(no subject)
Sorry I haven't posted for a long time. I keep starting posts, and then getting distracted. To make this entry short enough that I can plausibly finish it, I'll just tell you about Nainital. The British built all these towns in the mountains, called hill stations, where they could run off to when the weather got too hot for them - in fact, they even had a second capital in the mountains for governing in the summer. Of course, they didn't actually build all of them; they found some of them in situ, but they converted them into resort towns with clubs and hotels and things. So Nainital is the closest hill station to Lucknow - an overnight train trip ($4) on the Bagh Express, and then a $1 ride up the mountian in a shared taxi, and you're there, in a gorgeous mountain town that's basically the opposite of the north Indian city you just came from. We dropped off our stuff at the Royal Hotel, run by Major [Something], an awesome old man in a tie and that one kind of military hat that looks like the Johnny Rockets hat. He's friends with Raj and Naheed, our host parents, so he gave us a deal and told us to take a look around all the suites. Man, were they suite. Huge rooms with oil paintings, dead moose or elk or something, fireplaces, and amazing old Victorian furniture. We're cheap, though, so we just took a regular double with a low doorway that attacked me without provocation when I was groggily trying to go to the bathroom. Then we went to some vegetarian place in Bara Bazaar (this misnomer means "big bazaar"), and ate outstanding mushrooms served by a very gentle waiter. One reason I love hill stations, maybe the biggest reason, is that the people are so nice. Hardly anyone stares at you or bothers you in any way, because people are all too busy being healthy and content and being adorable children and playing chess with their sweater-wearing friends.
There's not that much to do, exactly, in a hill station, and that's just why we went. I actually got some good writing done for my grad school applications, but mostly we relaxed and looked at trees. They have a ropeway that takes you up to the top of some mountain so you can prove to yourself that, yup, you're in the Himalayas. You do some looking at scenery, drink a soda, and then come down. There's actually an amusement park-type thing there, and we walked by some people, Bengalis by the look of 'em (for some reason, vacation places are always packed with Bengalis), who were really excited. One guy who looked about 30 was reading the sign to his friends, and said, "Go carts... bull ride... BUMPING CARS!" It was really nice to see him so happy about bumper cars.
We had return tickets, but we decided to walk down the mountain instead, and visit the Tibetan monastery there. Ever since the Red Chinese, as my 7th-grade history textbook had it, took over Tibet, India has protected the refugees. As you might know, the Tibetan government-in-exile is in Dharamshala and McLeodganj, hill stations not far north of Nainital, but there are Tibetans in all of the north Indian hill towns, cooking up momos (potstickers) and selling sweaters and novelty candles. So there's this monastery, anyway, but we didn't know how to get there, since there were a lot of roads on the mountain. We just kind of felt it out, using our bloodhound- or pigeon-like instincts. We passed by some little boys playing cricket, and what was interesting was that even though there was a real dirt cricket field 50 feet away, on level ground and everything, they were playing on the incredibly steep hill. Every time one hit the ball, his friend would race down the path and catch it. It was amazing to watch. They demanded money from us, but good-naturedly, not like city kids, so I upped their offer. They wanted Rs. 10, then 20, then 100, so I said a thousand. They wanted a lakh (a hundred thousand), so I demanded a crore (10 million). Soon, we could tell from the prayer flags that we were getting close, but we couldn't exactly figure out how the road got there, so we did a little off-road. Some kids were gambling in the wilderness, and one of them left the game to lead us to the monastery. It was a little eerie, because it was totally deserted, except for this dog. We looked around for a minute, but then the tiny, fluffy, harmless-looking dog started to freak us out, because it wouldn't shut up. It kept barking like mad and following us around, so we tossed it some delicious Parle-G cookies (world's #1-selling biscuit!) and got out of Dodge. The rest of the time, we just relaxed. We watched kids play cricket, ate cotton candy, did crosswords and just enjoyed the atmosphere around the lake.
Coming home was sort of a chore, because like on the way there, we didn't have a train reservation. The first time, this wasn't a problem - we just snagged an unused bunk and paid the difference to the conductor. The main problem that time was tahat our midnight train only showed up at 3am. This time, though, no such luck. We squatted for a few hours in someone else's bunk, but then the real people showed up and kicked us out, so we slept on the floor, on top of some poor saps' sandals and our own bags. Bad times. When we got to Lucknow at 6am, we were pretty zonked. I went to school, then came home and passed out. At school, though, I did learn something handy. I told my teacher in my tutorial about how the day before, as we were leaving Nainital, some guy ran into me on his motorcycle, knocking me and my bag to the ground, and then just drove away. He asked me what I'd said, so I admitted that I'd shouted, "Hey, jerk (sala), where are you going?" Under pressure, I confessed that I'd used a stronger word, too, and then my teacher taught me some more like it. I forgot one of the good ones, but I do remember how to say, "Are your eyes in your [rear end]?" Very handy.
There's not that much to do, exactly, in a hill station, and that's just why we went. I actually got some good writing done for my grad school applications, but mostly we relaxed and looked at trees. They have a ropeway that takes you up to the top of some mountain so you can prove to yourself that, yup, you're in the Himalayas. You do some looking at scenery, drink a soda, and then come down. There's actually an amusement park-type thing there, and we walked by some people, Bengalis by the look of 'em (for some reason, vacation places are always packed with Bengalis), who were really excited. One guy who looked about 30 was reading the sign to his friends, and said, "Go carts... bull ride... BUMPING CARS!" It was really nice to see him so happy about bumper cars.
We had return tickets, but we decided to walk down the mountain instead, and visit the Tibetan monastery there. Ever since the Red Chinese, as my 7th-grade history textbook had it, took over Tibet, India has protected the refugees. As you might know, the Tibetan government-in-exile is in Dharamshala and McLeodganj, hill stations not far north of Nainital, but there are Tibetans in all of the north Indian hill towns, cooking up momos (potstickers) and selling sweaters and novelty candles. So there's this monastery, anyway, but we didn't know how to get there, since there were a lot of roads on the mountain. We just kind of felt it out, using our bloodhound- or pigeon-like instincts. We passed by some little boys playing cricket, and what was interesting was that even though there was a real dirt cricket field 50 feet away, on level ground and everything, they were playing on the incredibly steep hill. Every time one hit the ball, his friend would race down the path and catch it. It was amazing to watch. They demanded money from us, but good-naturedly, not like city kids, so I upped their offer. They wanted Rs. 10, then 20, then 100, so I said a thousand. They wanted a lakh (a hundred thousand), so I demanded a crore (10 million). Soon, we could tell from the prayer flags that we were getting close, but we couldn't exactly figure out how the road got there, so we did a little off-road. Some kids were gambling in the wilderness, and one of them left the game to lead us to the monastery. It was a little eerie, because it was totally deserted, except for this dog. We looked around for a minute, but then the tiny, fluffy, harmless-looking dog started to freak us out, because it wouldn't shut up. It kept barking like mad and following us around, so we tossed it some delicious Parle-G cookies (world's #1-selling biscuit!) and got out of Dodge. The rest of the time, we just relaxed. We watched kids play cricket, ate cotton candy, did crosswords and just enjoyed the atmosphere around the lake.
Coming home was sort of a chore, because like on the way there, we didn't have a train reservation. The first time, this wasn't a problem - we just snagged an unused bunk and paid the difference to the conductor. The main problem that time was tahat our midnight train only showed up at 3am. This time, though, no such luck. We squatted for a few hours in someone else's bunk, but then the real people showed up and kicked us out, so we slept on the floor, on top of some poor saps' sandals and our own bags. Bad times. When we got to Lucknow at 6am, we were pretty zonked. I went to school, then came home and passed out. At school, though, I did learn something handy. I told my teacher in my tutorial about how the day before, as we were leaving Nainital, some guy ran into me on his motorcycle, knocking me and my bag to the ground, and then just drove away. He asked me what I'd said, so I admitted that I'd shouted, "Hey, jerk (sala), where are you going?" Under pressure, I confessed that I'd used a stronger word, too, and then my teacher taught me some more like it. I forgot one of the good ones, but I do remember how to say, "Are your eyes in your [rear end]?" Very handy.
