Jet Lag, Varanasi Style

Last Sunday night (Sunday morning US time), Lindsay flew from Delhi to Orlando to meet her new team and start the home search. On Friday night India time (that would be Friday morning US time) she arrived safely back in Delhi. This was easily the quickest back-and-forth either of us have ever made. After what amounted to a twelve hour layover, we headed back to the airport to catch our flight for a quick one-night trip to Varanasi. The best plan ever? Certainly not, especially since we bought the Varanasi tickets fully knowing what she'd be going through. However, it's also the final weekend we're in India with our friend Kristin and figured one last trip was in order. Regardless, Lindsay is tired. For those of you that don't know Lindsay, when she gets tired, she basically shuts down. Not a great recipe for the weekend.

We spent much of the afternoon visiting the sites around Sarnath, which is famous in Buddhism as the first place Buddha gave a sermon to his five monk disciples. Before the tour guide had fully calibrated on the level of information we wanted (he actually did a great job for the most part; however, we were a little worried when he had been talking for a good 8 minutes about a mural and seemed poised to go around the entire temple with that level of detail. Thankfully, he caught Lindsay falling asleep while standing which helped expedite his spiel.

Sleeping Buddha. Meet sleeping Lindsay.

On the way from Sarnath to the banks of the Ganges, Lindsay simply couldn't hold on any longer. She fell dead asleep; one of those deep sleeps that can only result from flying halfway around the world in fifteen hours. After about a twenty minute "nap" (who are we kidding, this was some serious REM sleep), we arrived at the drop point. The problem was, she was still "napping". In the spirit of full disclosure, Kristin (who was sitting next to her) had tried to wake her with no luck. I had little choice to wake a very confused and discombobulated Lindsay and tell her was time to walk to the river.

Even after spending nearly two years here, Varanasi was one of the more intense places we've visited. Lindsay went from being in a deep, jet lag-induced early evening sleep to basically getting dropped smack dab in the middle of one of the most chaotic, busy, and flithy scenes in India. Slowly, after a few drunk-like stumbles, she joined the flow of tourists and pilgrims to the river, she found her bearings. Like most twenty minute naps, this one saved her night.

I'll never forget the look on her face when she emerged from the car. Confusion. Chaos. Comedy.

Believe it not, she gave me permission to publish this (though lack of permission might not have stopped me in this case).

The Leech Trek

If you grew up in the US in the eighties, your likely only experience with leeches is the scene from "Stand By Me" when the boys swim across a water hole and find, upon exiting, huge leeches covering their bodies, including one in a not so awesome spot for Gordo. Trekking in lush south Asian locations can reintroduce you to these little bloodsuckers. Truth be told, if anything good can be said about leeches in the wild, that they're much smaller in real life than on the big screen.

I've had three experiences. In 2005 when trekking in at the Periyar Wildlife Reserve in Thekkady, India (was wearing leech socks so no damage), at Christmas in Bali (didn't realize it was on me until I saw a moving glob of mud on my leg in the shower), and most recently near Munnar, India.

Note to trekkers, leeches like lush, damp environments

In Munnar, after two experiences in a similar climate and even after having told people that "there will likely be leechese," that I would have done something relatively smart like wear long socks to provide some level of protection. Nope. I wore my regular thin, barely-covering-your-ankles running socks. Dumb decision number one. Not exactly a great decision. In a group of six people, as soon as people started seeing and feeling the leeches, I pulled the "these guys can't hurt me" routine and blindly headed up the hill without checking myself. Dumb decision number two.

By the time we stopped for a quick lunch (which is an entirely different story, but the guide had been carrying packages of a watery curry stored in paper bags with chipati in his backpack, an odd trekking lunch selection, to say the least) on the way down, I decided to check my ankles. Sure enough, the cuffs of both pant legs were stained with blood and I had more than one slimy little buggers attached to me.

Lindsay = Smart

A few facts you might not know about leeches: (1) they attach themselves to you in two places, so each leech actually creates two "bites," (2) they're difficult to remove by hand, and (3) when you try and remove them by hand, you might pull it in half where the other half stays attached to your body.

John = Dumb

Clean from leeches, my ankles continued to bleed. And bleed. And bleed. And bleed. Either I had turned into a hemophiliac or some combination of altitude and leech bite kept me from clotting. It was weird. In the shower, my ankles that appeared to have stop bleeding, started without warning. After elevating and bandaging my feet for thirty minutes, my feet stopped bleeding and again started without warning. I re-bandaged but had the same result but had the same result. After a night's sleep, the base of the bed looked like a crime scene. Gil Grissom would have been disgusted. Thankfully, by morning, I had finally achieved full clottage; however, it's safe to assume the leech suckages (they're not really bites, I guess) had caused 12+ hours of unclotted joy.

Should I have been worried? Probably. However, the prospect of driving in the mountains in the dark in India to seek whatever medical attention may have been available seemed more dangerous than whatever damage the leech may have inflicted.

Building Bridges and Breaking Barriers

I've often told people that one of the most fascinatingly different things about India is that there are many segmented economies coexisting at all times. On Saturday I may have committed the greatest cultural faux pas of my time here and made two of those economies collide (in my own small way). On Saturday our drivers walked through the gate of Neemrana Fort as paid guests rather than simply dropping us at that gate only to return twenty four hours later. On Saturday they came ziplining with us.

Sir, open that gate!

Lindsay and I have talked about different things we could do for our beloved drivers, Ashok and Kailash. While we're sure tips are always appreciated, we wanted to do something in addition to just throwing some additional money their way. We wanted to provide an experience that they wouldn't otherwise have the opportunity to experience. Selfish on our behalf? Probably. A great experience for all? Absolutely.

After getting settled near the reception area, I walked back to the fort gate to invite "the boys" (what the wife and I affectionately call them) to invite them up. Without hesitation the guard firmly stated, "they're not allowed." This was the first time I had ever really felt like I was in 1950's Mississippi. I replied, "yes, they're going ziplining." His response? "750 rupees each." This is the standard entrance fee (which is exorbitant in my opinion, but it's their rule so I can't really complain) if you're not staying at the fort or using the zipline. My response varied little, "they're paid, going ziplining. The guard still didn't believe me and had to check my printed receipt and still had a couple questions. Begrudgingly, he relented and allowed them to pass. Kailash, who always walks with a bit of a strut, seemed to hold his chest especially high as he passed the guard. For some reason, I was incredibly proud. It's like I helped Kailash with his own little Rosa Parks moment. Selfish on my part? Yep.

Tentative yet smiling before the climb

I had never seen such evidence of the segmented class system here. Normally, drivers wouldn't even consider entering a property like this (and who knows, maybe they don't even want to); however, I was shocked by the level of resistance when they had every right to walk through the gate. In my mind, it was no different than if I had paid for another friend to join; in the mind of the guard, it was entirely different. Regardless, they made it through the gate.

I had tried to describe what we would be doing but wasn't sure how well the concept of ziplining translated. In addition to my weak description, I had assured them that we would have fun. If the way Ashok's eyes bugged out of his head when he first saw someone screaming across the metal cable was any indication, it hadn't translated well at all. Ashok in particular seemed nervous as we got to the top and as he stepped into a harness for the first time. It didn't help matters that as we lined up to go, Kailash (usually the confident one but suddenly more reserved) playfully yet quickly pushed Ashok in front so he would go first. I quickly called him on that and he knew he'd be going first.

By the end of the second zip, much like our other first time guests, all of their fears had eroded and they were having a blast. They even smiled for a couple of pictures, which is a saying a lot more than you might think. Even though Ashok still answered any question with the word "sir" (some habits are probably harder to break than simply having a couple hours away from the car and on a zipline course), they seemed to genuinely enjoy their time and felt like part of the group than simply our drivers that have made our lives incredibly less stressful than they could have been.

Ashok finishes up the second zip

Ashok, I know you're reading this, "ma'am" and I just wanted to say thank you. Dhanyavaad. Ab gari acha chala-tay ho. (I'm sure I butchered that). Please tell Kailash the same.

Perspectives on Tour Guides

One thing the wife and I have in common is that we tend to breeze through tourist sites quickly. We see it, we appreciate it, we move on. We tend to operate best without a tour guide. That's not to say I'm not interested in the history and the story, it's just that I'd rather read about it in a book than have some long-winded guide try and prove he's smarter than me (which is quite likely the case). If I get a tour guide, that tour guide really has three jobs:

1. Read my non-verbals. I'm not a terribly complex person. When I'm done listening, you'll know. When I'm done listening, stop talking.
2. Keep me away from emporiums. I hate emporiums. In fact, 99% of foreign tourists hate emporiums. If a foreign tourist is at their second emporium and still pretending to watch whatever handicraft is being produced, they're being polite and don't realize it's perfectly acceptable to act obnoxiously to the tour guide.
3. Take good pictures. This is what 99% of tourists really want; a good picture to take home. If you're a tour guide and you're not taking good pictures, I guarantee it's impacting your total income. Note, more on this in a later post (as a hint, I'm reviewing the archives for my best bad shots).

It had been a while since I had been around a person that felt differently about tour guides. Then Lindsay's friend Melissa came to India. Did she have questions? You would have thought someone had assigned her a research paper on the familial lineage of the mahanranas of Udaipur. The picture below, taken at the end of a tour through Udaipur's City Palace, clearly shows our respective attitudes toward the guide:

• Melissa is still intently listening to the guide (her smile was genuine), hoping to soak up every last morsel of information about this wondrous place
• Jeremy, her husband, can be seen simply appreciating the fact that Melissa is enjoying herself. 
• Lindsay is in the background, eagerly plotting out the rest of our day, having completely tuned out the guide within the first 8 minutes of the tour.
• And finally, there's me, entertaining myself by taking pictures of the entire situation, also having tuned out the guide.

Part of me thinks it's a bad thing that I've lost some semblance of curiosity about this country; part of me thinks people just value different parts of travel. Regardless, it was refreshing to see Melissa's enthusiasm to engage with the guide rather than to simply tolerate the guide, as had been the case for me lately. I'm going to go out on a limb and guess it was a better time for the guide as well. 

The Positive Spin on Slum Tourism

I’m a man of very little principle. I’m now one of those evil westerners that tours slums. Upon landing in Mumbai last Friday morning, my first stop, even before checking into the hotel, was at Dharavi. More specifically, that stop was an organized and guided tour through three of four sections of the second largest slum in Asia. This slum, which is home to more people than the city of San Fransisco, sprawls over two square kilometers. I’ll help with the math; that’s a population density of over half a million people per squarer kilometer. Yes, this is both the slum where the kids were pulled for “Slumdog Millionaire” as well as a major part of Shantaram (I can’t speak for the latter parts of Gregory David Robert’s tale of an escaped thief’s life in the Mumbai slums as I only made it through the first two hundred or so pages of the 900 page behemoth epic).

I liked the ingenuity of using an old billboard for roofing

This tourist activity, slum tourism, is increasingly controversial. The two basic sides of the argument are fairly obvious. On one side, is it wrong to profit from the exploitation of the impoverished? On the other, is giving greater visibility and awareness toward the way others live while (hopefully) contributing toward their economy a good thing? I suppose my actions place me on the latter side of that argument and don’t even allow me to consider the former. Plus, the tour we were on didn’t allow photographs be taken, so that made me feel slightly less exploitative; and to be honest, it was kind of nice to walk through a place without my camera glued to my eye.

The tour began when we were greeted by our local guide, a sixteen year old named Zisha (I have no idea if that’s the correct spelling). The most striking aspects of Zisha were, first, that he spoke impeccable English and, second, that he was wearing the whitest clothing I’ve seen in this country. I nearly asked him who did his laundry so I could send my shirts. He lead us over a walkway that crossed the train tracks. We descended the stairs and were “in” the slum.

Not the stairs into the slum, but one of the few allowed photographs

My first impression upon setting foot in the second biggest slum in Asia was, “This is actually kind of nice.” Maybe that’s nearly two years in India talking. More likely is that my morbid expectations were flushed away by the time I took my second step.

Morbid Myth #1 – Temporary housing as far as the eye could see
I fully expected to see cardboard or maybe (if they were lucky) bamboo framed shelters covered with blue tarps. In the words of Lee Corso, “not so fast my friend.” The structures lining the main street were quite permanent and, much to my surprise, housed businesses similar to those you’d see on any other commercial street of small business in India. These buildings have been there for some time, and unless the planned "rehabilitation" efforts (which the residents have mixed feelings about) take shape, they're going to be there for a long time.

Morbid Myth #2 – Miserable people as far as the eye could see
I expected to find people down on their lot in life, bathing in their own misery. While there are probably more comfortable places to call home, the people hardly looked miserable. This was a fully functioning community with a robust economy, people working (and working hard) to eek out a life, and children coming home from school. Many thousands work outside the slum as the city's drivers and laborers and could choose to leave if they wanted. They don't. Why? It's where they're from. It's home.

Morbid Myth #3 – The worst smelling and dirtiest place on the earth
The olfactory qualities of India have been well documented by both travelers and residents. As such, I was expecting something similar to what Andy had to swim through to escape the warden in The Shawshank Redemption. Not the case. I was almost immediately struck by the lack of "bad" smell. This was partially due to the lack of animals (Mumbai, in general, has far fewer animals roaming around than you see in other parts of India). If Dharavi had the same animals per capita as a place like Jodhpur, this might not be so much a myth. Suffice to say, I've been to far dirtier and far smellier places than this slum.

Morbid Myth #4 – Slums are so cheap that anyone that shows up will find a place
Dharavi still seems to be accepting migrants from other parts of India, mostly from nearby states like Gujarat and Rajasthan; however, it's not so simple as showing up and finding a place to squat. Given the proposed rehabilitation efforts, speculation (as well as the constant supply of land) has driven real estate prices comically higher than one would expect. Our guide pointed to a rather run-down looking building and mentioned that a studio-sized apartment in the building would cost 300,000. Dollars. U.S. dollars.

Say what you want of slum tourism, but I can honestly say I learned more in my two hours about the social and economic systems that exist in a place like Dharavi than I could have from volumes of books that try to describe it. In the end, isn't that part of what travel is all about? Is slum tourism really any different than something like touring the castles of the royal families of the world? Sure, it's on opposite end of the spectrum, but as long as you're learning, isn't that kind of the point?

Finally, the most surprising thing I saw while touring the slum was an oddity that I'm sure very few people would have noticed. The only reason I noticed is that I have a family friend in Minneapolis that is heavily involved in the Minnesota Green Roofs Council. As our tour concluded, I looked up and to the right and happened to notice a do-it-yourself green roof. While I doubt his organization reaches all the way to Mumbai, it was perhaps the most subtle yet prescient reminder that slums aren't all doom and gloom.

Mumbai's Iowa Hawkeye Taxis

Anywhere you look in Mumbai, you’ll find yellow and black (or as an Iowa fan, black and gold) taxies zipping (or plodding) around town. Part of the reason you see so many is that three-wheel autorickshaws aren’t allowed in the south part of the city. While some of the cars are newer Hyundai Santros, most are old decrepit Ambassadors or Fiats.

It's only missing a tiger hawk

These older cars still have old mechanical meters attached outside the car in front of the windshield on the passenger side. The meters still work, and are used, but they don’t update the denomination shown. In other words, however much a rupee was worth fifty or sixty years ago when the meter was produced is the amount shown. We took a ride from Coloba near the Gateway of India to an area of town called Kemp’s Corner. It was probably a ten to fifteen minute ride. When we left the cab, the meter read “4 rupees 60 paise” or just over ten cents. The driver then pulls a conversion card out from the dashboard, reads down to what the amount is in today’s rupees and says “Seventy rupees.”

The conversion card

So while the dream of a ten cent cab ride died, it’s still nice to know you can take a fairly lengthy taxi ride in Mumbai for just over a buck fifty.

Indian Paint Commercials

On Tuesday night we were in Bangalore for work and had the opportunity to see a little bit of the expat life in that city’s suburbs through the eyes of our company’s only other expat in India (well, only one in addition to Lindsay’s shopping buddy and our travel planner, the world-famous Kristin). The most striking thing about his neighborhood was that it felt like we were driving through any nameless suburb in California or Florida. Rows of palm trees lined the streets, there were yards full of green grass, and houses that looked like, well, “normal” houses.

For the past year and a half I’ve watched Indian television and its commercials. Some of my favorite commercials are those that peddle house paint. In fact, they always make me laugh because they always should these “normal” looking houses with pitched roofs and yards. In fact, I was fairly certain that the only house that was in India that was featured in an Indian paint commercial was the one from last year where a magician tries to make a freshly painted palatial-sized fort disappear and does so except for the layer of paint left standing and blowing in the wind (yes, you can tell I lead a very exciting life when I can recite from memory something as mundane as a paint commercial).

Not so. I now firmly believe that those houses featured in the commercials are real. And those houses are all in Bangalore.

One last thing about Bangalore: the weather. It’s often described as “San Diego-like.” While my two day sample hardly constitutes proof, I would have to agree. Ron Burgundy would feel right at home. It was pleaseant, so pleasant in fact, that I felt every one of the 31 degrees of heat when I landed in Chennai this morning.

Jodhpur's Sardar Market

Other than to celebrate my birthday and to find a couple rooftop restaurants to enjoy surprisingly cold Kingfisher, the only other planned objective of Saturday's quick trip to Jodhpur was to wander the market in the old part of the walled city.

Clocktower at Sardar Market

Our guide on our first to Jodhpur in March mentioned that the market was once recognized as the eighth best market in the world. The only reason I remember this is because it was peculiar level of specificity. I have no idea the criteria used and have no expertise on what might qualify the Sardar Market as the eighth best in the world versus the seventh or the ninth. However, I figured anyone willing to make up a story that specific must be telling the truth.

Just another colorful Rajasthani market

After stepping in my first pile of cow crap (I guess I was finally due; on a side note, in a country known for random cows walking around, Jodhpur might win the prize for most wandering cows because I've gotten to the point where I don't even notice cows in Gurgaon but that wasn't the case in Jodhpur), I followed Lindsay and our friend Kristin into a store called J.G. Art & Crafts. By the time I walked in, the multi-generational shopkeepers had fully embraced the women. Not only were they set to receive the non-guided tour price on items (they readily admitted prices were inflated 35% to account for the commission owed to any guide or tout that brings someone into the store; I appreciated the honesty), Kristin had already ordered her first cup of tea (she literally had three cups of tea with the family which may be why they pulled out the family photo album at one point).

The second cup of tea, freshly poured from a plastic bag

The patriarch of the family was rumored to have been running the store for 76 years. Seeing as how he was "only" 86, either the math was bad or 10 year old kids had a lot of responsibility in 1935 Jodhpur. We probably spent more time than necessary with this family and probably spent less money than they would have hoped given the investment of time they made; however, it certainly made for a memorable day wandering around the lively market.

The patriarch of J.G. Art & Crafts

Other than the abundant number of cows, the other noteworthy thing about Jodhpur is that the people seemed genuinely friendly and readily engaged in conversation. Of course, most of those conversations involved telling us, in one way or another, how Mick Jagger and Richard Gere were recently in town (separately, I presume).

One of Jodhpur's many, many cows

Return to Jodhpur

As we near the end of our time in India, we've started to make some repeat trips to places that we want to make sure we see again. This past weekend was one of those repeat trips, albeit a quick one-nighter to Jodhpur. Thankfully, domestic flights are relatively cheap so what would have been a nine hour train ride turned into an hour flight. Certainly a more realistic.

For this trip, we stayed at a newer place called Raas in the heart of the walled city which was within easy walking distance to both Mehrangarh Fort and Sardar Market. I'm not sure there are a lot of luxury boutique options in Jodhpur, but if you want to spend a few more rupees and have a nice respite from the chaos of the city, Raas is the place to be. Other than the two rooms we had reserved, there was only other room occupied. As a result, the level of personal service was significantly amplified. The entire staff at the hotel had caught wind that it was my birthday and everyone greeted me by name and with the traditional Indian birthday wish, "wishing you many happy returns of the day."

Not a bad view for a birthday dinner

After Jodhpur, we'll be returning to Udaipur, the backwaters of Kerala, and our favorite weekend retreat, Neemrana over the next couple months. I thought I might go this entire assignment without making it back to Agra; however, we've decided it's probably worth a quick one-night trip to make it back to the Taj Mahal sometime in November. I've been, but it was in 2004, and I look ridiculously young in the pictures. Based on that and the absurdity of not finding a way to make the short 4-hour drive at some in a two year span, it just makes sense to return.

Dubai: City of Excess

From the scores of Ferraris and Bentleys out driving the streets to the $1500 handbags carried by nearly every local Emirati woman, I've never seen a city that flaunts its wealth and excess as much as Dubai. It makes Vegas seem restrained.

This little guy was parked outside our hotel for two days

We were in a jewelry store at one of the hotels. There was a garish champagne-colored diamond ring in a case. Curious, our friend Matt asked the salesperson how much the ring cost. The answer, "30". As in 30,000,000 AED (United Arab Emirate dirham). Now granted, the exchange rate is 3.5 AED to 1 USD, but that's still over $8,000,000 for a ring. We quickly exitedt the store.

It's not just the wealth that makes Dubai extreme. When faced with the need for more prime real estate, they built islands. In fact, we stayed on the Palm Jumeirah, which is the famous palm tree-shaped set of islands just off the coast. In addition to creating more waterfront property, since it's not technically on Emirati soil, foreigners are allowed to own real estate, which isn't the case on the mainland. The "trunk" of the island is filled with high rise apartments, most of which I assume are empty either based on the economy or because they're investment properties; however, I couldn't help but thinking, "with as organized as this looks, this might just be what the developers had in mind with Gurgaon."

Another of Dubai's more famous sites is Ski Dubai which is a man made ski hill inside the Mall of the Emirates. It's a fully enclosed ski slope, complete with "real" fake snow. I can't even imagine how much energy it takes to keep a space that size below freezing in a desert climate. I kind of wanted to slap on a pair of skis but wasn't sure it would be worth it for a run down what amounts to a bunny hill. Still, it's one of those things you hear about but doesn't really make sense until you see it.

This is what an indoor ski run looks like

Perhaps the most excessive thing about Dubai is its skyline. The latest addition to the skyline is the mammoth Burj Khalifa, which stands at a very slight 2,717 feet. That's nearly twice as tall as the Sears, er, Willis Tower in Chicago. Bottom line, it's one of the more awe inspiring man made structures I've seen.

Dubai isn't my typical type of travel destination and had I gone to Dubai directly from the states and not ventured into the desert, I may have left a little disappointed after the 11 hour flight. From Delhi, with a quick 3.5 hour flight, it's absolutely worth seeing this unique culture. Plus, with the added bonus of a couple days in the desert (much more on that later), it made the trip an amazing and diverse experience.

Mr. (and Mrs.) Luth Go to Dubai

Tomorrow marks our last trip off the subcontinent before heading home in December. The destination? United Arab Emirates (UAE). More specifically, we'll be in Dubai for three nights and then at a desert resort for a couple nights (with the wife's love of camels, you didn't think we'd hit our first Arab country and not figure out a way for a sunset camel ride, did you?) before a quick stop in Abu Dhabi en route to the airport back in Dubai.

I'll be the first to admit that the man-made paradise that is Dubai isn't my preferred typical type of destination. On the other hand, Lindsay spent two (mostly) blissful and glorious weeks trekking at high altitude, so I couldn't really veto five nights of borderline pampering. I envision a Vegas-like atmosphere of posh hotels and restaurants and time spent just, well, relaxing. To be honest, at this point that type of trip sounds like exactly what we need.

When home in Chicago in May, Lindsay got to talking to a college friend and before you knew it, they had a rendezvous planned. At certain points there four of five girls considering going (yes, it would have been very much a "Sex and the City 2" style trip that I had already graciously excused myself from). In the end, peoples' lives get busy and it turned into just two couples. I breathed a slight sigh of relief.

While planning, we did exactly what you shouldn't do when traveling to the Arabian Peninsula and booked flights without even considering that the UAE might be a different place to visit during the month of Ramadan. It definitely would have been an interesting visit; however, something tells me that for the kind of trip we're looking for (a little luxury and a lot of nothing), it would have been nice to be able to eat and drink in public places before the sunset each day. Miraculously (I suppose it doesn't really qualify as a miracle, but let's go with it), we booked a flight the day after Ramadan ends.

Sometimes, ignorance truly is bliss (and it doesn't hurt to have a little luck on your side).

A Typical Day on the Trek, the Ladakh Version

Seeing as this was only my second big multi-day trek, it may be difficult to keep from comparing this Ladakh trek around the Ripchar Valley to last year's trek to Annapurna Base Camp.

While last year's trip to Nepal seemed to have more routine each day, there was still a basic formula to a day on the trail in Ladakh. The trekking days were shorter that last year, as in we started later and ended earlier, but when you take into account the terrain, the altitude (we were over 12,000 for all but the first night in camp before we started actually walking) and the lack of organized stops along the way, the days seemed both longer and more difficult than Annapurna.

So I don't have to completely reintroduce the characters, here's a link to that post. As is the case with most things on a trek, all times are approximate. 

6:00am - Tea, Coffee?

Each morning at 6:00am, our faithful guide and kitchen dude Sarbu would approach the tent vestibule with a welcoming hot beverage. The intent of this beverage is twofold; (1) it's just a nice touch to have an instant coffee or black tea delivered to your tent and (2) it's an insurance policy against campers not getting moving in the morning.

Not a bad morning view

6:10am - Washing Water
Shortly after coffee, two bowls of warm washing water were placed outside the tent. The stated intent of these bowls is that they're for any morning washing you may want to do; however, since I tended to do most of my washing (these are the things you want to know) with the "arriving in camp bowl of washing water", I really just used this water to soak my hands and warm up a little. I'm a delicate little flower.

Once my digits were warmed up, it was time to visit the facilities, brush my teeth, quickly reorganize the tent, stuff the sleeping bag, repack the trekking duffel, and make sure the daypack, which was the only thing we were responsible for carrying, was stocked appropriately. The stock included my daily allotment of Crystal Light or Gatorade poweder (but usually Crystal Light, I'm addicted to that stuff - on a quick side note, the four of us were suffering the withdrawal effects of not having wine for so long and quickly assigned grape varietals to flavors, as in White Grape = Sauvignon Blanc, Fruit Punch = Malbec, Cherry Pomegranate = Cabernet; these are the things you think about when you're walking around the wilderness for 10 days) and a Clif bar, rain gear (which wasn't nearly as necessary in the world's highest desert as it was in Annapurna, and any expected changes in layers throughout the day. Not a bad deal.

6:30 or 6:45am - Arrival at the Dining Tent
Once ready for the day, it was time to hit the dining tent for more coffee. Like last year, I tended to be the first to hit this stage. Either I'm extremely efficient or disgustingly unhygienic.

Lindsay approaches

7:00am - Breakfast
Breakfast was two courses of guilt-free calories. The first course consisted of a bowl and a half of porridge with honey and sugar. The second course consisted of 2 - 3 small omelets and 4 - 5 pieces of some sort of carbohydrate. The default carb was toast; however, Judith (a lover of fine dining and pancakes) would give Sanjeev a subtle hint like, "Hey Sanjeev, I really love Deepak's pancakes." Magically, the next day pancakes would be on the menu. Freshly brewed coffee gets consumed through this entire process. Sanjeev also picked up on the fact that my caloric intake increased on days we were climbing passes so on those days there was just a little more food.

Warm breakfast morning

After breakfast, we actually had a little free time. Since there weren't cooking facilities along the trail at lunch, Deepak had to cook lunch right after he cooked breakfast. If we started trekking for the day right after breakfast, it wrecked the timing. Most mornings we sat around and talked, wrote in journals, or made final preparations for the day (making sure we had the right varietal of Crystal Light for the day, making sure our water bottles were full, checking which layers we had included, making a last stop at the toilet tent). One or two mornings we continued the previous night's game of canasta.

9:00am - Start Trekking
There were far fewer villages than last year's trek. As a result, there wasn't a destination stop to make during the morning where we'd sit down at a tea house and stop for 20 - 30 minutes to relax with a tea, Coke, or Everest beer (you know, on the days that were mostly downhill). Instead we would just figure out a time when everyone was getting tired around midway through the morning and, at a spot that looked comfortable, take a quick break that included sitting rather than just catching our breath. After that break, it was back to the trail. Most days, around break time or slightly after, Deepak and Surya would catch up with the food, stop for a quick minute, and quickly scurry out in front of us. You really have no idea how slow you are as a paying customer until you see somehow appear from the distance, catch up and pass you (all while carrying our lunch), and then have that lunch set out for you when you finally "catch" back up.

Starting the final day toward Kanji

Noon-ish - Lunch
The time varied depending on the day and whether we were at a spot that wasn't too exposed (i.e., on most days that we climbed passes we ate a later lunch). On last year's trek, there were actual kitchens along the way and lunch actually took a lot longer because of it. I remember days when they would purposely slow us down because lunch wouldn't have been near ready when we arrived. This year, lunch was cooked at the previous night's camp, packaged, and then served while on the trail.

Short catnap after lunch

The blue tarp (which doubled as the evening yoga tarp) would be set out and we'd gather around. Surya would first hand us a box of mango juice, which was perhaps the sweetest, most sugar-filled juice I've ever tasted. I thought it was delicious. Others on the trek did not. In addition to the juice, lunch typically consisted of salad (which is pronounced "salat" in the trekking world, and if you ever take a trek with Sanjeev you'll be pronouncing it that same way within the first couple days), some sort of protein (usually a canned meat like tuna or cooked Spam), some sort of carbohydrate (my favorite was the aloo jeera Deepak whipped up one day), and a bread. The breads were fantastic, plentiful, and typically region inspired. Parathas some days, Tibetan sweet bread on others.

12:45pm - Afternoon Trekking
After a brief rest, it was time to hit the trail again. Depending on the location of the next camp, the afternoon trek could be anywhere from two to four hours. The trekking days seemed "shorter" than last year; however, based on the lack of "long" stops at tea houses, I feel like there was just as much walking, the days were just more compressed. Regardless, the trekking was at higher altitude and seemed more difficult, so early arrivals at camp weren't necessarily unwelcome occurrences.

3:30pm - Arrive at Camp
By this time in the day, you started looking in the distance for any signs of camp. The most obvious sign was typically the blue dining and kitchen tents off in the distance. Some days you could see the tents for the last 45 minutes, some days you didn't see them until you were actually in camp. Most days, camp would only be partially set up, so we would get to the dining tent and just hang out there and relax a little bit while our tents were set up. The reality is that the sleeping tents aren't terribly exciting places to hang out, so the dining tent was, in my opinion, the preferred spot to be.

The blue tent (it's there, I swear)

4:00pm - Yoga (i.e., more resting for John)
My other trekking companions tried to make a point of doing yoga for a little while each day. I participated on two days but haven't quite caught the yoga bug. Plus, on the days I participated I had a tendency to make jokes, which apparently isn't typical while doing yoga. I don't think I was technically not asked to participate, but I think it was better for all parties that I typically didn't.

Before I wore out my welcome

4:30pm - Setting up the Tent and Washing Water
Once yoga was complete and/or the tents were ready. It was time to hit the tent and get organized. They would lay out a sleeping mat inside and have our bags set out. Sarbu, the guy responsible for setting up the tents, would even have our respective bag on the correct side. This year there was less rain, so it wasn't so much a race to the tent and we typically took turns getting set up.

Once you had your sleeping bag out and got reorganized, it was time for the washing water. Each evening two warm bowls of water would be set next to the tent. I would bring a bowl inside the vestibule, zip that shut, strip down, and let the washing begin. "Washing" really just means adding some camp suds to the water, dipping a towel into the water, and trying to wipe your self clean. We've also found that wet naps can be quite effective. The last step is trying to dry yourself off with another towel, which never seems to work. The goal is to get no water in the tent, and after a couple days, this goal is reasonably attainable. Thankfully, no pictures exist of this entire process.

Once clean, it's time to put on "camp clothes". My camp clothes consisted of an extra pair of hiking pants, a white long sleeve t-shirt, an extra pair of hiking socks, low-top hiking shoes, and my black fleece vest (i.e., the frat vest). I wore the same clothes for all 11 nights at camp. In addition to this, we would fill a stuff sack with warmer layers like our down coat, thicker fleeces, gloves, and hat. The other important thing to not forget in the "evening bag" was the headlamps. As you can probably imagine, it gets cold and dark when the sun goes down.

5:00pm - Tea, Coffee, and Canasta
Shortly after the comedy of the washing process concludes, it's time for a nice warm beverage and cookies. We would head to the dining tent where Sarbu would be eagerly waiting for tea and coffee hour. The choices were plentiful, including tea, instant coffee, hot chocolate, and some mocha-coffee-vitamin drink called Bourne Vita that Sanjeev seemed to enjoy. In addition to the warm beverage, there would be some sort of snack. All days that included packaged cookies and on certain days that consisted of fresh popcorn. Yes, it is possible to pop corn on a trek at 13,000 feet.

Lindsay ponders her next move as Glenn prepares to ridicule it

The warm beverage quickly became secondary and the next couple hours were spent playing cards. Canasta, to be exact. Boys versus girls (yes, the boys basically dominated the trip, winning six of nine games) and lots of trash talk. My journal quickly became not only a set of notes of what happened during the day but the book of record for scoring our canasta games. Thirty years from now, the canasta scores will be infinitely more interesting when opening that book.

7:00pm - Dinner
I can't say enough good things about the food on the trek. Dinner was no exception. The first course was some sort of soup. Last year it seemed like we alternated between chicken and vegetable (and it was tough to differentiate). This year there was more variety: tomato, vegetable, chicken, mushroom, and fresh lamb. After a bowl and a half of soup, Sarbu would bring the rest of the meal. In general, there would be between four or five different things to select from. Typically, it was carb-heavy. One night, we had pizza, spaghetti, and roasted potatoes. The final four nights, it included the sheep purchased along the way. There was never any shortage of food. Sarbu continually circled us with serving dishes and made sure our plates weren't finished. Again, you'd think a high altitude trek would be a good way to lose weight. It's not.

Pizza!

7:45pm - Tea, Coffee, and Canasta
Following dinner there was one last round of tea and coffee. But rather than tea and coffee, we'd top it off with a hot chocolate. Mmmmmm dessert.

The first few nights we were dead tired at this point and headed to the tent very early. Unfortunately, when you start to get ready for bed at 8pm, you tend to wake up very, very early. By the third night or so, we decided that an hour or more of canasta never hurt anyone. From my and Glenn's perspectives, it just gave us more time to dominate. Throughout the evening, the layers start to come out. By the canasta hour, especially on the nights at higher altitude, fleeces, down coats, hats, and gloves had all made an appearance.

Yep, she's wearing two down coats

9:00pm - Prepare for Bed
When it was time to call it quits, it was time to get ready for bed. We would grab our water bottles and head toward the toilet tent. There must be something about creating a bathroom because most nights we brushed our teeth near the toilet tent, much like your sink is very likely near your toilet. There is no explanation for this. In fact, I can't think of a worse place to brush your teeth. After visiting the tent and brushing teeth, it was time to head back to the tent

9:10pm - Bedtime
Depending on the temperature, there were some nights when the time between the toilet tent phase and the bedtime phase was far less than ten minutes. Depending on the temperature, I might elect to keep most of my layers on or strip down to an appropriate level. This year I used a sleeping bag liner which served two purposes; an extra layer of warmth when cold and a thin layer when hot. Genius. I fashioned a pillow by wrapping my down jacket in a fleece. It was comfortable enough, though I'm semi-allergic to down filling so I'd often wake up with eyes as puffy as the jacket. Judith was the smart one of the group. She borrowed a pillow from Lufthansa when she arrived in India. She's the real genius.

Once situated in the tent, it was lights out. I tried to read a couple nights but the reality is you're just too tired. Lindsay tried to stick with the reading a little bit longer but I think she read about 45 pages of "The God of Small Things". Glenn had coincidentally brought the same book and got through about 9 more pages. Not exactly a ringing endorsement for the award winning book

Moonrise over camp

When you repeat this cycle for ten or eleven days you find a rhythm. The days are long (almost as long as this post) but rewarding. In fact, when all is said and done the 21 total days I've spent trekking in Nepal and Ladakh (plus the 5 more I have planned in November) will be some of the most memorable days of this experience.

The Diamox Darling

For my 30th birthday (which was a few years back) my family agreed to join me for a climb up Quandary Peak in Colorado. It was my first (and to this point only) summit of a fourteener in Colorado. Until the trek in Ladakh, its 14,265 foot peak also marked the highest point where I had ever stood. Other than making it to the summit that fine September day, my second priority was to get a good picture of Lindsay and I at the top. Lindsay, always the trooper, made it to the top that day. The picture? Well, here's the evidence:

When she sees this picture on the blog, there will likely be issues at home

Maybe it's just me, but one person looks a little happier to be sitting on the summit. In hindsight, she probably shouldn't have summited; she had both a headache and was nauseous, the two most basic symptoms of altitude sickness. Luckily, other than those symptoms and the accompanying crankiness, there were no other issues and we made it down with no issues.

The altitude was one of the main reasons we elected to make our first trek to Annapurna Base Camp. In Himalayan terms, the trek maxes out at a relatively low 13,500 feet so altitude wasn't an issue. Once we knew we were comfortable with the other aspects of the trek (like princess camping for multiple nights without showering), we figured we could always try higher altitude. Our Ladakh trek had that higher altitude. We started around 10,500 feet, camped just about every night at 12,000+ feet, and crossed four high passes, the highest of which was 16,500 feet.

So how do you change a smile from being the very epitome of forced at 14,265 feet to this very genuine reaction at 16,500 feet?

It's simple. Diamox.

After acclimating for two nights, first in Leh and then in camp in the village of Chilling, we started our trek. The first day of walking was short but we climbed a couple thousand feet. Strategically, we got to camp before lunch and had a lengthy rest before the next morning. The next day was our first "high" pass with an elevation of around 15,500 feet. After about the first hour or 90 minutes that morning, each step up the hill set a personal altitude record for both Lindsay and I. Right as we got to lunch (pre-pass), everyone had started to feel the altitude a little bit, as can be expected on your first day. I had a mild headache but nothing too serious. Unfortunately, Lindsay had both the headache and was a little nauseous. It was time to start the drugs. It was for the Diamox.

There are differing opinions on Diamox. Some doctors will tell you to preemptively take it before you get to altitude. Some doctors will take you that starting it too soon might mask more serious altitude sickness. She decided to listen to the doctors in the "don't take it until you think you need it" camp. The correct dosage is somewhere between 125 - 250 mg taken twice per day. She had 250 mg pills that she was forced to cut each morning. We made fun of her for looking like a drug addict as she cut the pills, but whatever chemical was in those little tablets seemed to do the trick as she had no issues for the rest of the trip. There were even smiles. Real smiles.

I'm sure there are all kinds of differing perspectives on the usage of this type of drug when at altitude. If you're from a low elevation location and planning a high altitude trip, I'd highly recommend finding a doctor that has knowledge of altitude-related sickness as it's very possible your general practitioner has little or no experience treating or prescribing this type of medication.

The Longest 15 Minutes

This post is entirely out of order with my other planned Ladakh posts, but it's all the energy I could muster this morning before work....

Leh is situated at an elevation of 11,500 feet, which means that its airport also rests at or near that same height. All flights in and out of Leh are early in the morning to reduce the chance of weather impacting the flight. As an example, our short Jet Airways flight landed in Leh at 7:55am. That was the later of two choices, the first had departed Delhi at 5:30am and arrived before 7.

Outside arrivals at the airport in Leh where I'm not sure photography is allowed

This isn't a story about landing at the high airport (though the flight from Delhi to Leh is magnificent, we had clear views of the Himalayas nearly the entire way and you land between two mountain ranges that seem closer than they need to be). This is a story of our flight back in Delhi. The only "odd" thing about leaving Leh is the strict security at the airport (they encourage you to carry nothing on the plane except valuables). Off course, given the fact you're technically in Kashmir in a city with a heavy military presence, the strict security makes sense.

The flight back to Delhi was uneventful until our approach. As we descended near the airport, we entered a very dark cloud which happened to be a monsoon rain cloud hovering over the airport. Almost immediately, the plane hit heavy turbulence and was violently shaken. Quickly, we felt the plane gain altitude again. My first aborted landing.

A couple minutes later the captain came on the loudspeaker with the following message (and I'm paraphrasing for the most part here as Jet refused my request to listen to the little black box):

"As you could probably tell, there were heavy rain storms situated above the airport in Delhi and we've had to abort our landing. We'll be making a quick circle over the region and then give it another try."

He continued, and this isn't a paraphrase, this is a direct quote:

"We have fifteen minutes of fuel left."

And then there was silence. He didn't say "we have 15 minutes of EXTRA fuel before we need to land at a different airport"; he didn't say something more general like, "there are extreme weather issues in Delhi, we're going to stay in the area for a short time before heading to an alternative and safer location to land." He was specific. The reaction on the plane was a nice mix of bewildered looks between people where they were obviously thinking "did he just say that" and outright nervousness.

Strangely, in the moment I wasn't worried about death (regardless of how remote that chance actually was). I was worried that I had 1300 (in my humble opinion) awesome photos documenting an unbelievable trip that our family and friends might never see.

That thought quickly vanished as we made a run at another landing. The heaviest of the clouds had cleared, and as you can rightly assume since you're reading this post, the plane landed without issue.

Note: Not a good month for the Luth children and planes as my younger sister and her husband were on a flight from Moline to Denver that had to make an emergency landing somewhere in South Dakota, fire trucks and all. I think she wins the "who had the worst flight" award.

As we were taxiing, our friend Judith heard a passenger in the row behind us nervously state, "that was seventeen minutes."

I guess we'll never know how close we were.

The Children of Hanupatta and Kanji

Most places you travel in India you'll come across a curious child or two. Typically, the children approach you and we've found that they really just want to interact a little, have their picture taken, and most importantly, see their image on the screen. It's really quite a pleasant experience. Ladakh was no exception.

Following Rule #1: always let them see the picture

At camp outside the village of Hanupatta, a roving gang of boys approached us. Usually, a roving gang is up to no good. These were nice kids. So nice, in fact, that when we gave them a package of cookies the oldest took control and rationed out two or three cookies per kid and tried to return the remaining food. Without taking any for himself. We assured him it was fine for him to take some as well. These kids were also no exception to the "you're how old?" double take we found ourselves making when asking how old the kids were. They claimed to be between ten and thirteen. I would have cut three years from each of the kids' responses.

The children of Hanupatta

On the final night in camp in the village of Kanji, the campsite was "the" place to be in town. As such, our campsite was swarmed with the village children for most of our stay. My favorite kid was a young monk that first tried to endear himself to us by acting cute and trying to sell us a snail fossil and a geode looking rock. The monk was sixteen. He didn't look a day over eleven. Once he realized we weren't the suckers, we seemed to take an interest in the strange rituals we performed in camp.

The children of Kanji

First up was the daily yoga routine. Since I had been banned from yoga a few nights prior for making too many jokes, Glenn, Lindsay, and Judith took their familiar positions on a blue tarp and started a series of stretches. Quickly the children gathered next to them and quizzically watched the strange white people in strange poses. Then something else happened. A few started to imitate the poses. Before you knew it, the ancient art of yoga had been exported from India and reimported to a small village in one of its northern states.

Imitation is flattery

After the imitation yoga session, Lindsay and Judith decided to see if the kids would imitate something else: padddycake (or least a variant thereof). They sat opposite one another and started to clap their hands and, in English, describe in songlike fashion what they were doing (i.e., "Down, together, left, together, right, together, down"). Slowly but surely the kids gathered around and the older girls sat down next to them and started to imitate. Glenn even got the young monk to try it out with him.

The next ten to fifteen minutes was just kids having fun playing games. A couple of the elder women from the village, whom we suspected to be grandparents, sat close and looked on with silent approval. The entire scene made for one of the more memorable moments of the trip.

As the paddycake was coming to a close, one of the young girls leaned over to Lindsay and asked, "Why just one song?" Apparently, they were confused why they just were chanting, "Down, together, left, together..." and were ready to move to more complex moves. Next time we'll have to add the baker's man.

"My Dinner Looked Me in the Eye"

As fair warning, if you think meat comes from cellophane packages at the grocery store, this might not be the post for you. I can also say that if what follows didn't turn me into a vegetarian that I'm pretty confident in saying that I'll eat meat for the rest of my life.

As we approached camp on the fifth night of our trek to Ladakh, we noticed something just further down the valley from our tents. A flock of sheep. Then we noticed our cook (Deepak) and his assistant (Surya) standing in in the middle of the animals. Immediately, Glenn and I knew what was up; they were negotiating for our dinner.

Now let me tell you something about Glenn. The man likes his food; he's not afraid to admit it. I'm pretty sure the first thing ever heard him say, was, "So did Judith tell you that I eat a lot of food." This was addressing Sanjeev at the trek introductory briefing in Kathmandu last year when meeting him for the first time. Of all the foods out there, lamb is his favorite. To say he was excited about the prospect of a fresh lamb would be an understatement.

Unfortunately, our guys weren't able to strike a deal. Apparently, the shepherds didn't have "selling" power and the owner of the flock was down the valley in the next village, a couple hours away. We would have to wait at least one day for fresh lamb. That night, instead, we "settled" on pizza, a staple camp food.

Someone likes Deepak's pizza

The next night, we stayed in the village of Fangila (much more on this village in a future post; well, less about the village itself and more about the joys of using the word "fangila" for various purposes). As we settled at the camp, Lindsay made mention to Sanjeev that she had seen a chicken in town, which is apparently uncommon based on the elevation. As soon as she mentioned it, his eyes lit up. It was obvious he was going to try and buy the chicken. Apparently, it was the only chicken in town. Fail.

The following day we camped in a beautiful canyon which, as luck would have it, had yet another herd of goats and sheep approach as the sun set. Negotiations ensued (which I asked Sanjeev if I could document with photos but unsurprisingly he said it would only drive up the price); however, that day was some sort of holy day or someone spiritual's birthday (these are the details you forget when you're a carnivore in hot pursuit of a fresh lamb). No lamb that night either.

Camp on our eighth night (i.e., Lamb Night)

Our luck changed on our fourth night of trying. It's cute how I say "our" night of trying; I was more an observer and beneficiary, less an actual participant. In late afternoon a herd of sheep and goats again approached the camp. A very large herd. And by "approached" I really mean "meandered within." Sanjeev immediately dispatched two trusted party members, Sarbu and Galpo, to find the shepherds. Sarbu returned with good news. The shepherds were having tea two kilometers up the valley but were coming soon, and they were willing to part with a sheep.

That's right a "sheep." The entire time we had heard the word "lamb" and had expected a young sheep and had visions of New Zealand lamb chops. This is the part where we learned "lamb" meant sheep in these parts and that "mutton" (which I had always associated with older sheep) actually meant goat. Whatever, at this point it was more about the getting meat. Of course, I say that like we were starving, which wasn't the case at all.

Deepak takes stock before the shepherd's arrive

After another cup of tea with our kitchen staff (this is starting to sound like a Craig Mortensen book, well, except for all this really happened), a deal in principle was struck with the shepherds and the "hunt" began. They had a specific sheep they were willing to sell, which also doubled, we believe, as their oldest sheep (also known as the sheep with the lowest net present value).

The shepherds approach

Catching one specific sheep in a large herd is harder than you might think. The entire process of chasing, cornering, and capturing took about thirty minutes. Part of what makes the process take time is that sheep don't really want to get caught. Something tells me that a sheep knows what's going to happen when it gets caught. I'm not giving the effort it's entire due in words here; however, the guys were more tired from the chasing and cornering than from the full day's trek. Of course, as customers we lazily sat in our camp chairs and watched the entire scene unfold. There's a morbid curiosity that goes along with this type of thing along the same line as the gawker's delays we've all sat in with accidents on the highway.

Sarbu during the chase

Surya with the unluckiest lamb

Begrudgingly leashed to a rope, the sheep was marched past us on the way to the kitchen tent. This was, admittedly, awkward. Judith really wanted no part of seeing the actual animal we would later consume. She did a great job of hiding her eyes. For the most part. Unfortunately, she turned at absolutely the wrong instant and caught the sheep's eye directly. So yes, Judith's dinner looked her right in the eye.

The sheep perp walk (before Judith's dinner looked her the eye)

There were final negotiations on a price, and the shepherds departed our camp and took the rest of the herd down the valley. How much does a sheep cost? We never found out the price of our sheep; however, Sanjeev had previously mentioned that a sheep would go in the 3500 - 4000 rupee range (approximately $77 - $88). This seemed expensive to me before I started doing the math. There were 11 people that were able to eat 3 very big dinners, so well under $3 per serving.

Final negotiations outside Sanjeev's tent

I'll skip past the actual butchering. Just know that the staff did it professionally and quietly and, is the usual case in this part of the world, no part of the animal went to waste.

A couple hours later we had a feast. That feast continued for the two subsequent nights on the trek as well. We had lamb soup, lamb curry, fried lamp chops, lamb momo's. What Forrest Gump was to shrimp, Deepak was to lamb. And see how easy it is to say "lamb" instead of "sheep". Lamb-loving Glenn was in heaven.

Even though I was a mere observer to this process, I can say with a fair degree of certainty that it's as close as any Luth male has been to catching his own meal (with the exception of fishing) since my Dad's childhood days on the farm in Ohio. While some will consider what I just described as barbaric, it's a good reminder that the protein you consume doesn't originate from the grocery store.