From an Austrian Oasis:

I write to you now, for a change, from my bed on a laptop borrowed from a 10yr old friend of mine. In lieu of the incessant honking outside and bollywood hits playing in the background of a tiny internetcafe, I have birds chirping and the - ever so rare in India - peace and quiet. I am visiting an Austrian family that I knew in Greece that are now stationed in New Delhi and it really feel as though I have left India and been teleported to Europe. They have a yard the size of a small park with a swimming pool and one chubby, hyper dog. I have my own room and bathroom and they have several servants to "attend to my needs" including a cook, driver and maid. I am even salluted every time I come in and out of the gate! Ha, most of the time Ive been hiking to and from stations and guesthouses with my elephant of a backpack whether 100/40 degree heat or monsoon rains and now I am picked up with the cleanest car Ive seen in India with my name printed neatly on a plackard... India remains the land of contrast!

On one hand, I feel a little too posh staying in this beautiful hideaway, but on the other hand it has been the perfect recharging station after my frenzied travels south. I actually feel clean which unfortunately is something that has eluded me lately what with squatter toilets and bucket showers and dusty 24 hour bus rides. A very heartfelt thanks once again for friends!

That being said, do I have one crazy story for you! Even as it unfolded and I had a chance to think about recounting what had happened, I believe it will be nigh on impossible to fit the scene into words - just read on and multiply the ridiculousness and chaos and voices and dizzying, colourful presence of human beings by a naan bakers dozen.

So... after that epic 24hr bus ride, two days in the beautiful hill retreat of Manali and a night bus to Shimla, a charming little town with very clear remnants of the previous summer capital of the British Raj, we decided after a less than appetizing omelet sandwich breakfast to leave the same day to Chandigar on one of the remaining "Toy Trains" or single gauge trains that ran through splenid scenery and 103 tunnels over the 110k trip (through each and every one, the passengers hung out the windows and open doors and whooped and cheered :).

We spent just 24 hours in Chandigar and had no idea how the days events were to be a mere tickle of the following days onslaught in haridwar. In the bright sun, Emma and I, made our way to the bus station to inquire about onward travel. We also wanted to see the famed rock gardens, a bus cost 5rupees but a rickshaw driver offered to take us there for the same price so we hopped aboard. Several times he asserted that "I no english" and we decided he either wanted to change the price when we arived claiming to have misunderstood our english or he thought our own conversation was directed at him so in my broken hindi I reaffirmed the price and that his lack of english was fine and then to our very little surprise we were brought to the rose gardens, not the rock gardens. The rock gardens were another 60rupees away. No, its a nice day, we'll walk. In our guide book they didnt look too far away and a nice walk through various gardens at that.

The roses, though not in full bloom, made for a nice stroll and we spotted some swings which called to Emma. In a large opening with a few sleeping men we dropped our bags and picked up our inner-child. Soon though, those few men perked up and began watching us and were subsequently joined by several more and at one point we counted 20 of them, not including the one still sleeping that had formed our circumfrence - I wish I had an aerial shot! We, although ammused that they found two girls swinging so very interesting, had had enough and jumped down to find a shady secluded spot to read for a while. We did, but that seclusion never lasts for long and a couple groups of ever-so-subtle boys sat near us, taking turns sneaking glances and cajoling each other to come over and ask for "One snap?" first.

And so it began, a series of pictures taken with each of the boys and then as a group and then the regular questioning. I had 8 or so boys in a half circle around me making conversation about studies and life in our respective countries even after having found out that I have a husband. A couple more men joined us and I asked if they were all friends to which one responded, "*head wobble*We Indians are all friends!*big smile*" Good answer! They were really quite polite but apparently Emma, who was sitting slightly in front of me, was not so lucky and the older man that sat with her had a more risqué conversation in mind and I got the "help!" look so it was time for us to move on. One of the boys insisted I take a crackerjack ring that he produced from who knows where as a memory of India - sweet.

Flash forward after a very long walk, the interesting rock gardens dedicated to creativity and the imagination, the evening spent in a swanky restaurant/bar soaking up the AC and catching up on some journal writing, we finally end up at the bus station waiting for our midnight departure. More men. Some polite, some silent and one in particular sitting 2ft away from me with a frozen, unblinking stare accompanied by a subsonic mumble. The time arrives, we heft our bags over to the bus and Emma is asked if she needs any help by yet another 20 something boy. No thanks, but we board the bus he reappears with a pink carnation for her. "Where is one for my friend?" she jokes but he scurries off and comes back with one for me as well. All the while every passenger has their gaze fixed on us and I swear a couple of them have bags of popcorn for the show. Emma left to grab a snack for the journey and Pasha, our dear new friend, climbs aboard with an entire wicker basket of flowers this time. "Where are you getting these??" I ask quite ammused. "I bought them for someone who broke my heart so now I would like to give them to you". Emma returns, we are both laughing and I tell the poor heartbroken Pasha that the gesture will bring him luck in love in the near future. Somehow he finds the time to leave and return once more with one final flower that I insist he must keep for himself for the luck to be complete and he thanks us very much and wishes he could do a rap for us as he is a very good rapper. He wanted us to get off the bus to hear it because the other passengers would think he was crazy, imagine tht, but with our gentle prodding he broke into an impressive rendition of an eminem piece mixed with a dash of hindi, right there in the front of the bus until he was shooed away by the driver... I love this place!

This entry has gone on long enough - sorry to take so much of your time. I will save the Harried Haridwar story for tomorrow!