another cliché
travel blog

##the day Don’t remember. Will try to unforget.

##the dance So much god damn fun!

Invitation said things started at 8, but we arrived at 8:30 and were some of the first guests. So, we got a drink, a bit of food, half ass practiced once, then talked with people. Met Samir, who lives in Carmel valley with his wife Jen, and Twins Connor and….trouble.

The dance went off amazingly. We totally messed up, but it was soooo much fun. Everyone had a great time. Embarrassed the hell out of Natasha.

One of the dances was by four women, I think all aunts of some sort, that Natasha choreographed. I was told it was “very Punjabi” and was basically just talking shit about nNatasha’s mother in law. Which is hilarious, because I understand they have a great relationship.

At some point during the evening, the banquet hal opened up and started serving enough food for twice the number of guests. I didn’t realize it at the time, but that trend would continue through the end of the weekend.

From there, we danced and drank until two am, after the DJ shut down for the third time, but this time for real because security came in and made it clear this needed to stop. So we sat around eating and bullshitting till three thirty, and I caught a ride back to the hotel and promptly passed out.

Work in the morning, dance practice mid day, then a subway ride out to Lodi Gardens.

Couples everywhere.

Then, almond bread pudding, a “Cunning Stunt” (champagne, whiskey, vodka, and mediocrity). I’m guessing the place was run by Brits who think they have a sense of humor.

Lots of western music, including numerous covers. I was amused.

Fell into the rhythm, slow mornings, then an outing in the afternoon/evening. Today, I hung out by the pool and worked, then around two, we took the subway out to greater Kailash and went shopping. The metro station was about two miles from the shopping district, so we took an auto rickshaw (tutu I if we were in Thailand) after walking through AIIMS (All India Instutitue of Medical Science) which is near I.I.T.

After shopping, we grabbed some food at a bar called Laidback (stylized with the first ‘a’ on it’s spine), then took the metro back to our hotel. Everyone was passed out by 10.

Grabbed breakfast in the morning and ran into Nancy in the lobby. We got her statues, then got food.

Bethany and I worked till almost 5, then we grabbed an Uber out to Haus Kanz, a cute little district.

Around 8, Bethany, Andy, and Nancy headed back to the hotel via metro, and I stayed and did s bit more window shopping. Ended up grabbing a kingfisher in a bar called Maquina, which was all done up to look like the cabin of an airship. There was some live music, but all told it wasn’t enough to justify the Rs. 500 for the kingfisher. Oh well.

Caught an Uber back to the hotel and passed out.

Getting there

We got breakfast at the hotel, then got into the car Andy had arranged to take us to the Taj Mahal. I was expecting traffic to be crazy, but not like this. Wishing five minutes of starting out, we almost got hit by a bus. And that was no big deal. People park on the highway. There was even someone driving the wrong way down the highway like its no big deal.

At traffic lights, near the slums kids peddling shiny trinkets like balloons on sticks surrounded the car and tapped on the glass trying to get out attention. Once they started kicking the car, our driver popped the locks, opened the door and yelled at them to back off. Honestly, I can’t even process such complete poverty.

After we made it out of Delhi, it was just farms for miles. It’s amazing how, even across the world, things look familiar. The green belt between Delhi and Agra looks exactly the same as the green belt between Sebastopol and Santa Rose. Large green areas with an occasional lone tree.

Agra

The city of Agra itself, our driver told us, is extremely old.

Up at 7:30 after a decent night’s rest (guests entering a leaving s bar aren’t known for being quiet, and(at one point Bethany exclaimed “I don’t want to be half a house in Copenhagen!”) we grabbed breakfast at a cafe (prosciutto, Brie, and arugula panini for me, croissant, muslie with yogurt, cheese, and seeded bread for Bethany) and coffee before meandering back to Zurich Main Station to take the train back to the airport.

Bethany got the standard harassment about her visa at the gate, but it ended up working out.

Once we landed in Delhi, it was dead simple getting through immigration. The immigration officer didn’t even question Bethany’s visa. So, glad everyone else had been so thorough up to this point.

We collected our bags and made it the hotel, where were promptly made it to our rooms. I ordered s glass of wine, set out my things, then talked with Amy via WhatsApp till nearly 4:30, when I finally started feeling tired and passed out.

After landing, we took the train from the airport to Zurich Main Station. From there we wondered for a bit, awed by Zurich’s quaintness. Tiny little alleyways hidden until you’ve all but passed them that open up to courtyards with fountains. We found our Airbnb, a room above a bar that specializes in traditional Swiss music originally built in 1294, dropped our stuff, and went hunting for dinner.

Along the way, we did some window shopping (watches everywhere, because Switzerland), and ended up at what seemed to us a very Swiss place. One weinerschnitzel and jaegersnitzel later, we left to wander more.

Though most chocolate shops had closed up for the evening, we found one that had live music and picked up half a dozen bonbons each. Though the clerk’s English was quite good, his descriptions of each bonbon were flat out wrong. “That one? That’s a caramel.” Nope, truffle. “This one? It is a truffle” ok? Nope, filled with kirsch. The strangest description though was “this one is filled with….you know apricot? The nut from an apricot.” Definitely just hazelnut. So eating them was a bit of a landmine, unexpected flavor caused surprise.

Post chocolate, we practiced the choreography for Natasha’s wedding, then around midnight we passed out completely undisturbed by the enthusiastic accordion player and the stomping, whistling, dancing patrons downstairs.

Starting something always seems like the hardest part. Once things are in motion, the easy thing to do is to continue. You have s goal, you’ve started working towards it, any obstacles that crop up are just part of getting the job done. But starting, taking that sometimes literal first step is always more difficult than it has any right to be.

Today, I left the house like I pretty much always do, bag on my back and a place to be. But knowing wasn’t going to return for another three weeks totally changed the feel of it.

Made it to the airport just fine, no rush or last minute “oh shits!”. Bethany ended up being right in front of me at the ticketing desk. While I was being processed, I could see that the ticketing agents were running into issues. While my very official looking piece of paper passed muster, it appeared that Bethany’s did not. Evidently the typed out email she received from the kind folks at the Indian Consulate didn’t contain the word “granted” in it, which was cause for concern. After threatening that they couldn’t let her on the flight without her visa, they pointed us towards a travel agency, which turned out to be a tiny little shop that sells travel size cosmetics and rents out computer use at absurd prices. Luckily, Bethany was able to call the appropriate office in India and get them to write out an email with the word “granted” in it and print it out.

Real secure, guys. Bang up job.

We got through security just find (with only a little extra scrutiny of my passport because I look real suspicious ) grabbed out last Mexican food for the next three weeks, a Sierra Nevada, and got on our plane bound for Zurich.

Seriously. On the one hand, they’re a great place to start. I know next to nothing about India, and after spending some time with google and getting an idea of what I’m looking for, I immediately reach for a travel guide. And then hate it because I’m sorry, Tibetan Buddhism isn’t a place on any map.

How the hell do you capture any place in a book? Even calling it ‘a place’ isn’t right. San Francisco now is totally different than Yerba Buena was then. It’s the people, the practice, life that makes it what it is.

Is ferry thing is becoming a bit of a tradition. Part of it is its convenience, but I also just like the view.

Four days.