’d be living off avocados and oranges that we didn’t buy because it just grew next to our little hut, which is the only shelter we need because it’s between 60 and 80⁰ F year-round. What the hell is wrong with people?)

What really distinguishes this coast from other beach areas you can visit, in my opinion, is the food. It’s glormazing (which is what happens when something is so glorious and amazing it needs its own adjective). And, as a vegetarian, it is one of the friendliest places I’ve ever been. I have no trouble finding vegetarian food in most of the US, however having not one, but dozens of purely vegetarian and vegan restaurants to walk into almost puts me into a joy coma. Only someone with big dietary restrictions can understand the euphoria of walking into an eating establishment and realizing “Wait…I can order anything…ANYTHING on the menu???” Thankfully my hosts knew how great this novelty would be, and took me to as many vegetarian and veggie-friendly places as possible, and there are many others we could have patronized with enough time.

Our first stop was Veggie Grill, a more or less fast food joint that focused on whole foods, but had enough deep fried comfort food on the menu. I had a Grilled Chickin sandwich while the mister ordered the “fish” tacos.  And let me tell you, tacos are where it’s at on the west coast. The mister successfully negotiated for tacos every single day during our stay, and we weren’t event in town for Taco Tuesday (which is totally a thing and every restaurant advertises it and I’m devastated I have never experienced)!

Los Tacos had really decent veggie tacos, as does Coyote Grill, but La Sirena, the Mexeco Eatery, was disappointing. The ingredients were fresh, sure, and they did put fresh cabbage on the taco, which I love, but there was no sauce, no cheese, no flavor. Fell short of delicious.

But one taco place exceeded all expectations. Anyone in Orange County must must must must try the Taco Asylum. Novelty and traditional street tacos made from healthy ingredients (whole foods, no preservatives, all the fresh avocado you can stomach). The mushroom and brie were our favorites, though the meat eaters informed us the PB&J (where B stands for bacon) was the best.

We found this gem at The Camp (also called the “anti-mall” and the “Lab” which got very confusing so you might hear it referred to as any one of those). All the restaurants and shops emphasized eco-friendly, ethical and sustainable food and fashion choices. It was heaven. Pretty much every chocolate bar in the bakery was fair trade, there were at least two entirely vegan restaurants, and they have a Wine Lab. They have a lab. For wine.

At the Wine Lab, the tastings come in test tubes and are mostly organic wines from California. The cheesecake also deserves honorable mention, but is the only dessert we tried there, so I can’t say whether or not the rest of the menu will blow your mind.

In Laguna itself, two gelato places stand out: Gelato Paradiso, which is high quality and the largest variety, but Dolce Gelato has – I kid you not – Jameson-flavored gelato.

Another trend that is taking off in California and sure to make its way inland is the Acai Bowl or Banzai Bowl. It’s basically a parfait with smoothie. The smoothie has an acai base, and from there it’s topped with granola and whatever the heck else you want to throw on top. Again, fresh fruit, whole ingredients play a big role in this dish.

Brunch is another high point in Laguna. Many places have it, and you can eat it waterfront, but obviously for a price. Las Brisas is well-known but a bit out of our budget, so we went to C'est La Vie. It was perhaps a little overpriced for what it was, but I have not a single complaint about the Eggs Oscar (an avocado-based take on Eggs Benedict) and a champagne or mimosa comes free with your meal.

The ethnic food other than Mexican is the only thing that disappointed a bit. The Thai was more or less tasteless, and the Indian food, while tasty, did not blow me away. I’ve had better of both in Kansas City pretty much any time I’ve ordered.

Clearly I could not hit all the vegetarian-friendly places or do all the wine tastings, or taste all the gelato in four days, so I would go back to Laguna in a heartbeat, budgeting much more for eating out. Totally worth it.

How to use a squat toilet (in 10 easy steps!)

Somewhere between Europe and Asia, plumbing becomes sketchier. While I haven't traveled much in Central Asia, I know that Istanbul sported both the flush and squat varieties of toilet, while India and Nepal mostly boasted that infamous hole in the ground with a couple of indications on either side vaguely shaped like shoes.

If you are thinking this is ridiculous, actually, it's quite efficient. It makes perfect sense if you've grown up with it. More than once, in more modern bathrooms in Nepal and India, I would find footprints on the toilet seat of a flush toilet from locals who had never though of SITTING on one before. So the confusion goes both ways.

Upon first encounter, this can be daunting for westerners. But have no fear. In a few simple steps, you can master the squat toilet. Trust me, a white American girl who managed to not only do it, but do it in a sari, without soiling herself. (Please note: Sari-peeing is expert level. Do not attempt until you have spent several months practicing with traditional western clothing). My instructions will be most helpful for women, though I imagine men will find this useful in certain situations.


Step 1: Assess the paper situation.
This step really starts before you leave your home/hotel/hostel. ALWAYS take care to have extra tissue/toilet paper in your purse. Paper is either an optional or precious commodity, depending on the city.

When you arrive at the commode, examine the surroundings. Is there paper? Is it adequate? If not, and if you forgot to bring some, it may be necessary to borrow from a kind neighbor. This is possible in Turkey, but in India you are out of luck. You will have to adopt the traditional hand-and-bucket method if you forgot to bring your own.

Step 2: Arrange belongings for optimal squatting success.
Your toilet may not have a hook for bags. It may not even have a door. This is easily handled by draping the purse/handbag/sack around the back of the neck, like so:

Note: do not hang the purse strap around the FRONT of your throat. Not only is this a choking hazard, but if the strap is long enough, the purse is likely to dangle in something unpleasant as you are squatting.

Step 3: The warm-up.
With clothes on, place your feet on the (hopefully) textured rim of the toilet, and squat over the intended target. Bend the knees and assess placement of the corresponding exit and entrance holes. As in classic squat: chest up, tailbone pushed back, knees directly over ankles, like so:

Those with weak quadricep muscles may find this step challenging, but I encourage you to power through. If possible, train prior to traveling. If not possible...just remind yourself what lies directly below your precious parts, and call upon inner resolve.

Step 4: Disrobe.
Not entirely. In fact, as little as possible. Bring whatever needs to come up to the waist, and whatever needs to go down to the knees and NO FURTHER! Dropping trou is a classic rookie mistake. But look at that floor. Do you want your unmentionables touching that...unmentionable? You do not. Bend the knees and tuck the clothing nicely into the crease behind them.

Step 5. Squat.
Do what you came to do.

Step 6: The Clean Escape.
Do not-I repeat, do not come out of squat. Wipe, drop, wipe again, and then FIRST pull up the clothing at the knees, THEN pull down the clothing at the waist.

Step 7: Dismount.
Do not touch anything. Seriously, I don't care how bad your balance is, call on your inner yogi and step off that toilet without supporting yourself.

Step 8: Touch nothing.
This is actually the beauty of the squat toilet. You do not need to contact anything other than your own body parts, if performed properly.

Step 9: Use hand cleanser anyway.
I mean, you just did your business. Be polite. I recommend tea tree oil, which does not kill good bacteria, and is a natural antiseptic.

Step 10: Check for trailers, drippers, and clingers before leaving.
Assess the location of the wipe. Is it down the hole? Then you're golden. Are clothes in their proper place? Any damp spots that may need to be addressed?

Reposition the purse in your preferred location, smile, and continue on your touristy way.

Istanbul: Where Europe and Asia kiss

Istanbul, the Eurasian city split by the Bosporus, has long been at the top of my "Bucket List." Friend after friend has visited and emphatically informed me how vital it is that I go. "Titia, you HAVE to go to Istanbul! You HAVE to!" I was certainly not going to argue, but finding time and funds for that trip (Turkey is not as cheap as it used to be!) took me a while. But, with a partner who was as eager to see the city as I was, it finally happened.



General thoughts:
First of all, they were right. You HAVE to visit Istanbul. Secondly, it really is where Asia and Europe meet, in both the geographic and cultural sense. As someone who has lived, studied, and spent ample time on each of those continents, my head spun with the overlaps I saw everywhere.

Plus there's just this vibe, wherever you go that is a distinct blend of European and Asian. I don't know how to articulate it. It's in little gestures, little smells, the way stores butt up against each other, the way the old men look, the way the young women walk...it is neither Europe nor Asia, yet it is both.

We encountered European technology and architecture surrounded by the "boy clubs" (as I call the clusters of men that sit and smoke  in the squares or play games while they hover over tea in tight t-shirts and jeans) that I was used to seeing in India and Nepal. Women stayed mostly out of sight in the Muslim neighborhoods, and when they emerged, wore hijab. This is not typical, from what I understand, of the whole city, just our neighborhood.

Contrasted with the strict Muslim observances (our innkeeper would not even drink the wine I offered in public because he knew the other shopkeepers would see and be angry with him), are things like the nightlife, which REALLY starts to get going around midnight, and doesn't quiet down until 3 AM or later on weekends. The square where our inn was located had a fish market nearby and boasted some of the poshest seafood restaurants I've seen. Every night musicians circled the little piazza, dancing around the fountain. Diners, both local and tourist, sang and danced and threw tips to them.

Another Asian remnant is the street dogs and cats that wander the city, but in contrast to Hindu and Muslim countries, they are rarely beaten or poisoned. They coexist in a fairly friendly manner with the tourists, while still looking suspiciously mangy enough not to pet. Some of the puppies are just asking for it, but I refrained!

One of the most evident dissonant harmonies of the city is the fight between Muslim and Christian history for dominance. The most famous monument to this controversy is the Hagia Sophia, a Byzantine church which was converted to a mosque, and is now a museum. There is a conservative faction in Turkey who would like to convert the museum back to a mosque, as a holy religious site, but the moderates argue that as a museum it represents the secular history of Turkey, not allowing one narrative to dominate. If you have been following Turkish news at all, you can see that that fight for the dominance of Islam over secularism is hardly over.

Is it dangerous?
One impression I've picked up repeatedly from people in the US is that Turkey is dangerous. I suppose it is if you are alone in a bad neighborhood and don't know where you're going...but so is London, and New York, and Tokyo. Frankly, I'm not sure how Turkey got this reputation, unless it's the simple justification from Americans who really have no desire to visit and this is the only excuse they know how to articulate.

While I was never by myself in Istanbul, I never got the impression it would be more scary than any other place if I were. We stayed predominantly in the tourist sections of the European side, riding public transit and walking. At no point would I say we were at risk.

In fact, the people we directly encountered could not have been kinder. Our innkeeper, Volcan, was a chatty, sweet, conscientious guy who loved hanging out with guests on the patio of his hotel. (Lancelot Hotel, for those who need a place). One man saw us trying to figure out what this was:

so he bought us some! (Turns out to be a seasoned bean patty)

Then there's the impromptu dance party I had with the vendors who sold me tea and Turkish coffee cups:

In fact, Istanbul is probably better, in many ways, than much more famous cities I've visited. The touts are aggressive as you walk by restaurants (understandably as the competition is fierce and they are all 6 inches away from each other), the water is not potable (although no one in Europe drinks tap water anyway) and there is a struggle for the dominance of a fundamentalist religious faction. But in terms of a visit, it was stimulating, exciting, completely unique (versus London, New York and Paris which are all kind of the same city with different accents) and it's one of the few cities I will tell you: yes, you MUST go. There's actually no place like it that I have found.

"Toxic hair-dye kills brain cells" or "How many bad decisions can Letitia make in a day?"

I have finally left Lucknow. Got my roots dyed the day before I left by the same guy who did it before. Don't know if he decided "Who gives? She's not coming back." but my roots are neon orange while the rest of my hair is dark mahogany. It's seriously bad. And I have no choice but to walk around this way.

Anyway, so after having toxic dye seep into my brain, I left for Rishikesh via Delhi. There was originally a good reason for this. After a traumatic train experience, I'm not keen on riding Tier 2 or 3 all the way from Lucknow. Plus, it takes like 9 hours. So, clever Letitia thought to herself: it's like 1000 rupees to fly to Delhi. From there I can catch a first class train ticket to Rishikesh and it only takes four hours and costs 400 rupees. Simple, right?

The first leg was simple. Flight took off on time, arrived on time, no drama. They didn't even care that my bag was seriously 8 kilos over the limit. So I got to Delhi, and then discovered that the train station which I had booked my ticket out of was 26 kilometers from the airport. Okay, fine, but a taxi was necessary, and more than I had planned to pay. Could have gone metro but as previously stated, my bag was a little chubby, and I didn't see myself hauling it up and down stairs and across Delhi streets to get to a crowded subway. So, off on the taxi I went.

Only upon arriving at Nizamuddin train station did I look at my train ticket. And realized it was for the next day. Here's the thing: as I only recently realized, Indian calendars start the week with MONDAY. So when I booked online and clicked the first day of the week, I thought I was booking it for Sunday. Nope. As I came to this realization about 15 porters gathered around to give me advice on what to do. Then a young man who spoke fluent English, had a laptop with an WIFI USB materialized, and we sat down outside the station to try and figure out my options.

While we confirmed that there was no way for me to get to Rishikesh by train that day, a taxi tout came over and said he could get me to Rishikesh, drop me off at the door of my hotel for 3000 rupees, or about 80 USD. First though, I called my friend Michael, who was staying in Delhi, to see if he would come get me and maybe tell me what safe hotel to stay in. I didn't relish the idea of a rickshaw-walla taking me to a hotel or hostel that would give him a cut for dropping me off there.Well, Michael did not answer Michael's phone. Some strange Hindustani man answered Michael's phone. Later I found out that - because the universe was conspiring to ruin my life - Michael's phone had been stolen. I had no way to contact him. And once lovely laptop-man, Manish, left, I didn't have internet.

I considered my options: pay for a taxi back to Delhi, then pay for a hotel stay, and then leave the next day and arrive in Haridwar a day late, where I would still have to take a bus to Rishikesh. OR, private, air-conditioned taxi right to my door. Manish actually asked if I wanted to go with him for free to Dharamsala. This seemed a very ill-advised idea to me, but considering all the other stupid things I did that day, maybe this would have been the smart choice. I went with the taxi.

So a few minutes in to the ride, after several screaming phone calls, my driver tells me he has to get a second car. This car - for some reason I don't quite get...something about registration or taxes - can't go to Rishikesh. Fine. I don't care what the vehicle is. Well, two hours down the road, outside of Delhi, my driver stops, and passes me off not only to a second car, but a second driver. He says I have to pay him 1000 rupees, and 1000 rupees to the second driver. Now.

I hesitate and make sure that both drivers understand the arrangement. I am paying a total of 3000. And the second driver will get 1000 more upon dropping me at my hotel in Rishikesh. They both understand, and say that's fine.

Okay, so off I go with second driver, who honestly seems like a much nicer guy than my first. Well, he too gets a phone call a few minutes in to our drive. He stops the car and tells me in Hindi (speaks zero English), "It's like this: Rishikesh is twice as far as that guy told you. It's 400 kilometers. So I have to charge you 2000 more." Whaaaaat?? I look in my pocketbook even though I don't need to. I don't have that much money. I debate with him for several minutes, almost breaking into tears. I ask him why he agreed to the price before. He said he didn't know, his boss just called and told him how much he had to charge.

I am in the middle-of-nowhere India. The first driver is long gone. I call the tout who found me the driver at Nizamuddin and explain the situation to him. He shouts for a long time at my driver. When I'm back on the phone with him he says: "Do NOT get out of that car! Stay in the car. In Rishikesh, only pay him 1000 rupees. If he gives you trouble call the police. Do NOT get out of the car!" I do some praying, have another conversation with my driver. He says he'll take me to the bus, but I'm not getting my deposit back.

I am completely distressed now. Sensing this, my driver makes me a new deal. He wants only 500 rupees more than what we originally agreed on. He can't go for less or he'll lose money. I tell him to go. Raj, the tout in Nizamuddin, is still telling me not to pay him. He says a deal is a deal and this guy has to do it for the original price. I debate with myself the whole way to Rishikesh. I think my driver can sense this because at one point he pulls over and demands the rest of the money before we go on. I give him 500 but tell him he's not getting the thousand until I am at Narayana Palace. We bicker. I call Raj. Raj screams at him. My driver continues on.

Because there is a God, I get to Rishikesh safely. I have decided to pay my driver the additional amount because calling the police in India really doesn't sound appealing. They might not come, and if they come, they might beat this guy up. 500 rupees is like $12. So am I seriously going to get this guy tortured for that?

When I called Raj I told him I gave the driver the additional amount, but not the 2000 rupees extra that he wanted at first. Raj was disappointed and said, "All right, but you have to do one thing for me. Next time you are in Delhi, I owe you 500 rupees, so please come find me."

The End.

What did I do all summer?

Hey all! I've meant to leave an update on my activities this summer. Here's a basic breakdown of my days:

Monday through Friday I had school every morning from 9 AM to 1 PM. The American Institute of Indian Studies is an immersion program, so I spent all morning speaking - or attempting to speak - Urdu. Though I still have a long way to go (I can't understand normal speed conversations yet), I have learned a lot and I speak much better than I did on arrival. I had three classmates, all male, at the intermediate level.

Our lunches were provided by the institute in the form of salty, over-cooked mush. Most of us had assumed that we would lose weight in India, but apart from my one weekend in Rishikesh, I don't think I've lost an ounce. One reason is the incessant stream of carbs I'm putting in my body, but also it's the sedentary life I've had to adopt. School, work, and homework have done nothing for my cardiovascular health.

One thing that has helped is that my friend Melissa and I decided to learn a Bollywood dance while we were here. After a few classes our teacher dropped off the planet and we never found her again, but not before we'd covered enough basics to finish the dance. Problem was, it was too racy for a conservative Muslim school, so at the last minute another student at AIIS who had done Bollywood dancing for years choreographed a simple number for us. We performed for the cultural presentation and it went really well!


In the afternoons I do one of several things:
I go to my internship with Sanchetna (sanchetnaindia.com) where I have been working on their employee manuals and now a presentation for the website which should premiere sometime this week. Sanchetna is a micro-finance organization that gives micro-loans to rural women to start dairies.

Sometimes I just go home and do homework but shop along the way. I'm often buying eggs and fruit along for breakfast the next day. I love love love shopping in India! I love markets, I love bazaars, I love fruit-wallas and subzi-wallas and bakeries. I love bargaining, I love street food, I love the intense colors and the smells of the spice markets and the constant activity and the sparkling bangles.

Or, I go to my tailor and have her do some custom work for me. This has been a mixed bag of experiences. It started out really good but our relationship has soured. She decided since I had not complained about price she should start charging me top dollar. When I put up a fuss she had a million excuses. And the final work she did was not up to par. Grrr....

Aaj kul...
Now the program is over and all my roommates have left. I'm still living in the house but instead of 8 people it's just me and 3 or 4 mice with the run of the place. I have booked a tutor to teach me how to read Devanagiri (the Hindi script) 2 hour a day this week. I really want to be able to read signs for crying out loud!

I'm continuing to work at my internship as well. I have a few friends in Lucknow and a ton of material to read and write, so there's no danger of me being bored. Those of you who know me best know that boredom simply does not occur. There is always something I can fill my time with. If I'm idle, it's by choice.

The end of this week I'll either be in Rishikesh or Mumbai. Plans keep shifting according to which of my friends is available.

Would I do it again?
Given the choice between not doing the Urdu program in Lucknow at all, and doing it this way, I would do it. However if I could change several things about this summer, I would. I found a lot of things frustrating and wish I had known in advance how things would work out so I could have planned better.

Housing is one major one. We have had a difficult time with our landlady. It has ranged from overcharging to not providing promised services to a dangerous German Shepherd that does her job of guarding the house VERY well! I paid a lot for this housing even by my American standards, and I would have sought different accommodations if I had known in advance this would be the deal.

I would also not recommend the Urdu program to beginning or intermediate speakers. I think advanced students had a good time of it, but the pedagogy for intermediate learners was lacking. We stumbled along, wasting a lot of time. I expected my skills to have increased much more this summer than they did. I still improved, without question, but could have done so much more if the program had been run better.

I would seek an internship with an organization that provided me direct interaction with poor women. I have been sitting in an office, at a computer...the very thing I swore I would not do again once I went back to grad school. The lifestyle doesn't suit me, and I have had no chance to contact the women I wanted to interview for research purposes.

Things that have been great are my roommate, Christina Welsch, who is a long-lost soul twin. We continued to discover that we had a ridiculous amount in common, and the things we didn't share, we could engage in frank discussion about.

Did I mention I love the shopping?

I also truly sincerely love India. It is a crazy, dirty, screwed up place and all the richer for it. I love that little things don't matter, big things do, and if you don't want to do it, you can pay someone (ie laundry goes to the dhobi, a cook comes to make meals, a cleaning lady comes to sweep, an auto rickshaw will pick you up)... For every negative encounter, I have had four beautiful ones. It's nice to live in a place where politeness is neither a form of deception nor a barrier against emotional vulnerability.

The end of this week I'll be off again, and I'll find some time to document my gypsy wanderings. Until then... Hoda Hafiz.

From Hotter-than-Hades Agra to Relaxing Rishikesh

I have taken advantage of most of my weekends here in India by traveling. The first weekend I went to Agra to visit the wonder of the world on everyone’s bucket list: the Taj Mahal. I went with 9 other students from AIIS by hired car. We spent 7 hours on treacherous Indian highways. Not many fatalities happen within the cities, despite chaotic driving, but on the highways vehicles hit speeds high enough to do serious damage. Riding in a car in India is a special kind of thrill. Dodging cows and goats and wedding processions on the highway adds a whole new element.

I insisted on going to Taj Mahal at dawn, because the heat in Agra during the summer is legendary, and everyone says the Taj is beautiful at dawn. So we slept not even four hours before hauling ourselves out of Siddarth Hotel at 5 AM and down the road to buy our tickets. Our guide, Ali, was an energetic little man who was eager to get us the best views in the best light. He called me his sister and talked about how well I spoke Hindi. (Everyone does that. You say two broken sentences in Hindi and they proclaim that you speak it like a native!)

We saw sunrise over the Taj Mahal and the river that runs beside it. The marble shone pink and different colors in the stonework glowed. It is a beautiful, magical place. It was smaller than I expected, but also more intricate. There are meters and meters of ornate Arabic script surrounding the doors that are all carved out of Belgian onyx. There are flowers formed by different precious stones such as tourmaline and lapis lazuli and jade.

By 8 AM, my linen shirt was soaked through with sweat. Ali took us to a good, inexpensive local restaurant called Joney’s where we ate the cheapest, tastiest breakfast I’ve ever had.

We decided to nap the heat of the afternoon away, siesta style. Unfortunately our rooms were not air conditioned. Around 2 PM I finally went down to the front desk and asked if they had AC rooms. They said yes, but for a charge. Desperation born of sleeping (or attempting to) in my own sweat for two hours led me to grit out: “How much?” I have made every effort to do India on the cheap, with the most basic of living necessities. But there comes a point when AC is a basic living necessity. July in Agra is one of these points. Thankfully, my roomie Tori had no objection to paying a bit more (250 rupees) in exchange for physical comfort. My only regret is that I did not make this decision hours sooner.

That evening we went to the Agra Fort which is awesome. It’s a mix of red sandstone and white marble. It has great views of the Taj. The next morning we were supposed to go to Fatapoor Sikri, but rain and a tired group voted down those of us who really wanted to see it.

We drove back to Lucknow, stopping for lunch along the way. I fell into a classic tourist trap. I saw a man with a basket with a snake in it and got all excited. My first snake charmer! I started snapping photos instantly. His charming skills, however, extended to holding up his defanged and completely disinterested cobra while grinning at me toothlessly. One of the Indian men standing by finally yelled at him to play something, so the snake charmer put the snake back in the basket and proceeded to play about 6 bars of music. Because we had taken pictures, he expected us to pay him. I parted with my ten rupees bitterly.

If Agra was a whirlwind of heat, touts, a tight schedules, the following weekend was exactly the opposite. We had a long weekend for American Independence Day, and I had many travel-buddy offers. When I thought about what I really wanted to do, however, peace and quiet were the two big words that came to mind. I decided to travel to Rishikesh alone.

Rishikesh is the birthplace of yoga, and known for its outdoor activities, meditational atmosphere and spas. I stayed in a yoga resort called Narayana Palace. I recommend this spot to anyone traveling to Rishikesh. My agenda consisted of the following:

yoga at sunrise, Indian breakfast, read, massage, buy fruit at the market for lunch, nap, shower, sunset yoga, paneer butter masala for dinner, watch some Hindi television, sleep.

I did this for three days. And Letitia was happy. I am hoping to actually return to this spot with my friend Garima in September, when rafting and hiking will be available. Monsoon season puts a cramp in most outdoor activities (and train schedules, but we’ll talk about that later) but it also makes things much cheaper in the off-season. My only concern is that I think I might receive a proposal or two for marriage if I go back. I became quite endeared to the staff at Narayana.

My train ride back to Lucknow was a fun little adventure I will relate later. In the end, I reached Char Bagh train station exactly an hour before my first class. I snagged a cycle rickshaw, rode it to Wazir Hasan Road, grabbed some bread pakora from a street vendor, and settled in to another week of Urdu. Everyone commented on how refreshed I looked, despite the fact that I had come straight from a sleeper train, so that retreat in Rishikesh obviously did some good!

Turning 29 in Amsterdam

Ah Amsterdam, known for its laissez-faire attitude towards social rules, legalized marijuana and prostitution, bawdy nightlife and easy-going attitude....none of which I experienced.

I landed in the Netherlands late on the afternoon of my birthday, June 9. After encountering several blond airport employees who wanted nothing to do with me, I finally found my way out of the labyrinth that is Schiphol and began my adventure.

First stop: tourist information. She also wanted nothing to do with me. The wealth of information and suggestions for a hip, young world traveler who is not afraid of new experiences was not forthcoming. When I asked what she suggested I do in the evening, she shrugged, helplessly. A 22-year-old Dutch girl who can't think what's fun to do after dark? Okay. Not what I expected of you, Amsterdam.

So I  hopped a bus for Museumplein and the Van Gogh museum. Hint: if you don't buy your bus pass before you board, they don't really want to bother with you and you can end up riding public transit the entire day for free!

At Museumplein I found lots of stoned people wallowing around on the grass, punctuated by hoards of students trying to cram themselves inside the letters of "i amsterdam." I proceeded to my snobby cultural activity. The Van Gogh collection was lovely and impressive, although they seemed intent on acting as though "Starry Night" simply did not exist in his oeuvre. Probably bitter the Americans have it. Ate cheese and currants at the cafe. Paid through the nose. Went exploring.

I have a tradition of buying an item of clothing from each country I visit. Shopping in Amsterdam proved a bit of a challenge since I wanted something that I could not get in the states. Much to my chagrin, everything looked identical to US stores, only it cost the approximate value of $30 more. Eventually I settled on an incredibly over-priced linen dress that looked like something a skater from Derby Liberation Front would wear and went on my merry way. Checked in at a hip little basement cafe for internet, tried to connect with the two Dutch girls I'd met in Nepal, but to no avail. I resigned myself to a birthday on my own.

I wandered the city, soaking up sights, trying to identify those unique little cultural things that everyone observes without knowing it. Amsterdam felt like a blend of Germany and the states. Nothing too radical to report.

I took a canal cruise and chummed around with seven Malaysian girls who were fluent in English and extremely charming! They already had dinner plans after the cruise, so I headed off to an Irish pub. I figured either my ancestors or my countrymen would be drawn to the scent of fish 'n' chips and Guinness. Had a great, friendly waiter (American) who went out of his way to take care of me. While I sat soaking up cool Amsterdam air, I made a list in my journal. "30 Things by 30." Thirty things I want to do with my life before the end of my 30th year. That number is such a strange one. It looms over your twenties like a dark shadow. We all know it's coming, but somehow it draws stealthily nigh and then jumps at us when we least expect it, scaring us into a quarter-life crisis. My lists make me feel better. I put things on them that I know I can accomplish. I put things on there knowing that my bucket list is growing shorter and shorter. I am, slowly, becoming who I want to be.

Around midnight I felt that my personal little party had ended, along with my birthday, so I headed back to Schiphol. Schiphol and I do not get along. That is, when I'm ready to sleep, we don't get along. Nowhere is there a space longer than three feet without an arm rest interrupting it. I found a lounge that appeared the closest I was going to get to comfort for the night. Unfortunately, said lounge was right next to the children's jungle play area. I am not exactly sure whose demise I hope for with greater fervor: the designers who put the play area so close to the lounge, or the Dutch parents that seemed to think it was perfectly reasonable to let their SCREAMING children romp all about it at 3 AM. You're Dutch! What are you doing in the freaking airport at 3 AM anyway???

After an hour of futile attempts to sleep so close to the sounds of child demon possession, I spotted an alternative: a baby care room. With a door that SHUT! Dark, silent, with private little areas that had curtains pulled around them. I peeped into one. Soft spot to sit, large, well-padded crib. And here - I am not kidding - is where I slept in Schiphol:

This is probably the moment to make some ironic comment about returning to the cradle after celebrating the last birthday on which I will be considered "in my twenties," but I'm not clever enough to think of it.

My final take on Amsterdam is that it's a good city, but it's a city like any other. I enjoy some places on my own very much. I get just as much enjoyment alone as I do with a crowd. Amsterdam is not like that. Amsterdam has an air of camaraderie, of community. It's a place to do things with friends. So my enjoyment would be greatly enhanced if I had had someone to share it with. And....if I had just caved and spent money on a hotel.

Amsterdam photos

Photos from Nepal, LA and Seoul, one year later.

So I finally found something to read my XD card from the camera that broke! Here's all the never-before-seen pics that I took in transit to Nepal, stopping at the Getty in LA and Incheon Airport in Seoul, and then many more from Nepal.

Kathmandu, Nepal

Getty Museum and Seoul Airport

Titled: "40 hours of traveling" or "When your ankles are the size of grapefruits, keep your chin up."

No one wants to spend their time airport hopping, spending between 6 and 12 hours on planes, and eating plane and airport food for two days. You have to find ways to boost your spirits!

I was especially frustrated in LAX, where I discovered that Korean Air refused to check my bags until 4 hours before my flight...which was tricky considering I had a 13 hour layover.

With plans to visit the Getty Center in L.A., this definitely put a cramp in my style, but I went anyway. I took a shuttle to the bus, then bus 3, then bus 761, then the tram and finally 2 elevators left me at the coat check at Getty Center where I happily left my bags for the day while I wandered about looking at art displays, sleeping in the garden, and eating at the fabulously posh restaurant...all by myself. I took the taxi back to the airport because the $50 was well worth the exchange of a 2 hour bus commute for a 20 minute taxi ride.

Korean Air really has their class system figured out. You can be Economy, where they are suspicious that you are a sentient life form and treat you accordingly, Prestige where you get treated like royalty, or First Class where you're basically a minor deity. Guess where I was. Didn't sleep much.

As I traveled, and fought the feeling that my body was my worst enemy, I committed to noting every time someone was kind to me. It was amazing how frequently it happened. Then when I got physically uncomfortable or emotionally drained, I focused my thoughts and prayers on those individuals, hoping good things for them. It is amazing to me how many varieties good people come in. All ages, genders, and colors helped me on my journey across the ocean. Here is the list I made after day one of random strangers showing me kindness:

Lady at the airport cafe who filled my huge water bottle even though I didn't buy anything.

Baggage claim attendant that helped me find my way around LAX and gave me a free Smarte Carte because I had 3 bags.

Bernard on the phone at Getty, sympathising with my baggage predicament, and enthusiastic to help however he could.

My bus driver, who saw my wrist splints and immediately hopped off the bus to help me load my bags.

Randy and Shawn, two young dentists, that saw me struggling at Getty Center and helped me get the bags all the way to coat check.

Rose, at coat check, who treated me like she was a mother hen looking after a little chick. Her gut told her I should take the taxi. I told her I had learned to trust a woman's gut instinct.

Myoung at check in for Korean Air, who made sure he had all my preferences taken care of (even though he could not give me an aisle seat).

So, while I contemplate the size of my ankles, which may never fit into a pair of heels again, I take comfort in the thought of good people in the world, and hope that they all have happy journeys to wherever they go.