South Africa made easy with the Garden Route

Africa is like a really big trail map. Cairo to Cape Town. Malaga to Douala. Nairobi to Victoria Falls. Tour companies and travelers alike have realized that those who make it to Africa are there to spend some time and see a good lot of incredible sights. You won't meet many people who travel to Africa and hop around by air to all the different destinations. Everyone overlands. And everyone takes the same paths, whether in an overland vehicle, a fully-loaded Jeep with their families, or a cramped and ancient public bus. They do this because there aren't many distinct "sites" in Africa. Africa is the sight to behold in itself. See the land in between and connect destinations with the open road. Follow along these well-known paths, and you'll often see the same travelers at the same junctions/watering holes on the way. People swap stories and can relate to each other because they all know Ma who works at Snake Park in Arusha and that one fantastic beach bar in Nungwi, Zanzibar where the local boys practice their dance moves. Following these trails creates a community of vagabonds that all move by different means but all move to the same places.

In South Africa, the trail to follow is the Garden Route.

Starting (or ending) in Cape Town, one can experience the endless activities of this harbor city and move on via Baz Bus to a plethora of towns along the southern coast. Whether you want to hit up the winelands in Stellenbosch, the whale watching and cage diving near Hermanus, the beautiful landscapes of Mossel Bay, or the adventure sports of Plettenberg Bay, there are tens of stops to choose from and so many travelers to tell you good advice for your route.

The views are pretty much stunning everywhere, and we were there in the wintertime, when the sun was always at about half-mast and the wind was gentle and cool. Perfect. It can only get better from an already sky-high standard of vacation. And one of the best parts of the Garden Route, especially during that time of year, is the laid-back atmosphere that encourages relaxation and taking your merry time to blaze the trail.

Africa seems like a tough place to begin thinking about visiting, but after a quick glance on the internet, anyone will find a slew of routes and easy ways to digest the birth continent of mankind. And with a name like the "Garden Route", you know you're not going to be disappointed on your tour of South Africa.

Plummeting towards Earth: Day 51

Adrenalin junkies. Sometimes it seems like its a requirement to be heavily inked, fully pierced, leather-skinned, and a big fan of phrases like "that was so sick", "unreal, man", and "aw, dude, I've heard about that jump --it looks so ill!" These guys and gals flock to freefalls, half pipes, and semi-dangerous situations around the world, looking to cause that big release by pursuing adventure, sometimes at a lofty price. I never thought I would be one of these people, but then again, I never tumbled out of a plane voluntarily...until now. It seems a little daring or presumptuous to try describing a feeling that can only really be experienced to be known, but my awesome job is to tell you what there is in the world to do. Well, alright then. I'll give it a go.

You go up in a plane. You don't land with the plane. You sit backwards without a seatbelt on a tiny aircraft (where the pilot also wears a parachute), and as the altimeter reaches 10,000 feet, you open the latch to send the door flying upward. Then you throw your knees over onto the wheel step, rock backwards, and tumble towards Earth. All of these things sound very wrong, no? They are. We, as humans, were not made to do these things. If we were, we would have evolved wings or really big nostrils to float us down to land. But that's the whole thrill. Sky diving is doing what you're not supposed to do. Plummeting towards Earth is a bad idea, one that can result in a massive boo-boo, and you should totally do it.

For some odd reason, I wasn't all that worried about this, the biggest freefall of my life. Carly Mills, of STA Travel (as well as our hilarious travel partner this week), was petrified, and I think being around someone who was more nervous than I made my worries seem pretty easy to handle. I don't think I gave much thought to the image of the open air under me, and that certainly helped. I knew I'd be safely brought down to South Africa by my tandem partner, Donovan from Skydive Plett, who had jumped over 6,600 times before. Whoa, boy, that's over 55 hours of airtime.

And not only was this my first time flying through the skies, but we were jumping at one of the top two highest ranked drop zones in the World (along with Cape Town). The scenery was teal, mountainous, and capable of making your heart fly higher than it already does after a 35 second free fall. We were supposed to look for whales up there while parachuting to safety, but I was too engaged in my own disbelief of what just happened.

We landed perfectly, a few steps to a complete standing stop, and I yelled my amazement to all the men at the bottom who hear these exclamations every day. And that was it. I jumped out of a plane. Nuts. Simply nuts.

I'm hooked. I'm going again soon. Darn this new expensive hobby! A big thanks to Skydive Plett!

Cage Diving with Sharks, Recommended: Day 48

About six weeks prior, I had trouble jumping off a 12 meter cliff into beautiful teal waters. I danced nervously atop a rocky precipice and looked to the skies to counteract the damage done from staring at the water below. But for some reason, I had absolutely no trouble throwing a lead weight around my neck and getting into the chummy, bloody waters that would make a whale shiver. Not to mention, these waters had some terrifying inhabitants, man-eaters for sure, and it was only a couple steel rods between me and the world's scariest smiles. Chris and Carly were quite skeptical of this experience, but why was I so gung-ho? Sometimes my travel huevos just decide to show up, I guess.

And so, as the sun rose over the Western Cape of South Africa, Carly, Chris and I were boarding a small vessel equipped with wetsuits, soft drinks, and a five-person cage for great white shark viewing. Tying the cage to the side of the boat, five or six people piled in, looking like identical Scuba Steves, and awaited the sharks who were being tempted by tuna heads on ropes, bloody water, and chum a-plenty.

The first shark was a little guy, relatively speaking, and he went for the tuna head with patience and very little pre-meditation. Soon, there arrived a couple more bigger guys that had the fire in their eyes. One ran straight into the cage beside Chris' scared-stiff body, its razor sharp teeth squealing as they smashed against the metal. He emerged from the water frantic and not amused.

By the time I jumped into the thoroughly nasty waters, the bad boys circling our cage and boat were like swimming cars...with killer grills. I forgot to hold my breath a couple times and came up sputtering, taking in drops of the bloody, salt water, and nearly tossing chunks. Luckily, the adrenalin surging through my body kept me aware and together enough to know not to put my feet on the back of the cage and not thrash around to attract the beasts. And just as I was about to crawl out of the Southern Ocean, the grand-daddy of great whites went for the tuna head, putting his massive body vertical in the water and smack dab against our rattling cage. He could have eaten the Jetta parked in my garage at home.

Why did we go deep into frigid waters and taunt these terrors? What made us feel safe in this little, rocking boat? These adventure dudes sure know how to make you feel safe, and I am definitely pleased I saw such awesome nature all up in my face. Ah, travel huevos...if you've got 'em, utilize 'em...and go shark diving! Just listen to them when they say, "Don't try to pet the sharks. I know you want to. But...don't.”

Stay classy, Stellenbosch: Day 47

Wine Tasting: a classy concept that seems to inspire smarter ensembles, a listening ear, a more discernible palate than one actually has. I've gone wine tasting three times in my life. The first time was in Napa Valley after Semester at Sea. I was in culture shock and missing my new friends, so I got drunk about three times per day on quality reds from the California hills. The second time was in Indiana, believe it or not, at a vineyard that has rumors of using Welch's grape juice instead of that which falls from the grapevine. This third time, in Stellenbosch outside of Cape Town, was the most successful and most enjoyable of them all.

As I've illustrated, wine tasting isn't something you can't do elsewhere. And during our planning sessions for South Africa, we almost vetoed this idea because of that fact. But that would have been a mistake, as everyone, travelers and residents, that we asked for suggestions on SA activities mentioned we needed to spend a day trying the grape products of the Western Cape. Not only is there delicious alcohol involved in the equation but beautiful landscapes, a little bit of learning, and no doubt fun people in it as well.

We were in.

We set up our tour at the hostel's travel desk, which was so incredibly handy I didn't mind the commission they probably got from each activity booked. Our guide, Merinda, picked us up in the morning along with five young, spry others that all possessed that wine sparkle in their eye. Our schedule was to hit four or five vineyards that all had something special to offer: unlimited goat cheese tasting, sparkling wines, stunning views, and the best, most varied selection of Pinotage around.

And it was here we found the one thing that made wine tasting in South Africa unique: a combination of Pinot and Hermitage (so I was told...can't remember exactly for some reason...hic!). The king of Pinotage had white, blush, and red versions of this South African speciality, and we tried every single one of them. I tried to differentiate the tastes between an oaken barrel and steel tank fermentation and decided wood trumps steel any day.

The drive back was dramatically different than the drive there. Everyone had a plastic glass sloshing recent purchases and chocolate fingers. Red teeth dressed up every photograph captured. And a massive sing-along of Aussie national songs and American classics like "American Pie" commenced that probably rocked our driver's ear drums. The day ended at 5pm, and for some of us, that was pretty much all we could handle.

Just being our classy selves in Stellenbosch. http://nomadderwhere.com

Hiking up and Giggling Down Table Mountain: Day 46

I didn't know where Table Mountain was (nor that it existed) until I pulled up to Cape Town harbor and saw her silhouette. That first sight of her was the kind that solidifies a mystical attachment and constant amazement that becomes evident in random dreams days and years later. And since that first sighting I've wanted to climb her extreme slopes and see her supposedly divine views. Many of my friends were granted the pleasure, but I never had the time while there. I was glad to hear Carly's enthusiasm for the hike this time around because it meant quenching an overdue thirst. So Table Mountain is 1000 some odd meters and only about a third of its original size. It used to stand along with its neighboring peaks as the only land while Cape Town was still underwater. People have found fossils and seashells on her slopes, but we weren't so lucky...or observant. We decided not to go with a guide, whom would have filled us in on more than just this information we got from some driver. But we weren't looking forward to an educational walk with nature.

The three of us began walking up the road towards the path turnoff and entertained ourselves while trotting higher in altitude. Virtually every step on the path was a rock stairstep, making the climb easier for more age groups and killer on the glutes. And one of my favorite parts about scaling nature is the constantly improving views, so just about ever chance we took, we shot some footage of Cape Town, the looming tower of rock before us, and ourselves in this picturesque scene.

Summiting Table Mountain isn't the most difficult thing in the mountaineering world. It's a moderate, 3 hour climb for anyone who can ably scale a long staircase. And if you're like us, you'll want to stagger your ascents between dancing sessions, photo shoots, travel games, and waterfall basking. There is a cable car that can bring you up to the summit in minutes, but as with anything you earn, the top is much more fulfilling if you intimately know every step it took to get there.

And since we were winded upon reaching the Table "top", we treated ourselves to some beers...and candy...and more beers...and a little debauchery. It was a perfect way to spend a perfect weather day in Cape Town. It's something that cannot be done anywhere else, because obviously there's only one flat-top mountain overlooking a harbor called Table. Even before doing this, I would have recommended the activity to anyone traveling to Cape Town, but now that I've finally got some first-hand experience under my belt, I can scream it.

CLIMB THAT TABLE!

There's really only one great way to get to the summit of Table Mountain, and that's to dance and sweat every step of the way. http://nomadderwhere.com

The East African Safari Experience: Day 36-42

You've just flown thousands of miles across massive oceans and expanses of land. You've had too many airport transfers to bother remembering. Those weren't cheap tickets or easy transit days. But you came to relive those deeply rooted Lion King fantasies from your childhood and by golly you'll do anything to make those happen!One thing you will realize upon getting to Africa is that the wild animals aren't really as close to civilization as some North American wildlife can be. We may imagine lions wandering into people's flower gardens and elephants backing into generators, cutting of the city's power supply. But unless you hit up a National Park in a city like Nairobi or Nakuru, you have a long way to drive to get to those classic landscapes teeming with long-necked, 2 ton, man-eating herds.

Therefore, most travelers who want to see East Africa and live out their safari dreams either book a full service transport/guide/camping/catering service from Arusha or Nairobi or they overland on massive multi-functional vehicles. Regardless of your travel mode, quality is key and can dictate whether you enjoy yourself or not. Research the companies and their average age of passenger or style of travel and make sure it fits with you. Ask about the experience of their drivers or guides. When it comes to the driver or tracker on safari, he or she needs to have loads of experience in order to find what you are hoping to see. Those who have been around for a while are downright psychic when it comes to predicting animal appearances or future behavior. Also, inquire about the vehicles for the drives into and around the game parks. Land Rovers clearly trump Land Cruisers, and vehicles with frequent maintenance will make, not break, your experience. No one likes getting stranded in those steamy, remote landscapes.

And if you're looking for a straight forward recommendation, I actually really dug our tour company because they met every standard of quality I found important. Bottom line is to decide what you find important (comfort, experience, fellow passengers, travel style, etc.) and do the research. No one wants to spend wads of dough and realize they missed the mark on their travel dreams.

For those of you who have no idea where to begin planning your Lion King fantasies. http://www.nomadderwhere.com

Take my Taxes and Bribes but not my Smiles: Day 35

I made a friend while lounging at the hotel pool, Samuel, who comes from Kenya and beams with helpful information for the interested tourist. Since I feel like I’m cheating or lazy to only hang out at my hotel when abroad, I used his knowledge to develop a safe plan to see the city. Good man…though he fell in line with so many passing East African men I’ve met and asked me about my marriage status, but he stood as representation of a city I feared but without the malicious intent. While reading at the pool early on the second day, he cheerfully began another conversation with me that casually went into detailing his evening in jail. Since I had seen Samuel the afternoon before, he had been picked up by the Kenyan police and held in a cell, jammed in like a tin fish, and released on a bribe in the wee hours of the morning. He spoke with a smile and a near giggle throughout this story of corruption and dishonesty. This was his second time being detained, and his offence…not having his I.D. on him while waiting for a matatu (taxi bus) on his way home.

I took narrative exaggeration into account when he said 2,000 other suffered the same fate, but that would still leave a helluva lot of citizens at the mercy of the hired officials who supposedly “keep them safe”. Samuel informed me Kenyan police are the most corrupt on Earth, and considering Obama refused to come to Kenya recently due to its seedy government, its easy to take his story in and develop a healthy fear of Kenya’s system.

Tours start here based on airport convenience, and besides a quick shopping trip to Karen, a few animal activities, and spit grilled meals, there’s little else here that justifies time spent among the corruption bookends of government and criminality. I know the people who live here are lovely…it’s the search for them throughout the city that will do you in.

But the wonderful thing is, as soon as you leave the town limits, its nothing but love, gyrating hips, and carnivorous animals in Kenya.

The Sauna that is Dubai: Day 30-33

I’ll be honest. The only time I’d subject myself again to a natural, sauna-like environment with sky-high prices and buildings and a soul burning sun would be on a really…really long layover. Though I absolutely love the airlines flying around the Gulf (and so much of these cultures is fantastic), I just don’t see myself coming here for any other purpose than to get somewhere else…fast. Now that you know how I feel about traveling in Dubai, and other cities akin to it, I’ll spend some lines telling you about how to make your layover friggin’ stellar.

First stop, book yourself in a nice hotel, not that hostels scatter the landscape, but fitting yourself in a stylish accommodation will score you a bed that releases the deprived slumber angels from their hiding places. The billowing breeze of the air-conditioning chills your travel weary bones, causing you to wrap up with a lovely down blanket and rejuvenate the soul. And it sounds like you could really go to town on this bullet point by booking yourself in a seven star (yes…7) hotel on the water if you felt like it. Of course, if you were capable of doing such things, you probably aren’t reading this blog ;).

Second is the kebab. Arabic food and its nearby influences make the Gulf a pretty dandy place to grab a meal. My mouth had a ball with chicken kebabs and shawarma. The yogurts and blends of spices are really unique and demonstrate the “schmushing” of cultures that occurs in this immigrant-filled city.

Third and most important stop…dune bashing. Remember that opening scene of Aladdin? Well, we saw no enchanted tiger head sand sculpture, but the dunes an hour outside the city stretch forever and provide a perfect setting for testing the limits of Toyota SUVs. It was a slow-motion car commercial, or slow-motion car accident without the eventful ending. We drove sideways and slid down sandy slopes. Upon finishing our ride (which had me bracing my stomach and holding a baggie), we ended at a desert barbeque fit with henna tattooes, sandboarding, ATV rentals, and belly dancing. Natalia was quite the ripped, yet feminine, shaker and showed up every single ambitious soul that joined her on stage. Chris and I managed to get up there for a few shimmies and hip shakes. It was completely touristy and completely awesome, and those words definitely aren’t synonymous. It was a success.

So now you know what to do in Dubai. And if you’re capable of sticking around for longer than three days, you’re pretty hardcore in my book.

It's totally touristy...and totally awesome. http://www.nomadderwhere.com

Why it will be a while for India: Day 28/29

Imagine an alternate universe that’s accessible by easy flight. A Mars or Twilight Zone with roaming holy cows, instant disease upon the consumption of food, toilets seemingly nonexistent, and pimped out buses roaming the streets. And imagine this place has so much of great appeal: colors, spices, drinks, music, dancing, people, animals, mountains, beaches, and this list fails to find its end. The journey is costly, but the destination is not. And it is nearly impossible to find a side of this culture bland…in any way. India is a place for me to find beauty, tragedy, and examine what is “necessary”. Many destinations make sense to the Western mind (I was instantly down with African and South America), but India for many leaves us cowering or flailing or blinking our eyes repeatedly, trying to figure out, “Why?! Wah-wa-wah-WHY?!” This shock to the system is harsh and often welcomed enthusiastically by travelers jones’ing for something refreshing.

This is one of the reasons why I won’t be coming back to India for a while. I have to preserve the Subcontinent as something unknown and confusing, keep it in mind as a throbbing, spazing, flowing, technicolored fantasy world that is possible to traverse and experience in reality. To be all knowing about the ways of India, I fear, would be to take the mystery out of this world. It’s the constant quest for knowledge with the joys of an infinite library.

I spent my last days in India hanging out in the ‘hood of Pahar Ganj among the novices, the immigrants, the locals, the travelers who never left, the familial frequenters who find the area comforting…and I knew I wasn’t any of them. I had my friends and the necessary haggling skills. I was stained by henna and dirt, sweating from every pore. My physical presence was in Delhi; my soul was not.

This is not a place for me to be but to remember like a past life and wonder if it really was. And one day, when I make that fantasy ride back for whatever demanding purpose, I’ll be floored once again, uncomfortable, and in need of the necessary transformation to deal with the organized and beautiful chaos of India.

I brought my recently finished book to my friend’s shop and exchanged it for a beautiful, purple scarf; this wasn’t really customary, but I think they wanted to do me a favor. With a telling hug, I knew, as did India, that I’d be a while. On this endless path, I’m learning where I don’t belong, and through the eventual process of elimination, I’ll soon find where the chaos makes sense to me.

What is Fatehpur Sikri? Day 26

Akbar’s capital city and home in the 1500s. An incredibly well-preserved complex of structures created in the Mughal style of architecture.

A pretty far out place in rural India.

So many centuries-old monuments are dilapidated and crumbling representations of their formerly grand selves. Sadly, pillaging and the wearing effect of time get the best of most. This UNESCO World Heritage site looks like it was mothballed for our later enjoyment in the 21st century. India has done great job at making this place a must-see site today and for the next century to come.

Massive cloister-like open spaces, green grass, human-scale Parcheesi boards, huge wells and ponds, temples, individual homes for all three wives tailor-made to their backgrounds and tastes (Hindi, Muslim, and Portuguese); by golly, just look at the photographs!

I wandered the place with a large-scale roll of toilet paper in my pocket and pulled it out about every minute to allow air to pass through my faucet of a nose. And the sore attitude that usually comes with this sort of discomfort remained hidden until I left the old city. Outside of this complex at Fatehpur Sikri, it seemed people just wanted us there to shell out hundreds in the breeze. Buying these little trinkets for 300% more than they bought it; it seemed a front for the real transaction. Some people actually sidestepped the process of supply and demand altogether and simply asked for foreign money, claiming they collected it. I know this is part of understood Indian culture, but I refuse to like it.

It wouldn’t have been so bad if this occurred only on the outskirts of a tourist or special attraction and not amongst them. Upon entering the nearby mosque, people used any reason to demand pay, everything from postcards and jewelry to merely being cute or talking to you. I found it disappointing that even inside a venerable tomb, the high holy man tried guilting us into paying for glancing.

I am so sensitive and worried when it comes to being a part of someone’s intimate culture, almost to the point that I don’t like visiting these sorts of religious or locally special sights. But it’s part of an experience that most tours and travelers find legitimate, necessary, and acceptable. Why then are we sometimes treated as such outsiders and exploited in a place where people worship? Are we also exploiting them and their destinations for our own scrapbooks and memories? I really don’t know (…and would love some feedback on this). In the meantime, I’ll balls up and love what I’m seeing, because it is truly wonderful.

Step in the Name of Water: Day 25

There are many perks to being in India during the off-season, a.k.a. the blistering heat of summertime. I walked into some nicer, yet empty restaurants and mentioned the items on the menu looked quite expensive. This usually got me at least at 20% discount because they needed the business. However, the heat is inescapable and takes a toll on your body, whether you’re baking in the sun directly or lounging in an air-conditioned bus. Therefore, anytime we were in transit from one fantastic city to the next, I was fast asleep across two seats, bouncing around while unconscious with every pothole and corrugated stretch of road. I awoke, sweaty and groggy, when our bus stopped in the middle of rural India. We had reached our destination of Abhaneri where we were to have lunch and a tour of something called a step well. We all anticipated something akin to a circular well with some spiraling steps down to the water. Whoa, baby, were we wrong.

It looked like the world’s biggest Tetris game, a gaping square hole in the Earth where people used to descend to the water level and receive buckets of heavenly H20. The steps zig-zagged down meters and meters on three sides, and the noon sun revealed every nook without the hint of a shadow. I could barely stand the heat, but this step well was something that could overcome that discomfort.

Some of our tour passengers stood out on the diving boards, from which people used to plunge into the cool waters. I was nearly certain Lara Croft would soon swing out of the palatial-looking structures that made up the fourth side of the well. Everything about this place, aside from the bats, was magnificent.

We could only weather the weather for about an hour and then returned quickly past the tiny shopping area of town to bus’ AC. But had we not stopped on this tour in Podunk, India, we would have missed seeing this feat of incredible innovation and creativity.

That evening, we all eagerly jumped into the pool at our luxurious hotel in the middle of nowhere, and even though it was warmer than my normal bath water, it was relief to be surrounded by liquid and relax my buoyant muscles. And it only took a somewhat painless rickshaw one kilometer away to find a cheap place on the side of the road to eat (instead of the overpriced hotel restaurant). I, along with four other travelers, ate a simple plate of incredibly spicy vegetables and chapatti for a mere $0.50.

This day was Indian satisfaction. We saw the extent of India’s untold greatness: incredible rural constructions and fulfilling, cheap meals alongside real Indians. We had both the tour structure and the small discoveries of lone wandering. Perfection.

Bollywood's Kal Kisne Dekha: A Quality Laugh

Nihal was a simple boy, bright and charismatic. He moved to Mumbai to go to his dream college and befriend the sweet women who liked him dearly and charm the spoiled ones who didn’t. He pulled some Matrix moves on the bad boys in school (who fittingly wore leather jackets and rode motorbikes) then saved the pretty girl from exploding as she stood over a bomb in a shopping mall. Nihal can see the future…did I mention that? The film is translated from Kal Kisne Dekha as “Who Can See Tomorrow?”

He envisioned the bomb going off and his lady flying into the air, Mafia style. He then goes on to build bombs for his professor, who pretty clearly had evil intentions all along, and then only finds out at the end of the movie that the bad guy was his mentor all along. The movie ends with a car, containing both a bomb and Nihal, bursting out of a building and landing about a half mile away ON TOP OF the bad guy’s boat, who is out on the deck watching the whole things transpire in binoculars. Nihal managed to emerge from the water unharmed, in slow motion, cologne commercial-style.

Believe it or not, I downplayed the details of this High School Musical turned Matrix turned 007 flick. And the entire time, Chris and I were barely hanging onto our seats, curled over in laughter, and video taping the absolute best part out of necessity for later viewings, bootlegging be damned.

The movie was so bad it was brilliant. It was completely worth the $2.30 ticket to get out of the Rajasthani heat and leave with a belly sore from laughter. Don’t take this movie review to mean that all Bollywood movies suffer from poor scripts and extremely skewed views of American cinema. Many of them are pretty top notch. But I appreciated this one even more than I would have a quality flick, and I welcome any laugh lines that come from watching movies like this one.

Great Wall + Indiana Jones Movie Set = Amber Fort: Day 24

Outside of an intriguing city called Jaipur sits a massive sprawl of buildings that seldom leave people unimpressed. We approached the area and got out on the side of the road to take distance shots of the entire panorama. Brushing off the hats that hawkers placed on our heads for purchase, we clicked the crusting landscape in our viewfinders and prepared for an enlightening, yet steamy day. There are two ways to ascend the hill towards the Amber Fort: walk on foot or hire an elephant to get you there. Seeing as it costs $13 for five minutes on an ellie that gets horrendous care and maintenance, I silenced my desires to roll around on the back of a pachyderm and employed my boots. A couple boys on the way tried to sell us postcards of the site, but never have I been inspired to write a postcard and send it even if it were free…so I moseyed on with them still calling me in my wake.

Our tour leader hired a guide that explained in great detail why we were wandering around on a mountaintop under a blistering sun. The structures boasted both Hindi and Muslim architectural elements, intertwined with a level of craftsmanship not found too often in today’s world. Mosaics caused the palaces to bling, and the intricate stone carving made it possible for the old Mughal inhabitants to develop such things as air-conditioning and one way windows. There were perfume fountains and wheelchair ramps for the royal ladies who couldn’t walk with all the layers of clothing they had to adorn. Every factoid this guide threw at us wowed us, even as our heads were slowly baking in the sun.

Both tourists and Indians wandered the grounds. It wasn’t packed but was easily scattered with interested minds and clicking cameras. It was one of those miracle destinations where the hype doesn’t surpass the reality of the site, and the aspect of tourism doesn’t take away or inhibit the experience from being awe-inspiring. Way to go, Amber Fort, you did it.

In the dead heat of the day, we dropped into the chaos that is Jaipur’s jewelry market, a strip of infinite shops and outdoor informal gem trading that had me thanking my lucky stars I don’t wear jewelry. It’s well known and apparently worthy of hype, but I saved my money and moved on to lunch and the most hilarious movie I’ve never witnessed in a theater. Bollywood, you complete me…

Movin' On from Delhi: Day 23

So much about Delhi intrigues me. The spice markets and the grand monuments. The tree lined roads and innumerable modes of transportation. I have friends in Delhi and enough knowledge of certain neighborhoods to make me feel somewhat comfortable with this harsh environment. I can’t say I enjoy the street side groping (by any stretch of the imagination), which occurred to me twice on this trip, but I take pleasure in being in the city nonetheless. But we moved on for a new, and arguably better, state where history slaps you in the face and leaves you twitching in awe. Our whole group seemed pumped for Rajasthan, and with due reason. The last 12 kilometers of our full day drive towards Jaipur revealed the beauty that is Amber Fort, a scattering of structures that span very dry mountaintops and calls to mind the Great Wall of China and Indiana Jones movies. But we were to experience that wonder the next day, so we headed to our lush hotel and the palaces of the city.

We took an audio-guided tour of the City Palace, which is never as satisfying as the hopeful tourist anticipates, but upon finishing the succession of numbered stops and enthusiastic explanations, I plopped down at the gate to view the outside world for a bit. Upon entering the City Palace, we were bombarded with hawkers and beggars who were enthusiastic and as forcefully pitiful as was humanly possible. As I watched them all from afar, away from the baseball-cap-wearing, touring public, I saw them in their element: eating popsicles and giggling around the street, relaxing at the nearby drink stand, enjoy the balmy weather and watching the birds dart around the sky, Hitchcock style. One baba in brightly colored cloth tried to make eye contact with me for some change, the kind of eye contact that makes you think he’s trying to suck out your essence with his optical powers. Freaky. But it was another world away from foreign eyes.

The nighttime brought a buffet of good smells right to our noses in the beautiful courtyard of our hotel. And with a vocal performance and puppet show following the meal, we truly felt like we were “on vacation.” Though we were paying a hefty price for the meal and encouraged to tip the puppeteer like Rockefellers would, our entire tour group could be together without the hassle of avoiding skewed restaurant suggestions, transporting everyone on the cheap, and searching for high quality, semi-authentic entertainment. Sometimes going with the tour flow ain’t so bad.

And then, the following day, we saw Amber Fort...wow...

Feeling Balmy and Looking Skyward: Day 22

The extent of my knowledge on Sikhism stops at the turbans. That’s pretty sad, which is why putting on a headscarf, washing my feet, and walking up the steps to Bangla Sahib, the Sikh temple in Delhi, was an experience I happily embraced. Red, beautifully woven rugs covered the marble floor completely, and we slinked towards the back, attempting to be discreet, our backpacks bumping into shoulders and blocking the views of those behind us. Within seconds, we were offered a silver bowl filled with a brown, slick, floury, sugary substance that the man scooped into our open hands. It was an offering to be consumed. It wasn’t half bad. Every once in a while, I feel unwelcome and bothersome when checking out a foreign religion, thinking they find this intrusion either disrespectful or amusing and certain that I’m breaking about twenty-nine rules of their godly law. Fortunately, the practicing Sikhs in the room didn’t seem to really care we were there. It could have been over-exposure and the fact that they get lots of tourists following their motions every day. Whatever the case, I basked in the breeze of a hundred ceiling fans and enjoyed the peace of the room that overcame the chaos of the city outside. I couldn’t understand a thing, but being among so many calm presences was satisfying.

A little volunteering of your time in the temple’s kitchen scores you a free meal of lentils, vegetables, flatbread, and other goodies from the Sikhs. And so, we enjoyed. With full bellies and soggy fingers, we then headed to the massive mosque adorning Delhi’s skyline: Jama Masjid.

It was at this religious destination that we felt we were wrong for being there. It was our bad for hanging out in the open prayer area, but the stares were ceaseless and intense. A thick line between them and us was evident. The architecture was imposing and magnificent but hard to appreciate when hawkers nearby were more interested in making us pay for various services and goods than letting us be a part of the moment. And it’s probably necessary to add the heat of the day made us ever-so sticky, which isn’t conducive to a positive attitude towards being a spectacle. But we remained there, with our borrowed coverings billowing in the subtle breeze, hoping to reap from this monument a feeling of awe. If I had any visceral knowledge of Islam at all, I’m sure it would have been a moving experience. I’m not putting Sikhism vs. Islam here, as I really love both followers, but these were two very different experiences and ones I found amusing as an onlooker.

Independent Travel vs. Tour Group: Day 21

The age-old debate: should we call our own shots or pay someone to do it for us. It all depends on how you value your own physical, mental, emotional exhaustion and how things like this affect your appreciation of a destination.

Last year, I traveled across Northern India alone, at time spending only $20 bucks in 5 days and living on the bottom of the tourist barrel, other times living the high life in the mountains. I met many Indians and Kashmiris I adored, which in turn led me to be a little closed off to the other tourists like me, and I had quite a bit of alone time with the things I came to India to see.

Traveling alone, as pleasurable as it can be, doesn’t easily put you in the position of being able to talk about your experiences and be understood. I had no one to turn to and say, “That mountain is stunning. Why do I live in Indiana where none of these things exist?” or “Is that chai wallah over there doing Michael Jackson dance moves?”

Our tour group for the Golden Triangle last week was just the kind of “cha-ching” blend of hilarious, fun-loving, and thoughtful travelers that can enhance the experience of seeing a destination. Without a thing to plan ourselves, we were able to react to the things we saw, discuss and be a part of them, and walk away from our trip pleased to have met good people in a place we loved. If we didn’t have this good group dynamic and weren’t on such a fitting tour for our travel styles, India would have remained a little bitter in our memories.

It takes careful planning and lots of luck for a tour to be the best route, and when it happens, you gotta smile because you’re in for a really good time.

India, Shock with Awe: Day 20

The last time I left India, just eight months ago, I related the effect the country had on me to a scruffy, irritating, acidic kiss from which I recoiled…and then later longed for. As the horns screamed around our taxi from the airport, I turned to Chris and said, “Home Sweet Home.” He nodded.

This place, upon first impact, is not exactly this easy to embrace and appreciate. In fact, the heat radiating from every passing vehicle and the sun was blistering. Dust already covered my face. The passing vistas revealed some atrocious living conditions, but having already been here on a combined three trips, we were aware of what to expect and how things work in the Subcontinent.

I asked Chris, “If this were your first time in India, what do you think you’d be in shock of right now?”

From this started a sporadic conversation of things that described the crazy differences between our American understandings and the realities of India.

The modes of transportation spanning from cars, bikes, and auto rickshaws to camels, horses, and the occasional very hot elephant.
The near absence of road rules and the organized chaos of traffic flow.
The smog that covers the entire city and reflects back in the eye as blinding light.
The smell: a mix of feces, incense, flowers, chicken coups, dirt, trash, spices, delicious food, bonfires, and a few other things indiscernible.
The brightly colored sarees, Sikh turbans, and fully covering clothing in +40 degree Celsius heat.
The red, rotting teeth edging most open mouths.
The roughly one inch space between our taxi and all vehicles surrounding ours while moving at 40mph.

How is a place so rough to our senses so lovable?

India. Over one billion people can’t be wrong.

Red Rock, Roadkill, and Rough Transit: Days 18/19

Our penultimate Oz experience was nothing short of a red rock smorgasbord. King's Canyon had a steep start and a smooth finish as we hiked around this fault line in the Earth's oldest crust. Nature and rock are gorgeous themselves, but for some reason, we felt it necessary to complement the experience with our own humorous interpretations of the red rock. Chris made it very clear he knew absolutely nothing about the terrain, and I had a ball feeding him lines like "This looks like Grandma's Elbow Red Rock" or "This should be entitled Teenager's Complexion Red Rock." We're so global and mature.

Descending the canyon, our fingers swelled from the blood flow and feet ached from stomping around six kilometers of hard rock. We happily boarded our luxury overlanding vehicle to sleep and relax for the five hour drive back to Alice Springs. Upon parting with our tour and very cool guide, we had two objectives for the evening: to buy mad loads of internet minutes and to eat the most uncommon meat we could find. In between our feverish bouts of work all night long, we took the much needed break to have dinner at Bojangles, the local famous saloon that served the meat lover's platter with our names on it.

We chewed around some kangaroo, crunched into a crocodile spring roll, sawed into an emu sausage, and topped it all off with two pitchers of beer we mistakenly ordered. Who knew "lost in translation" moments could happen in countries that speak your native tongue! Two beers please. Two pitchers?! Well, okay, that will have to do!

httpvh://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9DHVoUXFBgc

We made the long walk back to our hostel (the fourth time I made this jaunt that evening since I forgot my ID and needed it to get into the ever-so classy and popular saloon) and passed some shadowy characters in the night. Someone on our Fiji tour announced to us that Alice Springs wasn't the safest of destinations, and I think we figured out why this was the case. Unfortunately, the stats on Aborigines in local society do not describe great birth rates, high literacy, or many things positive at all, and considering the fact that Australia only formally apologized to the original Oz inhabitants only LAST YEAR for their horrible treatment for centuries, it's understandable that they are hurting as a group.

And then began the process of sleeplessly uploading our many, many blogs, photos, and videos from both Fiji and the most recent tour. We froze outside near the only wireless hotspot, trying to meet our deadlines, but ended up getting slap-happy and playing games of "Slap the Bag" with the boxed wine our tour guide gave us. What professionals we are. We boarded a bus the next day at 11:45am, which started our 27 hour transit period between the smack-dab center of Australia and the steamy capital of India. For 2 hours, we were bumping and cramped, sleepy and hungry, disoriented by time and location, and increasingly concerned for Chris' swelling ankle. That thing got massive, and he developed a disturbing limp.

But that all didn't matter. We were heading back to a country both of us have not only experienced but grown to love. We were destined for the Subcontinent. Hindu country. India. Oh, and on the way...we saw Mt. Everest.

Morning Ponderings at Kata Tjuta: Day 17

My favorite time of day is without a doubt the pre-dawn hour. Observing a blackened sky that slowly rotates toward the sun gives me the feeling that I can watch the Earth move. And the colors of light in the pure atmosphere, refracting off lush mist, bring to mind Monet paintings, along with others who understood the power and beauty of the pastel. Unfortunately, my body finds the early morning repulsive and demands rest when the world is waking. However, give this lifeless corpse of mine an activity amidst natural wonder, and I become alive with the spirit of the dawn. My feet scrambled up the rocky paths to Kata Tjuta. The sun's first peek set the massive rocks on fire. This was my time of day, my type of setting, and my ideal way to spend my hours on this Earth: hiking among natural wonders.

A short geological explanation (the details of which I can't seem to recall, sadly) of why these 36 rock domes occur in the middle of a flat desert plain made me briefly contemplate the ground I stand on. How can the World be so old that over the course of its existence, all this land we see was underwater, slathered and molded by the tides, squeezed and pushed by other tectonic plates, and still continues to move and shift before our very eyes (ever-so slowly, of course)? We gotta stop complaining about being too old to stay up late or remember what we did yesterday. We're babies on this planet, babies I tell ya!

And so, as we wandered in between these massive monoliths, the breeze whistling through each hump and affirming the name Valley of the Winds, I gazed as the rising winter sun of the Australian Outback, looking through layers of atmosphere, mist, and space. Along with my extreme awareness of each [potentially] ankle-rolling step, I felt incredibly connected to the home planet. And with our sighting of a wild camel pack moments later, I felt even more like a primordial animal wandering for purpose and necessities across the crust.

The Outback: its trippy.

Rocks, Man...Rocks: Day 16

After coming off a trip all about connections with people, I will admit I found it hard to enthusiastically jump on board a tour of rocks. What used to be one of the most remote locations on planet Earth, Alice Springs in Australia, was an easy plane ride for us into the dry interior. And the luxury overlanding vehicle we rode in took every harsh aspect of the impossible terrain out of our minds. It was understandably easy to at first under-appreciate the wonders and experiences that were soon to be ours.

Australia’s Outback is probably the hardest place for anyone or thing to survive, and to completely comprehend the age of this place is virtually impossible for the human mind. You know Pangaea? Yeah, this place is older than our former single continent. And to realize how minute and insignificant your presence at these multi-million year-oldies is could surely cause some severe existential issues.

Humbling. But that’s not why I like coming to these places.

When it comes to connecting with a location, an environment, something inanimate, here’s what I do. I coexist with it, make an experience never able to be recreated, invite that thing into a moment with myself. Does it sound like I’m talking a lotta crap? Ney.

At Ayer’s Rock, I decided to wander her periphery and experience the awe and grandeur from below. I popped in my earbuds and started dancing around the place like no one could see me. Every new song brought me to a new part of the rock that looked dramatically different than the last vista, and I snapped my shutter like a photo-crazed fool. What resulted was an experience no one else was having.

For that one moment in her long, LONG life, Ayer’s Rock and I were dancing partners.