Electronics City

When we left home last May the trend in Americas high-tech industry was to outsource any possible job overseas. The manufacturing of hardware products was being sent to China, while software related projects were being moved to India, especially to the city of Bangalore. I had read the name Bangalore so often in the San Jose Mercury newspaper, and overheard it spoken during endless hallway conversations at work, that I was intrigued to find out what the buzz was all about.

Bangalore, like other big cities in India, has its share of posh restaurants, trendy pubs, genuine Western brand name shops, stylish nightclubs and large shopping malls. Shiny European cars cruse the streets while local shoppers crowd the sophisticated lifestyle shops on MG Road.

Arriving in the city, we found the absence of holy cows on the streets allowed our attention to shift to other things besides that of avoiding their excrement with each step. Bangalore, nicknamed the Garden City, has more greenery and parks than we've seen anywhere in India and the presence of so many trees helps serve as the city's lungs. As a result, pollution, while still present, is less overwhelming than the other large cities we visited. We spent a Sunday afternoon observing locals at Lalbagh Botanical Garden. Families picnicked while lovers strolled hand and hand amongst a riot of flowers in full bloom.

On two occasions, we were invited to dine with locals in their home. Their professions were varied; software engineer, real estate developer, art professor and manufacturing businessman. Our casual conversations shed light on the current state of Bangalore. Each couple was leading a modern existence similar to that of someone living in the west. The sophistication of the city offered these working professionals a comfortable lifestyle full of modern convenience.

As a result of the high-tech boom, these people were living in contemporary surroundings; however, the heart of Bangalore did not seem to reflect the new modernization as a whole. It was surprising to witness power outages and spikes in a place we'd expect to find a stable power supply. Internet cafes were still using beta versions of Windows 98 and evaluation releases of Windows 2000. The software installed on these machines would crash often and the net connection was slower than in the backwaters of Kerala. "Is this really the Silicon Valley of India," I thought. "After all that I've heard about Bangalore, this can't be true!"

Trying to get any business done in central Bangalore was as inefficient and time-consuming as anywhere in India, if not worse. Shipping a parcel in the district with all the trendy Western brand name shops and posh establishments was the worst experience that we had in all of India. Small towns like Kochi, and big cities like Ahmedabad were smooth going compared to the additional logistics and hoops we had to jump through in Bangalore. An international shipment that would routinely take not more than 30 minutes elsewhere turned into a two and a half hour nightmare here.

We noticed that a lot of people in Bangalore were left out of the new economic boom, and that the gap between rich and poor was widening quickly. The poor still line the streets begging for anything while the wealthy walk by in their latest fashions with barely a glance. As our expectations quickly wore thin, Bangalore began to look just like any other dirty, polluted Indian city. The high-tech tech firms have, for the most part, sheltered themselves from Bangalore proper, establishing their offices about 20 kilometers away in a new technology zone called Electronics City. These companies are building a new village of their own far away from the inner-city challenges of Bangalore.

Bangalore is a testimony to what so many have said about India: "It's not a poor country, but it's a country where many poor people live." The news media would have us believe that India will soon become one of the world's leading economic powers, and perhaps that will be not the case for this nation as a whole. With the economic prosperity that comes with the high tech boom as well as rapid growth in other industries, India may well reach her own glory, but only within a strictly limited population of people. Everything we hear about India's economy, modernization, and success is something that only a small percentage of her one billion strong populations will have an opportunity to experience.

While traveling throughout India over the past three months, we continue to find it difficult to describe the country in a word or a sentence. She shows us many faces and moods that change just as soon as we think we've figured her out. As to where she is headed in the future, we'll just have to wait and see. Somehow we know that Bangalore will experience drastic change, yet at the same time, it will not change at all. I believe this to be true with India as a whole.

At Home in Hampi

Hampi, a small but touristy town, sits in the middle of the Vijayanagar ruins, the ancient capitol of the largest Hindu empire in India's history. The town cuddles in between Hampi Bazaar and the Tungabhadra River. Hampi Bazaar is the main thoroughfare that leads to the ever-present Virupaksha Temple. Pilgrims visit the town to take in the holy sites or to dip themselves in the Tungabhadra during the annual Sankaranti festival. Indian tourists and foreign travelers crowd the town, feeling at home in the many guesthouses and dharmasalas that provide low cost accommodations. Time passes slowly in Hampi and its visitors are left to explore its vast surroundings at a leisurely pace. In my case, it was the perfect place to rest and recover after my Malaria illness.

The surrounding environment is a combination of both natural and man-made wonders. Boulder-strewn landscape and ancient stone-carved ruins provide the overall tone. The huge rocks look as though they have been cast out of some giant's hand, and lay in precarious arrangements, balancing gracefully on top one another. The landscape reminds us of Sedona, Arizona, or sections of Utah in its color and form. The river flows ever-slowly, flanked to the west by emerald green rice paddies, banana plantations and rows of coconut palms. To the south, the rocks are skillfully carved into pillars and temples, all with early Hindu deities carefully cut into their sides. In a cloudless sky, a bright blue hue contrasts with the vivid green and red-brown of the earth. The sun is sharp and strong and the days are hot and dry. In the afternoons our motivation evaporates like a drop of water. Because of the afternoon heat, we find ourselves rising before sunrise to make early morning explorations to the ruins scattered throughout the area. Our afternoons are reserved for sitting under large mango trees sipping chai.

Our lodging is more a room in a family home than an official guesthouse or hostel. The house is located a few streets in from Hampi Bazaar, on a quiet lane lined with other family homes and only few businesses. From the rooftop terrace we enjoy the soaring view of the 50 meter high gopuram (tower) of the Virupaksha Temple. Our room is bare and basic, with tiny windows and a hard iron bed. The short street makes up a friendly little community where everyone knows each other and all their associated gossip. Because these are family homes, most tourists and touts hardly step into the neighborhood, leaving us in a quiet, cozy atmosphere, which we found delightful.

Our landlords are gentle people who go about their day according to their own schedule. Each morning and evening, the wife draws fresh Rangavalli, or sacred patterns, in white sand at the front gate of the home. These patterns are both simple and complex in their design, and offer a pleasant distraction from the dusty streets. In the mornings, after the daily Rangavalli is drawn, she lights incense and gathers her bowl of tikka powers, in red, saffron and white. She stops to clean each doorway entrance, offering cleansing smoke, and fresh adornments to each threshold. Her husband, a bank manager in town, dedicates one hour each morning for his daily puja (prayer), chanting and meditating before eating a late breakfast and heading to the office around 11am. The wife fills her day with a never-ending assortment of daily chores, washing clothes, dishes, endless sweeping and looking after her guests. Her son is a businessman who works at a trading company in Hospet, a larger town located 13 kilometers from Hampi. We became quite friendly with this family, and as a result, our relationship deepened beyond that of a mere paying guests.

Chandra, the eldest son, suggested we climb Matanga Hill to watch the sunrise. The next morning, he woke early and guided us to the hilltop before returning home to shower and commute to work. We were invited to join the family for dinner, a mouth-watering meal of chapattis, banana shicarani (like a chunky lassi), sambar, and two other vegetables dishes, commonly called subji. The home cooked food was a welcome change to months of restaurant cuisine, cooked with love and intention along with fresh ingredients. They offered us their dining table in their own home to use as a desk while we worked, concerned about our comfort in the small and sparse room we were renting. We spent Lyn's birthday in Hampi, and that morning the wife treated us to steaming hot idli and chai for breakfast – Lyn's favorite breakfast food. All of their kind and friendly gestures didn't come close to justifying the nightly rent of 250 Rupees (about 6 USD).

It's been a rare opportunity to have such intimate exchanges with locals while we have been traveling within India. Most of the time there are assumptions about money and business associated with such dialog. Often the warm smiles disappear, replaced by an indifferent gaze, once they realize that we are not interested in their offerings. How many times did I witness this in the shops around Hampi Bazaar alone? An innocent conversation turned to blank stare when we made it clear we weren't shopping. The families' honest interest in making us feel at home was a key reason why we stayed in Hampi longer than anticipated, resting, relaxing and exploring the mind-boggling, sublime landscape that surrounds it. Hampi is well known on the tourist trail in India, but even here we were able to move away the well-trodden center and crowds by staying in this lovely families home as well as by exploring the vast ruins before mid-day. Hampi is indeed one of the most fascinating places we visited in India.

Bit by a Bad Bug

On January 7, I was admitted to the JSS Hospital in Mysore. While celebrating New Years in Kochi I was bit by a bad bug and contracted Malaria as a result. While Kochi has historic and cultural charm, it also has a serious mosquito problem due to its open, dirty sewers and stagnant water. It wasn't until leaving Kochi, on the night train to Mangalore on January 3 that I began to feel weak and chilled, and brushed it off as just a flu or fatigue. Even though we traveled in an air-conditioned compartment, I experienced heavy sweating throughout the night. When we arrived in Mangalore the next morning, we still had a full day of travel to reach our destination of Belur. This involved rickshaw and two more buses. By the time we arrived the chills were getting worse and my head was feeling quite heavy.

This wasn't the first time I felt flu-like symptoms with achy joints, fever and chills during our journey, but to be sure, I went to a small medical clinic across the street from the hotel. The doctor there diagnosed me as with either the flu, conditions resulting in a change in climate, or the effects of drinking some bad water: he wasn't really sure. When I asked him about Malaria, he said that wasn't the case and prescribed antipyretic and antibiotics for the next two days. At the clinic, the cost of diagnosis was free, and most of the patients were poor villagers, who waited in long queues for their turn to see the doctor. While diagnosis is free, patients must pay a percentage of the prescription cost, as set by their medical benefit system. My prescriptions turned out to be 52 Rupees, about $1.20 in US dollars.

I was stuck in the hotel for obvious reasons, and wasn't able to fully explore the town of Belur. Finally, on January 6, my fever calmed down and I ventured out to visit Channekeshava Temple, well known for it's intricate and beautiful stone carvings. However, once the antipyretic wore off, the chills and fever returned stronger than before, and my body temperature shot up to 103 degrees. It was becoming more obvious everyday that this was not the flu or some other simple illness. The following morning, January 7th, Lyn hired a car and driver to take us to Mysore, the closest city from Belur with appropriate medical facilities. The chills were so bad during the four-hour drive that I asked the driver to stop just so I could stand in the hot sun to "warm up" for a few minutes.

Upon arriving in Mysore, we went straight to the Government Hospital Emergency Room and paid the 10 Rupees to register. As hard as it is to imagine an Emergency Room closing for lunch, this was the case, and no doctor was available during the 1PM to 2PM break. A young doctor advised us that if we wanted better care, we should try JSS Hospital. That's all we needed to make the move to another facility. Fortunately, JSS was not far away and our driver high-tailed it in that direction. Upon arrival, I was given a bed in the ER and the nurse immediately took my temperature, which registered 104 degrees, the highest yet. Because of the high fever, and perhaps because I was a foreigner, the doctors seemed concerned and went straight to work, asking questions about my health and immediately began an IV and gave me a shot to reduce the fever.

JSS Hospital is a medical collage, and therefore many on its staff are interns. I was passed around from intern to post-grad, and then to a senior professor who made the final decision to admit me to the hospital immediately. After a rather tedious admission process for a room in the private ward, the nurses took my blood to send to the lab. A short while later, the intense-looking post-grad came to collect me for a trip to a private lab in town, as the hospitals own testing facility would take another day for the results. After the 20-minute wait at the private lab, the results came back: I tested positive for Malaria. We drove back to the hospital and I began a "rapid treatment program" with IVs mixed with anti-Malarial medications that would last the next 5 days.

The professor surrounds himself with interns and doctors, each of whom is an expert in internal medicine, pharmacology, virus, epidemics and so on. They seemed to be brilliant and knowledgeable, exchanging information and ideas and coming to a collective decision on the treatment to be given, with the professor at the center of the team. The intense-looking post-grad said to us that he felt that Indian doctors were better trained than any doctor in the west because conditions in a developing nation present them with the full range of medical problems, the type that doctors in the west don't often see.

Nurses, on the other hand, are completely different story. They are friendly, kind and caring, but when it comes to executing doctors' orders, there seemed to be some confusion. They had trouble finding a vain in my arm for the IV, and to my irritation, I was stabbed several times before they got it right. We both found it best to double-check the medications and dosages to be sure they were correct.

The ward itself was small and not very clean, let alone fully sanitized. The bathroom was cleaned often but only with water, a dirty towel and a brush made from twigs. The ceiling of the bathroom dripped some unknown fluid that created stalactite, like you would see in some dark cave. Giant cockroaches ran free and mosquitoes entered through windows without screens. India is such a place where Malaria patients have to worry about mosquitoes inside a hospital where they are treated. The signs in the hallway read "Keep Quiet!" but it wasn't possible as other patients' moans and coughs, cries of newborn babies, and the voices of families gossiping in the hallway went on all day and night.

The hospital does not provide meals in its ward facilities. The only way to obtain food is to have someone bring meals in or venture out yourself to a nearby restaurant. Furthermore, patients or their family must run to the pharmacy at the doctors' request to purchase all medical supplies such as IVs, injection sets, and medications. I was fortunate to have Lyn with me in the ward throughout my illness to run for food or medications. I can't help but wonder how a single person would handle the logistics alone.

The fever started to go down immediately after I started the anti-Malaria drugs through the IVs. This treatment took three days to complete, with two more days of oral meds to complete the total elimination of the parasites from my bloodstream. The team of doctors headed by the professor visited me every morning, checked my body temperature, pulse and blood pressure, received reports from nurses and gave them further instructions. They conducted another blood test on the 5th day, which came back negative: the parasite was eradicated. Based on the result, I was discharged on the morning of January 12. Although I was impressed with the speedy and decisive handling by the professor and his students throughout my treatment, we were back to typical India when it came to the discharge process and all the associated paperwork, and waited over three hours before I could set a free foot out the door.

The diagnosis and treatment costs at JSS Hospital are considered low because it is a medical college, and as a result many of the patients come for poorer backgrounds. The private ward cost 250 Rupees a day with a 2,000 Rupees advance to be paid before admission. Having the money to pay for the advance is a decisive point for many of the patients wishing to stay in the private or semi-private room. Mysore has several other hospitals, which we heard offer a better overall environment, but which also come with a higher price, up to five times that of the medical collage hospital.

The total cost to treat my Malaria, including diagnosis, treatment, blood tests, medications, and the private ward, was less than 250 US dollars. JSS may not be the cleanest, or the most modern but the diagnosis and treatment given to me was on par with what I'd expect at home. The high cost of health care in America has become a huge social issue. High insurance costs, even higher costs for medical treatment have left many individuals without healthcare at all. While I've read that India also faces huge increases in medical care in the future, it's good to know that villagers, even in a small town like Belur, have access to some form of healthcare.

It is not a positive story to write about being hospitalized for Malaria in India. But looking back at the experience from a position of recovery, I gained insights into another aspect of Indian life, despite the unpleasant circumstances.

Burning Santa Claus

The new year of 2005 began for us in Kochi (or Cochin) in the southern state of Kerala. The fort city on an island was founded as a result of European colonialism in the 16th century. The town, two bridges away from the mainland, is made up of a diverse mix of Portuguese, Dutch and British architecture. Chinese fishing nets line the western shore. Jew Town, with its small population of Jewish Indians is famous for it's operating synagogue and spice markets. Hindu temples and mosques dot the island. Each of these different neighborhoods co-exists next to each other within an area of nine square kilometer that makes up the island. This town is a melting pot, a microcosm of interwoven cultures created over the course of history.

We arrived in Kochi two days after the Sumatra earthquake and tsunami. The damages in Ernakulam (the mainland town) and Kochi were minimal, though the island of Vypeen just north saw several people swept away by killer waves. Everywhere, people were mourning the tragedy that was still unfolding. While hotels and shops were operating normally, ferries connecting the island to the mainland were halted and no fishing boats took to the seas. People were taking all precautions where the ocean was concerned, afraid of recurring high waves. The annual New Years carnival was cancelled in an act of respect for the recent events. As a result, Kochi became a quiet town with only a handful of tourists. The local community tried to keep a cheerful attitude, laughing off the possibility of a "second tsunami," saying, "We're safe here. Don't worry, just relax and enjoy Kochi!"

The sea breeze doesn't blow through town much, and the air hangs thick, hot and humid. The mosquitoes begin buzzing around our lower limbs as dusk falls away to night. But the multicultural atmosphere and creative environment that promote various art forms contribute in making Kochi a vibrant place to visit. Several cafes promote local artists in their attached gallery space, showing a range of paintings, prints and sculpture. The traditional Kathakali Dance of Kerala is performed nightly at locations around town, one of the best being the Kerala Kathakali Center, which also stages Indian classical music and other traditional dance forms.

We rang in the New Year by attending a Kathakali performance, with all proceeds donated to tsunami relief efforts. Kathakali is a dance-drama, with possible beginnings as early as the 2nd century AD. The path leading to the theater has been swept and cleansed with water. Rangavalli patterns have been drawn with white powder on the damp earth and adorned with flowers. Incense wafts through the air and takes over our sense of smell as we arrive. Oil lamps sit on the right, left and center of the stage while more incense streams into the air, intensifying the sacred feeling all around us. The oil lamps are set alight and the performance begins as dancers and musicians enter the stage. The performace radiates with trance-like heated and tense energy and we soon find ourselves engulfed in a state of enthusiastic appreciation.

After the performance, we wait for midnight. The town is quiet, almost deserted when local Christians start to gather at Saint Francis Church with bibles in hand. The cathedral was established in 1503, when a Portuguese expedition led by Pedro Alvarez Cabral landed here. It's said to be the oldest church built by Europeans in India. We enter and choose a pew at the back of the lofty room, sitting quietly, absorbing the quiet, peaceful atmosphere and saying our own silent prayers for the New Year.

One of the common ways of celebrating the New Year in Kerala is to burn an effigy of Santa Claus. The day before the straw man is made, dressed in red and white with a Santa mask and hat completing the ensemble. As midnight approaches, neighbors gather around the Santas scattered around the town. We join a group gathering behind Saint Francis Church while the sounds of hymns echo from inside the cathedral. At the stroke of midnight, instead of a giant ball dropping from Times Square, the locals took flame to Santa's beard. Santa soon went up in smoke. Firecrackers and Atom Bombs exploded from within his belly while a crowd of neighbors, men passing on motorbikes, and western tourists surrounded the madness, all yelling joyous wishes for the New Year ahead.

After Santa exploded and burned, everyone exchanged Happy New Year greetings, hugs and kisses among each other, happy and smiling, just like any New Year's Eve party we would have attended back home. The mysteriously rising energy of the Kathakali Dance, the solemn hymns flowing out of Saint Francis Cathedral, and the comical display of Santa Burning Man found their way into our unique New Year celebration in Kochi and lead us into 2005 in high spirits.

Tremor in Asian Seas

On Christmas day we took a walk south of the lighthouse to the small fishing village named Vizhinjam. The villagers are mainly poor fisherfolk that depend on the sea to eek out their meager living. They live in plain huts made from woven palm fronds that sit at the waters edge. The Christmas celebration was in full swing on the southern side of the bay. Teenagers blasted music from large speakers, boys played soccer on the beach, and women greeting us with big smiles. They were relaxed and happy, enjoying the fine weather and the holiday celebration. The following day, however, the celebration turned to terror when wave after wave hit the shore, pulling everything in its' path out into the sea. The village was destroyed in a matter of minutes.

At the same time this tiny fishing village was being torn apart, we sat unaware of the danger high up on the second floor of the German Bakery on Kovalam Beach, a mere 2 to 3 kilometers north of Vizhinjam. We watched as people settled in for a day at the beach, renting chaise lounges and parasols on the shore, eating fresh fruit salad, or riding waves in the morning surf. Suddenly, we saw the waves stretch unusually far toward shore, surprising the people lounging on the beach when waves reached their blankets and scattered their sandals in the receding water. Still, the waves were never tall; instead they just kept coming farther and farther up the beach. The view was almost comical, and we found ourselves laughing as people chased down their sandals and bags before they lost them to the sea.

We kept watching the waves as we ate breakfast. The tide came up awfully close to the row of establishments along the beach, and then receded about 50 meters back after a few minutes. As this cycle continued, we discussed what might be causing the strange behavior, perhaps the full moon, or, I suggested, perhaps an earthquake. We had no idea how accurate this statement would turn out to be.

The strange phenomenon continued all morning long. The lifeguards kept watch, but didn't seem alarmed. People continued to enjoy sun bathing on the shore and swimming in the clear blue waters. In fact, the sea seemed even calmer than the day before, so Lyn decided to take a morning swim. She swam for 20 minutes, and while the current was strong, it didn't seem as strong as on the first few days after we arrived. Still, she was cautious of the oceans immense power and came out to rest on shore. As the waves had receded she choose a spot high on the beach to lay her sarong. She sat down and became engrossed in her book when suddenly the waves had advanced up the shore again, and she quickly scrambled to pick up her things before they were soaked. A cruel joke, she thought, as she and I had earlier sat watching and giggling as others had the same experience.

The locals are used to having high tides during the monsoon season, but even they said that this was something unusual at this time of year. Around 1pm, we went to lunch and choose a restaurant along the beachfront. Clearly something was wrong, as we saw fishermen running from the direction of the southern village as quickly as they could to check on their boats left on Kovalam. Several teams of men were hauling their boats to higher ground. The tides would wash far up the beach, and then recede even farther back into the sea. The distance between each tidemark to the next became increasing bigger. After eating we decided to walk north to the next beach, along the sidewalk lined with businesses. It was then that we overheard one shopkeeper say that there was an earthquake and that several people in Chenni had been killed. So, something major did happen, but we still didn't have any idea of what was going on with the ocean here. By this time, the lifeguards had pulled everyone from the water and were standing guard to keep people from entering it.

The first official news came when we caught sight of the BBC on TV where we heard that a giant tsunami hit the coast of Sri Lanka and Chennai. The first estimates were that 1,000 people were dead. It wasn't until several days later that we learned the full magnitude of the devastation. On December 26, the earth shook with an unbelievable amount of energy, 300 times more than that of quake in Kobe Japan, and aftershocks has been continuing ever since.

Miraculously there wasn't much damage on Kovalam Beach itself. We were concerned about our friends on Ko Lanta in Thailand (who, thankfully, have survived) and wondered how bad things were in Chennai, as we were considering ending our India adventure in that coastal city. As each day passes the number of victims and the scale of damage to Asian coastlines continues to multiply. We are constantly reminded of how incredibly lucky we are to be still here, and how rather odd it was that Kovalam was spared, while the beaches north and south were not.

We are currently staying in Kochi, north of Kovalam along the coast. This is an island town, connected to the mainland by a set of bridges. There was minor damage here as well. When we arrived on the 28th ferries were not operating and fishing boats did not dare to go out to sea.

Since we arrived, there have been some concerts and dance recitals organized to benefit the victims. The community seems ready to muster the enormous effort required to stage relief work, and many are taking matters into their own hands, collecting donations for basic necessities lost in the oceans fury. The most basic needs are for clothing, shoes, cookware and cooking stoves. We are hearing from locals that the government and religious organizations are slow to help because the donated money gets bogged down in endless politics. It's our hope that advanced nations will mobilize their relief efforts quickly and focus their attention on this humanitarian emergency. If you would like to help, please send money through a trusted organization like the Red Cross or other NGO's that you may be in contact with.

We continue to feel very lucky and blessed to have escaped this tragedy unscathed. Our hearts and prayers go out to all of those who lost friends and loved ones in this horrible disaster.

Tropical Christmas

"Where would you go for the holidays, Goa or Kerala?" We asked this question to many people in Ahmedabad. Their answers overwhelmingly pointed us to the state of Kerala, located on the southwestern side of the southern most tip of India. They described Kerala as being a tropical paradise that vibrates in hues of thick green vegetation and blue sky and sea.

Traders and sailors began visiting Kerala at least 3000 years ago, sailing the Arabian Sea in search of spices and ivory. In the 16th century, an era of European colonialism began, as Portuguese, Dutch and English fought for control of the spice trade. These influences resulted in a fascinating mix of Indian and European cultures that can still be seen throughout the state today. Keralas' climate, food and culture are totally different from the India we found in the north. Its attention to art and education make it one of the most progressive states in India.

Our first stop in Kerala was the well-known beach town of Kovalam. From the airport, we took a prepaid taxi and then a rickshaw into town. A small Ganesha shrine on the dashboard protected the taxi, while the auto rickshaw had stickers of Mary and Jesus adorning its windshield. This was our first indication of the religious diversity we were to find throughout the south.

Kovalam was a famous hippie haven back in the 60's. Things have changed since then (they always do) and now the once quiet fishing village has taken on larger scale developments and upmarket prices. Still, we found it to be a relatively quiet, small town well suited for a winter holiday. The main drag, known as Lighthouse Beach, stretches north for about 2 kilometers from the lighthouse to the rocky headlands that separates it from the next beach, called Hawah. Hotels, restaurants and shops line the beach; with Ayurvedic massage spas and yoga retreats tucked in behind. Coconut palms cover the hilly terrain that lead away from the beach, hiding small hotels, restaurants and shops that are around every corner.

While Lighthouse Beach itself can get a little crowded during the high season holidays, the fine white sands and the clean, warm turquoise blue ocean pull us away from any cares and worries we may have. Riding the waves is exhilarating here, as the surf is strong and fast. Past the breakers, we would float mindlessly on the ocean surface, lost in our own liquid meditation. Complete relaxation was impossible, though, because we constantly had to check our positioning as the currents quickly moved us into deeper water. With the equator being just south of here, the air hangs heavy with humidity while the sun sends down hot beating rays to the earths surface. To balance things off, the ocean breezes blows gently along the shore to cool us down. Most of all, we enjoy the clean, fresh air to breathe.

Holiday decorations are subdued and simple, but exude a distinctively exotic feeling to their surroundings. Blinking lights are wrapped around trunks of coconut palm, or woven into bamboo branches. Paper stars, unique to Kerala, cast their soft moody light from ceilings, trees and rooftops. Made from folded paper with lacy cutout patterns, they pop into three-dimensional stars when unfolded and glow in the evening darkness when a bulb is hung inside.

On Christmas morning, crowds of men and families began arriving on Kovalam Beach by boat from the nearby fishing villages. Up until then, the beach had been relatively quiet, but on Christmas day, boatload after boatload of locals came out to play in the warm waters and sunshine. They swam, rolled in the sand, ate ice cream and curiously approached Westerners, asking, "what is your name" and "what is your country." All ages, male or female, played like children all day until sunset. Christmas seems to be one of the few holidays when these locals take the day off and really enjoy the ocean.

When we thought about how the holidays would have been spent back home we smiled and thought how peaceful it was to be celebrating them here on Kovalam. We didn't miss the over-saturation of advertising, the shopping malls, and the carols that began in October at all. This year, Christmas came quietly in a tropical setting in South India. The only thing we missed was having our loved ones, friends and neighbors here to share it with us.

Sunday Market

On Sundays, a sprawling market comes to life in the morning along the banks of the Sabarmati River at the eastern foot of the Ellis Bridge. During the week, the area is a dusty, dirty place, interspersed with gypsy shacks and drying laundry. On Sunday, however, it transforms into a pulsing commerce center for the local community. Vendors offer an assortment of wares, from household necessities to used books and even to hard-to-find handcrafted tools.

Along the riverbank children fly their homemade kites while an old man dig into a pile of garbage. Others squat, ankle deep in the river, relieving themselves into the slowly flowing waters. A family of pigs scavenges the shoreline for anything edible. The smell of life hangs thick and acrid in the morning air. Vendors spread their plastic tarps in loosely organized sections, one area for household goods, another for furniture, another for used batteries and other junk. Dry dust rises and whirls in the increasing heat of the strong December sun.

Some of the goods for sale are new, but mostly they consist of previously owned and well-used items. Scattered about are a few antique dealers, selling things like old silver tea sets, utensils and serving tiffins (aluminum containers), all of a uniquely Indian design. The market offers such a variation of goods for sale that I begin to look at it as one large art installation. It seems that everything society consumes and throws away has been reclaimed for resale and reuse by others, recycling at it's most primitive.

The goods, besides the obvious antiques, are the results of a thorough search through the cities trash, combined with the incredible tenacity to precisely categorize what's found. The details of which are staggering; unbusted rubber bands, safety pins, push pins, glass bottles, spectacle lenses, circuit boards, nail polish, medicine tablets, beads and sequins. Broken items are repaired on site and sold. While this is an amazing site to us, it's simply the way of life for the people here. Everything is used to the very end, fixing and repairing until there is no further salvage possible.

The people who come to shop here are as diverse as the goods for sale. The down and out poor come to find the most basic necessities. Families come to purchase new furniture and household items. Others come to find specific, hard to find items, such as well-crafted old tools for woodworking and other professions. Collectors and artists hunt around for hours, searching for the rare and forgotten.

From what we were told, the market has been operating in the same spot for over a thousand years. While it's amazing to see what is displayed for sale today, it's interesting to think back to what might have been for sale then. Perhaps the basic household items haven't changed all that much in a thousand years here, as people still have need for a solid water pot, a religious deity, or a useful tool.

Charms in Bad Air

As one of India's major industrial cities, Ahmedabad is a polluted, dusty and noisy place. However, a certain amount of charm can be found when you wipe away the dirt and grim. It was here on the banks of the wide river that Mohandas Gandhi established the headquarters of his movement for India's independence. He named the ashram after Sabarmati River, which divides its old town and recently developed areas.

Ahmedabad is located in western India, in the state of Gujurat. This area has its own language and scripts, and many people speak Gujarati, Hindi and English. In recent years, the state has had its share of difficulties. In 2001, a massive earthquake measuring 7.9 on the Richter scale crushed the western region of Kutch and damaged many parts of Ahmedabad city. Then, in 2002 the state saw wide spread communal violence after a Muslim mob was blamed for an arson attack on a train carriage that killed 59 Hindu activists. The resulting Hindu-Muslim riots left over 1,000 dead and many more afraid to return to their homes. Thankfully, the state is currently at peace.

Gujaratis are known as entrepreneurs, and this characteristic has helped make Gujarat one of India's wealthier and most industrialized states. Gujarat's northern neighbor state, Rajasthan, has the lock on tourism, and as a result, most foreign visitors overlook this interesting west coast state. This translates into a straightforward friendliness offered by the local community, without much expectation out of visiting foreigners.

There is surprisingly high level of sophistication in Ahmedabad, perhaps reflecting the wealth of the state. Some shops offer topnotch services and products, catering mostly to the locals. A restaurant called Swati Snacks attracts well-to-do locals with its clean, modern interior, and its dishes combine traditional flavors presented in a contemporary manner. Above the restaurant, a stylish furniture and accessory shop called 360 Gallery occupies two stories of display space, where art exhibits take place. Bandhej is a place to go, if you are looking for an upscale boutique where you can find clothing of both traditional and modern styles. Trendy espresso bars attract young people and families. Street called CG Road is known to have many up-market and Western brand name shops and restaurants.

However, these charms that Ahmedabad presents are shadowed by the fact that it is one of the most polluted cities in India. The general condition of air quality is the worst we have seen not only in India, but among all places we have visited so far. Being such a major industrial area is the main cause of the pollution. A law imposing all local auto rickshaws requiring use of petrol fuel in place of kerosene has not been established here. In addition, residents freely burn trash and wood at night causing so much smoke to linger all around the city. (They do so often in order to "keep them warm in cold nights", at around 15 degrees Celsius.) The resulting horrid air looks like a thick fog under streetlights. Without much breeze on any given day, it becomes unbearably suffocating, so much so that it's rather discouraging to go out on a rickshaw, into the streets where one can bathe in the dark exhausts from vehicles.

We are staying in this city, often coughing, amazed and confused by the pollutions, but trying to make the best of what it offers.

Sleepless in India

What a noisy country India is! In the 28 days that we traveled around the Northwestern regions, there was only a few nights that I felt I had a sound sleep. Combine this with waking before sunrise to make photographs in the soft morning light and I'm at the point where I really could use a few nights of quality, quiet sleep. Here in India, it seems that the truly quiet hours for good sound sleep are limited to the time between two o'clock to about 4:30 am, before the raw energy of India life begins with its various colorful chaos and mysterious religious ceremonies.

India is a land of religious diversity. In the small area that we have explored, we have found Hinduism, Islam, Sikhism, Buddhism and Jainism, all mingled throughout the communities we've visited. Each of the temples, mosques, shrines and even ashrams are equipped with amplified sound systems that often crackle and pop along with the prayers, sacred chants and songs that are played at high volume. At the mosques, the chanting of prayers begins at 5am and is repeated five times throughout the day. Add to this the Hindu and Jain temples that offer their own flavors of chants and prayers and you can understand how precious a moment of quiet sleep is to me. Along the streets leading to these places of worship are shops selling tapes, CDs and VCDs of the sacred music so that the devout can play them at home, at high volume, of course. While Moslem prayers are conducted according to a fixed schedule, we can't figure out the schedule associated with Hindu temples, and to us, it seems that the musical prayers can start at any time of day or night. The Sikhs are very solemn and serious about their prayers, and their sacred music is unsurpassed in the beauty of its sound, no matter what time it's played.

The amount of noise in any town, especially on and around major roads is overwhelming during the daytime. Drivers are constantly using their horns as turn signals and warnings for overtaking and passing, and the practice is widely encouraged as a form of communication between each other. There isn’t a moment in the day when all of these loud noises come to a halt. Large trucks and public buses have comically melodious but deafening horns, and many motorcycles have upgraded to those that are normally heard from full size cars.

Add to all that noise the celebrations of Diwali, where the firecrackers and fireworks began to blast everywhere in India just before the start of the festival and continued for several days after. The explosives, especially those detestable "Atom Bombs" echo far and wide through the night air.

You might think that when people are conversing close-by to people who are sleeping, that the speaker might lower his voice as not to wake them. In fact, it's quite the opposite, they raise their voice just to get through all of the other noises, and end up almost yelling to be heard.

Around 1AM, all these noises finally start to die down as most people begin to go to sleep and traffic becomes sparse. This is just about the time when the dogs come out to wander the empty streets looking for food or a fight. The barking, growling and howling begins to echo through the narrow streets, reaching the ears of other dogs, which answer the call with their own howls, and trigger a citywide dog barking chain reaction.

When we look for a room, many hotels lead us to their "rooms with a view", which usually means it faces a busy street and will offer all kinds of non-stop noises at night. To top it off, the minute I lay down to sleep my mind begins to spin with all kinds of unexpected thoughts and emotions. The train of thought leads to another and then yet another until a temple or mosque in the neighborhood begins their high-volume prayer broadcast.

Now that I've explained just how noisy this part of India is, there is one strange phenomenon that I find quite interesting. It seems that while my brain is preoccupied with all these loud noises, which results in a lack of sleep and fatigue, some small area of my brain registers the unknown sound as a new experience, and I think to myself "What the hell is this? I've never heard such a strange, unique, interesting sonic effect before. This must be India…" Then I let out a smile before I fall into a shallow, short sleep.

Heritage of The Mughals

We've driven all over Northwestern India in a white Ambassador, India's classic car. From Rishikesh to Agra and into Rajasthan we've seen evidence of the tremendous monuments left by the Mughal Empire during the 15th through 17th century. The most famous of these is the Taj Mahal in Agra, which some say is the most beautiful structure in the world. When I finally laid my eyes on the real thing, I, too, felt it one of the most beautiful buildings I have ever seen. Its cool white marble surface emits a solemn, peaceful energy.

The most photographed view of the Taj Mahal is from the front gates. From that position the geometric gardens, pools and fountains stretch towards the dominating mausoleum. Built by the Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan as a tomb for his beloved wife, Wumtaz Mahal, it sits like a meditating priestess, surrounded by four minarets at each corner. The name, Taj Mahal, fits the structure well. It means "Crown of the Palace".

We entered the grounds before sunrise and at this early hour the area was still quite. Only a few other tourists were visiting and we felt able to appreciate its beauty fully. Seeing the Taj in photos is one thing, but being up close, touching the intricate inlayed prayers and patterns with your finger, is a whole other level of appreciation.

The sacred Persian scripts, as well as the motifs of flowers and animals were all laid out using 28 gems and minerals gathered from all over India, China, Tibet and the Middle East. The primary material used in the structure is white Rajasthan marble, which has been so precisely cut and put together that not even the smallest insect could crawl inside.

In addition to the Taj, there are a number of old forts and palaces left behind by the Mughals in Rajasthan. Forts seem to be built on strategic desert hilltops and mountains, and are recognized for their historic and artistic significance. We visited the Amber (pronounced "Amer") Fort located outside Jaipur, Junagarh located in Bikaner, and Meherangarh in Jodhpur. Each one of these forts is huge, with outer walls typically soaring up to 100 meters. Inside, they all boast splendid palaces and residence. The layout is a maze of corridors and rooms.

Each fort and palace comes with its own presentation. The most enjoyable to us was Meherangarh in Jodhpur, which provides a well-documented audio tour. The fort is still managed and operated by the local Maharaja himself. Rajasthani style decorations are a common feature in these Forts. Stone, mud, ash, minerals, glass and mirrors are used to create geometric patterns and motifs of flowers and animals. They are a fusion of exotic India and Persian cultures with local customs suitable to the land.

The Mughals left behind these monuments with stunning beauties and endearing stories. They show not only their artistic and often-poetic sensibilities, incredible mathematical and architectural skills, but also their capacity to combine all of these to express themselves. While these may not necessarily represent the current Muslim cultures, the Mughals' heritage provides a hint for understanding them through their past.

The Night of Atom Bomb

India celebrated Diwali, the most important festival of the year, during the week of November 12th. Also known as "The Festival of Light", Diwali is much like Christmas, New Years, and Thanksgiving all rolled into one. At the heart of the festival is the family, and those who work or study away from home try their best to return for the celebrations. Our driver, Yadov, was no exception, so we took advantage of the opportunity and drove to his hometown of Tijara to spent a few days celebrating with his family.

There are all kinds of fireworks and firecrackers available for Diwali, in fact, it seems to be a necessary ingredient for the celebrations. A few days before the festival, in Agra and again in Jaipur, we would hear their explosions in the evening, and see the sky light up. There didn't seem to be any restrictions on the sale or purchase of these explosives and many street stalls sprang up in the days before the festival.

There is one particular firecracker, called the Atom Bomb, that produces such explosive power and deafening sound, it's hard to grasp that it is sold casually on the street corner. The cover of the box, which holds a dozen of these nasty objects, has an illustration of a man screaming in horror after the explosion. Outside Yadov’s house, guys in their twenties gathered and were having a blast lighting them off. The air around the neighbor shook with every burst. Combined with all the other sounds of firecrackers and fireworks throughout the town, the night of Diwali sounded like a war was raging outside the window.

I happened to walk close by to one of these explosions and its power whipped my clothes and hair and caused my ears to ring for two days afterwards. One of the guys said, laughing, “It’s an ‘Atom Bomb’. Great, huh? BOOOOM! Just like Hiroshima and Nagasaki.” He didn't know I was Japanese and his intention wasn't to insult me, rather, he was just engulfed in the pure joy of setting off these "crackers" in celebration of Diwali.

For them, it was just a fun thing to do for the festival, but as a Japanese, I guess I reflected on it much differently and wasn't enjoying these "Atom Bombs" very much. The idea of marketing anything under this name just didn't sit well with me, though Indians always say, "Anything is possible in India". It's just that the young mans indifferent attitude to the two cities destroyed by real atom bombs was disconcerting.

While the festival of lights in this small Indian town allowed us to peek into the life of an Indian family during their most important festival, I found myself reflecting on the state of the world and what would become of. As explosions of "Atom Bombs" continued late into the night, my mind kept churning until I finally fell asleep just before dawn.

Mother Ganga

The Ganjes River, or Ganga as its called here, is considered to be the mother of India, a sacred river and the source of all beings. In the northwestern state of Uttaranchal, this holy river leaves its Himalayan home and travels downstream to enter the flat plains below. The river exits the foothills of the mighty mountains in the pilgrimage centers of Rishikesh and Haridwar.

Rishikesh is the more northern of the two centers. The river is surrounded by hills on three sides and the water runs crystal clear and cold. The town itself became famous in the West after the Beatles (especially George Harrison) made a pilgrimage here to visit their guru, the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. Today, in addition to Hindu worship, it is well know as a yoga and meditation center. While it is still hot in Northwest India in November, Rishikesh can be cold as a strong wind blows down the tree-lined valley each evening.

Haridwar, a small and comparatively quiet town, is located at the point where the Ganges emerges from the Himalayas into the vast flat lands of northwest India. It is considered to be one of the most sacred cities in all of India and pilgrims visit all year to bathe in the holy river. The water runs clear and cold down from the Rishikesh valley and is much more hygientically friendly than other sacred spots such as Veranasi. At the Har-ki Pairi, the precise spot where the Ganges is said to leave the Himilaya and enter the plains, it is believed that the river has intense power to wash away all sin. It is here on the bathing ghats that people enter the water and pray to their favorite gods.

In addition to the frenetic religious activity happening all around, other people are going about their daily activities that require the use of water, such as washing clothes, brushing teeth and collecting water for cooking. Many of the activities we associate with inside the home in the West all happen here in public, under the sun. On the banks of the Ganges, worship and daily life are intertwined and all occur simultaneously. Such sights are amazing and mysterious, as well as full of humor and drama. Reflecting on this, it might be said that that daily live in all cultures is amazing when everything is exposed to the public at the same time.

At both Rishikesh and Hardiwar priests and pilgrims make offerings of flowers, candles and incense to the sacred river at sunset in a ceremony called "ganga aarti". The river takes on a magical glow of faint candlelight while the smell of incense wafts through the air and the sounds of bells, prayers, and music is heard along its banks. We looked upon this sight speechlessly while observing the rituals and absorbing the calm and peaceful energy.

We remembered a traveler whom we met in Kunming, China, who said "Whenever I go to India, I can skip a visit to Veranasi but I cannot skip going back to Rishikesh." After visiting this special place, we could understand what he was referring to. One afternoon we crossed a suspension bridge and passed several ashrams as we walked upstream. We found several isolated stretches of sandy beaches along the riverbank where the Ganges flows wide and clean with slow currents and fast moving rapids. It is deep and cold, and its currents can make it dangerous, but the water is full of a powerful energy that we couldn't resist. After some time we found a safe spot to enter her, and fully submerged our bodies in her cleansing waters. Others came and went around us as we rested on her shores, enjoying her inviting waters, attractive views of mountains, and the feeling of her sacred spirit.

Golden Dawn

At dawn, the sun shines its heavenly light on the Golden Temple, the holiest of shrines in the Sikh religion. The temple is located in the city of Amritsar in the Indian state of Punjab. With 18 million followers of the faith in India, and many more around the world, Punjab is the center of Sikh religion and culture. Everyone is required to cover their head with cloth and wash their hands and feet before entering the holy structure. Shoes, tobacco and leather must be left outside the gate.

We approached the gate of the temple before sunrise. The cool morning air was filled with the gentle sounds of sacred chanting accompanied by Indian percussions. Our feet fell upon the marble floor underneath us, still cool from the passing night. The first sight to grace our eyes is the golden Hari Mandir Sahib, the two-storey temple in the center of the sacred pool called Amrit Sarovar or "pool of nectar". The Golden Temple appeared to be floating within it, projecting its magnificent reflection onto the waters surface. Worshippers kneel at first sight of the temple, in which Sikh's holy scripture called Guru Granth Sahib is enshrined.

After entering and the initial worship, visitors walk clock-wise around the pool along the Parkarma, the marble walkway surrounding the water. Men and women bathe in the ghats at the waters edge, offering their prayers and cleansing their bodies with the sacred water. When they are finished bathing they have a fulfilled look about them. People find peace in their own ways, such as sitting by the side of the pool meditating or quietly conversing in small groups in the shade. The chanting of the Holy Scripture, accompanied by harmonies and tabla drums are always in the background, echoing softly in everybody's ears.

As the morning sunshine broke through the city's dusty air and into the quietness of the shrine the marble structures turned hues of yellow, orange and pink, bringing with it a livelier atmosphere. The golden building stood firmly at the center with its overwhelming presence, and never fell out of our view. Young men were dressed in the latest hip-hop fashion while women wore the traditional saree. A westerner stood at his easel painting the glorious view of the Golden Temple filled with gorgeous light and color.

Actually, only the dome on Hari Mandir's roof is made of gold with the rest made from brass. The Arabic design and delicate details on its sides become visible upon approach from Guru's Bridge. Inside the temple are four high priests who continuously read from the sacred text and bless the visitors, along with a set of musicians who perform the music. Sikhs sit down on the floor, absorbedly listening and praying.

Sikhism was founded in the late 15th century and began as a reaction against the caste system and Brahmin domination of ritual. It was aimed at blending the best of Islam and Hinduism together. Sikhs believe in one god and reject the worship of idols. This temple does not have idols of gods for that reason, but instead displays pictures of the 10 Sikh gurus.

The sacred feeling of the temple is heightened by the fact that it's perpetually being cleaned and that the all structures, aside from the Hari Mandir, are made from white marble. The quiet energy of the temple is in great contrast with the chaotic streets outside its gate, filled with many people and much traffic moving about in a fog of dust. One could easily choose to spend an entire day within its walls absorbing the peace and solitude that the temple offers.

Life on the Lake

Kashmir, the "Crown of India, is a place filled with proud culture and natural wonders. Unfortunately, it has been the stage for many military conflicts between India and Pakistan since partition separated her in half in 1947. Her beauty and her strategic position remind us of a tragic heroine.

Looking over the map of India, our eyes would travel northwards, and our hearts would dream of visiting this much talked about land. It seemed like an impossible journey, as all the resources we consulted said it was too dangerous to risk traveling so close to the Line of Control with Pakistan. We surprised even ourselves when we jumped on the opportunity to visit Kashmir, and began the two-day drive shortly after arriving in India.

Srinagar is the summer capital of Jammu and Kashmir, and we arrived on a sun filled crisp autumn afternoon. Our final destination was a houseboat on Dal Lake. There are about 2,500 houseboats on Dal Lake and many offer accommodations to travelers. Each houseboat for rent is rated by the local Houseboat Association for to its facilities and services and is priced accordingly. The houseboat we booked, the H.B. Mantana, is a well kept fully appointed property featuring formal dining and living rooms, three large bedrooms each with their own bathroom, and a service kitchen for the butler.

All of the houseboats on the lake have their own unique name. Some of them are nicely descriptive, while others are rather standard, and a handful are just plain silly. "Crown of India" and "Heaven of Kashmir" are examples of descriptive names, while "Sunflower" and "Morning Glory" are rather standard. There are also many named after famous places around the world, such as "Buckingham Palace", "New Australia" and "New Sydney". There are names that seem out of place, like, "Hollywood", "Chicago", "Bangkok" and "Manila". There is even one called "Texas". Some owners with multiple boats located next to each other have names that can be pretty funny. There is "Mona Lisa" and "Young Mona Lisa", and "Dawn", "New Dawn", "Happy Dawn" and "Lucky Dawn". How about "Apollo Eight" and "Neil Armstrong"? The naming reminds me of love hotels in Japan.

Dal Lake is fairly shallow with a surface smooth as a mirror in many places. The Himalayas reflect their high peaks down onto the glassy waters, interrupted only by tracts of lotus and water lily leaves that float on the surface. Crops of tomato, melon, eggplant, radish, turnip and cucumbers grow on small floating gardens scattered around the lake.

The lake is a magical place with soft light bouncing off the water. When the sun rises after a cold night, a wispy mist rises from the surface of the lake and frosty grass along its bank, creating a mysterious atmosphere. While summer is the high season, we loved the quiet of autumn on Dal Lake. Our experience living on the houseboat was indeed a unique and rare occasion. With the recent stability of the Srinagar valley we can't help but recommend a visit to this jewel in Northwest India. The people of Kashmir are waiting for you with open arms.

To India

"Delhi is a horrible place." That's what many travelers have told us. Our date of departure was approaching and we were getting nervous. However, after arriving in Delhi, and seeing the city first hand, it's not as horrible as our minds imagined. While it is definitely true that this city is different from any places we have been to, the differences are not completely negative.

From an Internet café in Bangkok we booked a guesthouse in Connaught Place for the first few days in Delhi. The guesthouse arranged transportation from the airport, making our early morning arrival as smooth as possible. The guesthouse itself was another not-so-great guidebook recommendation. It was located in a building occupied by several other businesses. The room was like a prison cell, a tiny 8' x 12' space completely tiled in white from floor to ceiling, and without a window. The attached bathroom was hardly functioning. We checked out the next morning to better accommodations.

The first day was spent exploring the area called Connaught Place, a well-known shopping district, laid out around several ring roads. Many people approach us on the streets, mostly vendors selling Rajistani crafts, sweets and other items for sale. To our surprise, a simple but polite "no thanks" was all that was needed to escape these hustlers. Panhandlers were the same, and so were the stylish young men who wanted to introduce us to "reliable travel agencies." The hassle of fending off touts seemed surprisingly less than in Mongolia or China, where an arm might be grabbed to keep us from leaving.

As far as food goes, we continue to stick by our tried and true standards used in China. That is, to find relatively clean, brightly lit places that fit our budget and where many other people are enjoying a meal. It was not difficult to find places that fit these criteria in both Connaught Place, and Paharganj, where our second hotel was located. The many Indian restaurants and Chat Cafés located in Silicon Valley prepared us well for diving into the real deal here in Delhi.

We had to ask ourselves, "Had we arrived directly from Northern California, without first experiencing Mongolia or China, would Delhi be totally overwhelming, would our first impression be different?" Perhaps.

India has much to offer and deeper experiences to explore. We expect that our eyes will pop and our jaws will drop in the coming months. Just walking around the old town markets around Red Fort has set the stage for what's to come. Delhi is the starting point for a three-month adventure in India.