(From February 8)
Wow. What. A. Weekend. From a moronic taxi driver, to a Wonder of the World, to watching trash burn in the streets, our whirlwind foray into Agra and Delhi took my breath away.
From school on Friday, our group of seven scurried to dinner then drove directly to the airport for our 9:55 PM flight. Because it’s me, duh, there was drama in actually getting on the plane, including being escorted out of the airport by a security person in order to withdraw money from an ATM to then re-buy my ticket because my identity was apparently unclear enough to trust my credit card. (Despite having my passport, license, and an alternate form of payment.) I also lost my security tag to get on the plane and had to sprint back down to the X-ray machines, where the guard suspected me of having a LIGHTER in my bag when it was literally a padlock to secure my bags (don’t know how those look the same in an X-ray???), but the only casualty was my nice water bottle, and we landed in Delhi safely and soundly at about 11:40 PM.
Fun fact: Delhi is the most polluted and most dense city in the entire world—it legit smelled like sulfur outside.
We quickly clambered into a taxi to drive to our Airbnb (a service that rents out apartments to travelers for short trips), but plot twist, our driver literally had zero idea where we were going and literally drove in circles for about an hour while Sally berated him with English epithets, which he obviously couldn’t understand. I am usually quite generous in my allowances for mistakes and lack of knowledge, but this guy literally talked to our host four or five times, in his own language, and still had to hand the phone (which was Sally’s, by the way) to random individuals on the street at 1 AM (most likely drug dealers, it’s fine).
But we FINALLY arrived at our super lush, very comfortable apartment with our attentive, (perhaps over-)eager host, who welcomed us to the city and slightly exposed his party-hard side, which would greatly evidence itself in less than twenty-four hours.
Four hours later, we woke up, sloughing out into the cold (it is winter, after all) around 6 AM to ride three hours to Agra. Despite all of the exhaustion, discomfort and stress of travelling, Saturday’s activities were absolutely, one hundred percent magical. We all agreed that travelling to Delhi and Agra was the best decision we’ve made during our entire experience thus far.
Here’s why.
Upon arrival to Agra, we visited the Baby Taj, a smaller mausoleum that ended up influencing the Taj Mahal itself. Because we arrived rather early in the day, we were greeted with much-appreciated solitude. The quiet and peace of the morning allowed us to frolic on the grounds and marvel at the mind-defying intricacy of the marble inlay on the surface of the tomb. Basically the stunning inlay is the result of delicately carving out gouges in the white marble stone and seamlessly filling them with gorgeous stones and gems in the forms of flowers, vines, and geometric shapes. The perfect fit of the stone into the marble creates an effect by which the carvings actually look like paintings, because you can’t see any of the cracks! It’s only when you put your face right up to the marble, or by chance catch a glimpse of a hole out of which one of the stones has fallen, that you realize the shocking amount of work, skill, and artistry that were necessary to build the Baby Taj.
I also enjoyed the Baby Taj, because it was actually a tomb built by a daughter for her parents because of how much she loved them. And, because she loved them equally, she flouted the tradition of building the man’s coffin larger than the woman’s and had her mother’s and father’s coffins constructed in equal size.
#girlpower, dude.
From the Baby Taj, we went to one of the seven most wondrous sights on the planet, one of the most romantic expressions of love in history, and the location of my next profile picture: the one and only Taj Mahal.
This is the third Wonder of the World that I have ever seen, and for the third time, I found that these wonders truly live up to their title. Sometimes, when you see a monument or place of which you’ve already seen multiple pictures, your stomach sinks a little as the guilty inquiry flashes through your mind, “that’s it?”
The Taj chased any doubts of magnificence from my mind. Gleaming in the sun, towering with multiple domes and minarets, imperial and unapologetically majestic, the Taj took my breath away. I’ve found that one of the most appealing features for me is symmetry; I love buildings whose sides mirror each other. The Taj is infinitely symmetrical; it’s a cube and can be split any which way. I fell in love with the Taj and its story before even stepping foot inside.
Then, we crossed the doorway—I couldn’t believe it: the inside was just as magnificent as the outside!!!!! The walls, coffins, and floor were covered in the marble inlay, and our guide bribed the officers to shine a flashlight onto the gorgeous gemstones so that we could see their illuminated colors under the beam of light. Imagine having a thin handkerchief or piece of red paper—it might seem dull until you put it against a lamp to see the light shine through the color. It’s difficult to describe—but it took my breath away.
After three hours (!!!) at the Taj, we moved on to a scrumptious lunch of Indian food (surprise, surprise). Each region in India, though, has its own distinct flavor, so we enjoyed the difference in taste from our homestay meals. It’s like comparing Californian Mexican food to Southern comfort food—totally different!
We finished the day at Agra Fort, a stunning World Heritage site that reminded me of Petra in Jordan because of its rusty red stones. Inside the fort were more marble structures and intricate stone carving. The king who built the Taj Mahal for the perished love of his life was imprisoned in this fort by his son, who enacted a coup and assumed the throne. The king, however, was lucky in that from his windows in his home arrest he could still see the Taj Mahal shimmering in the distance. He’d look out onto his wife’s grave every single day to remember his love for her.
For some reason, this expression of love propelled me to open up to my friends about my bizarre, absurd love life, and they were doubled over, about to pee their pants laughing at my recounts of bewilderment and boys. Pretty sure that some of the Indian tourists also overheard; I got even weirder looks that usual.
Regales of such stories kept us occupied along the three-hour ride back to our apartment. Upon our return, the rest of my crew primped in order to join our host out on the town in Delhi, but my regimen of antibiotics and resurgence of unwillingness to be trapped in crowded, dark places with lots of people and noise motivated me to tap out of the merriment. Our host, though, was determined that I have a good time.
Actual conversation:
Him: “Don’t worry, you can still have coke when you’re on antibiotics.”
Me, spotting the Coca Cola bottle on the counter: “No it’s fine, I have water!!!”
*Cue everybody laughing at me*
Him: “I wasn’t talking about that kind of coke.”
Me: “Oh…. Yeah water is still fine.”
End scene.
Imagine my relief at remaining in the comfy, calm, quiet apartment and my relaxed mood when everyone left.
WRONG.
You may remember from my few days alone in my Israeli home, but I am a terribly anxious, morbid individual. As soon as the great departure took place, I felt my heart speed up and jump into my throat as I imagined the murderers lurking right outside my door. I locked myself in my bedroom, feeling slightly safer. UNTIL. SOMEONE/SOMETHING (A GHOST???) BANGED AND I MEAN BANGED ON MY DOOR. Did I imagine it?!?!?! Had it happened? I looked at the shaking door and swinging key that stayed in the lock and just about peed my pants.
“Okay,” I thought rationally, “people (or ghosts) are here. They’re gonna steal everyone’s belongings. That should only take like twenty minutes. I’ll just hide out in the bathroom.”
I LITERALLY LOCKED MYSELF IN MY BATHROOM IN MY LOCKED BEDROOM to protect myself from the malicious intruders (or ghosts). Brought my book in and sat on the ground and held my breath so that they wouldn’t hear me.
After twenty minutes—an appropriate length of time to nag some passports and a camera or two—I tiptoed to my bedroom door and listened for the murmurs of satisfied thieves. I tried to ever so slowly creep the door open, but it squeaked louder than I could have imagined, and I figured that if I was gonna die, I might as well just get it over with quickly. I padded into the living room…. And promptly noticed that laptops remained on tables and valuables were untouched. Turns out my bedroom door’s lock has to take a few minutes to settle into its latch, so the thud had been the heavy door falling into place. I was safe.
I rejoiced for a few minutes, then returned to my bedroom… And relocked the door.
I woke up a few times throughout the night as friends returned from their revelry and felt well-rested for our Delhi tour on Sunday.
The tour started slowly, hesitantly; our guide rubbed us the wrong way initially and we were nervous that the misty rain falling would poison our skin due to the clogging pollution that it entrapped in its droplets. When we anxiously asked our guide whether the water would hurt our skin, he looked at us somberly and responded, “I really can’t say.”
Awesome.
But the sky ended up clearing by the time we arrived at our first few sites, thank goodness! We first stopped at India Gate, a British monument for the Indian soldiers that fought in World War I. We also had the opportunity to watch the changing of the guard at the Indian Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. You may not know this, but the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier (regardless of nationality) is one of my favorite traditions in military history. I find it incredibly honorable and respectful, a symbol that regardless of whether or not history forgets your deeds, your accomplishments or even your name, your country will never your sacrifice. It gives me the chills!
Sidenote, I’m super intrigued and interested in American military relations and history. Stemming from a deep-seated respect for service members and for the ideals of the country that they vow to protect, I have found myself dedicating myself more and more to the civilian side of military affairs. From my attendance at a conference at West Point Academy, to an involved paper on the relationship between Boston and the Army, I have and hope to continue to connect myself to the missions of the American military.
But back to India, and to our steadily-improving Delhi tour. From the Tomb we travelled to a Sikh temple on the site at which an important Sikh martyr was murdered many centuries ago. Not only was I wowed by the stunning and luxe interior of the temple, but I also admired the communal atmosphere of the nearby kitchen and eating area in which Sikhs could receive meals for only a donation. We got to walk around the kitchen and even help prepare some bread!
We stopped by at a souvenir shop after the temple (from the spiritual to the worldly in a hot minute), and I picked up more fab presents for the fam.
We drove through the disgustingly trashy streets of Delhi; literal piles of waste were accumulating in the street because the waste workers are on strike. Some people had even started burning the trash in the middle of the street, and a sickeningly acrid stench wafted through the air. It actually made me miss Ahmedabad—which is only the fourth most polluted city in the world. (Upon our arrival, a guest lecturer advised us “not to breathe” for the entire month we were here—awesome, yah, thanks a ton.)
We were relieved to finally arrive at Humayan’s Tomb, another inspiration for the Taj Mahal. Built with rusty-red sandstone and milky marble, the tomb holds 136 bodies. WOW! It looked and felt much more earthy and natural than the heavenly Taj, which actually made me feel comfortable and intrigued as opposed to overwhelmingly awestruck (but still amazed at the construction!). We all really enjoyed exploring the tomb, and the nearby mausoleum for some high-ranking officers. Its stony exterior and influence from Hindu temples reminded me of an Indiana Jones temple, and I finally got some other people to agree with me! It looked like it belonged in a jungle, and I felt like I should have had to whack my way through miles of vines and trees, batting monkeys and leopards to stumble upon it. Instead, I’d just ridden in a rickshaw with a scarf over my face to protect me from the smog and the incessant pictures taken by random people of the first white person they’d ever seen.
After the tomb, we drove to lunch (Italian—woah!) then arrived at our final site of the trip: Qutb Minar. The gigantic victory pillar soared hundreds of meters in the air and commemorated the Muslim victory over Delhi two thousand years ago. In the complex, there were also mosques built from stones and pieces of Hindu and Jain temples from the area. The conglomeration of the three religious architectural styles was fascinating, and I marveled at its alluring appearance.
I actually took a year-long art history class in high school, and the only monument I have recognized on this entire trip is the Taj Mahal. Isn’t that absurd? It made me realize how Western-centric my learning has been thus far, and it made me very thankful that I’ve been given the opportunity to travel to places and to world-renowned sites of which I may not have otherwise learned! Plus, it’s actually kind of cool to see things for the first time without the spoiler of having seen pictures beforehand. It adds to my awe!
After the tour of the Qutb Minar complex, our van drove us to the airport, where Sally and I lounged for FIVE HOURS because of our later flight. We boarded around 9:50 PM and embarrassingly endured more photographs IN THE PLANE by these creepy old men. Our sassy friend Eli actually got out of her seat, several rows behind us, and strode up to the creeps to tell them off. I later flipped out on them (and may or may not have flipped them off) when they continued to take pictures of Sally while she was sleeping. GROSS! Another man attempted to explain to me that we were the first white people they’d ever seen—but in my opinion, that does not excuse the rudeness and inhumanity of treating other people like digestible spectacles that can be ogled at and photographed without permission.
Being in a place so different from home, and from any other place I’ve been, for such an extended period of time has forced me to question my definition of morals and politeness and acceptability. At what point do we draw the line between cultural difference and downright rude ignorance? Is it at a not-so sneaky photo taken of teenage girls by middle-aged men? Is it at the derogatory remarks made about a member of a different race or religion? Or, do we simply shrug and refuse to decide whether there are certain rules of respect and humanity that must transverse cultural divides? I haven’t decided yet. Let me know if you do.
We ignored the numerous aggressive rickshaw drivers crowding us at the airport attempting to attract our patronage and chose the quiet old man wrapped in a blanket on principle. We finally got home at 1 AM, did our homework until 2 AM, and passed tf out.
I have many more stories to tell from today (including the tragic mistake of mixing up vegetables, Discovery Channel-induced tears, and cross-linguistic connections), but they will have to wait for another day, because I am EXHAUSTED and I’m sure you’re tired of reading by now.
Thanks for sticking with me through such a LONG post. It’s been one of the most exciting and wonderful weekends of my life.
Until next time,
Traveller Aubs
Wow. What. A. Weekend. From a moronic taxi driver, to a Wonder of the World, to watching trash burn in the streets, our whirlwind foray into Agra and Delhi took my breath away.
From school on Friday, our group of seven scurried to dinner then drove directly to the airport for our 9:55 PM flight. Because it’s me, duh, there was drama in actually getting on the plane, including being escorted out of the airport by a security person in order to withdraw money from an ATM to then re-buy my ticket because my identity was apparently unclear enough to trust my credit card. (Despite having my passport, license, and an alternate form of payment.) I also lost my security tag to get on the plane and had to sprint back down to the X-ray machines, where the guard suspected me of having a LIGHTER in my bag when it was literally a padlock to secure my bags (don’t know how those look the same in an X-ray???), but the only casualty was my nice water bottle, and we landed in Delhi safely and soundly at about 11:40 PM.
Fun fact: Delhi is the most polluted and most dense city in the entire world—it legit smelled like sulfur outside.
We quickly clambered into a taxi to drive to our Airbnb (a service that rents out apartments to travelers for short trips), but plot twist, our driver literally had zero idea where we were going and literally drove in circles for about an hour while Sally berated him with English epithets, which he obviously couldn’t understand. I am usually quite generous in my allowances for mistakes and lack of knowledge, but this guy literally talked to our host four or five times, in his own language, and still had to hand the phone (which was Sally’s, by the way) to random individuals on the street at 1 AM (most likely drug dealers, it’s fine).
But we FINALLY arrived at our super lush, very comfortable apartment with our attentive, (perhaps over-)eager host, who welcomed us to the city and slightly exposed his party-hard side, which would greatly evidence itself in less than twenty-four hours.
Four hours later, we woke up, sloughing out into the cold (it is winter, after all) around 6 AM to ride three hours to Agra. Despite all of the exhaustion, discomfort and stress of travelling, Saturday’s activities were absolutely, one hundred percent magical. We all agreed that travelling to Delhi and Agra was the best decision we’ve made during our entire experience thus far.
Here’s why.
Upon arrival to Agra, we visited the Baby Taj, a smaller mausoleum that ended up influencing the Taj Mahal itself. Because we arrived rather early in the day, we were greeted with much-appreciated solitude. The quiet and peace of the morning allowed us to frolic on the grounds and marvel at the mind-defying intricacy of the marble inlay on the surface of the tomb. Basically the stunning inlay is the result of delicately carving out gouges in the white marble stone and seamlessly filling them with gorgeous stones and gems in the forms of flowers, vines, and geometric shapes. The perfect fit of the stone into the marble creates an effect by which the carvings actually look like paintings, because you can’t see any of the cracks! It’s only when you put your face right up to the marble, or by chance catch a glimpse of a hole out of which one of the stones has fallen, that you realize the shocking amount of work, skill, and artistry that were necessary to build the Baby Taj.
I also enjoyed the Baby Taj, because it was actually a tomb built by a daughter for her parents because of how much she loved them. And, because she loved them equally, she flouted the tradition of building the man’s coffin larger than the woman’s and had her mother’s and father’s coffins constructed in equal size.
#girlpower, dude.
From the Baby Taj, we went to one of the seven most wondrous sights on the planet, one of the most romantic expressions of love in history, and the location of my next profile picture: the one and only Taj Mahal.
This is the third Wonder of the World that I have ever seen, and for the third time, I found that these wonders truly live up to their title. Sometimes, when you see a monument or place of which you’ve already seen multiple pictures, your stomach sinks a little as the guilty inquiry flashes through your mind, “that’s it?”
The Taj chased any doubts of magnificence from my mind. Gleaming in the sun, towering with multiple domes and minarets, imperial and unapologetically majestic, the Taj took my breath away. I’ve found that one of the most appealing features for me is symmetry; I love buildings whose sides mirror each other. The Taj is infinitely symmetrical; it’s a cube and can be split any which way. I fell in love with the Taj and its story before even stepping foot inside.
Then, we crossed the doorway—I couldn’t believe it: the inside was just as magnificent as the outside!!!!! The walls, coffins, and floor were covered in the marble inlay, and our guide bribed the officers to shine a flashlight onto the gorgeous gemstones so that we could see their illuminated colors under the beam of light. Imagine having a thin handkerchief or piece of red paper—it might seem dull until you put it against a lamp to see the light shine through the color. It’s difficult to describe—but it took my breath away.
After three hours (!!!) at the Taj, we moved on to a scrumptious lunch of Indian food (surprise, surprise). Each region in India, though, has its own distinct flavor, so we enjoyed the difference in taste from our homestay meals. It’s like comparing Californian Mexican food to Southern comfort food—totally different!
We finished the day at Agra Fort, a stunning World Heritage site that reminded me of Petra in Jordan because of its rusty red stones. Inside the fort were more marble structures and intricate stone carving. The king who built the Taj Mahal for the perished love of his life was imprisoned in this fort by his son, who enacted a coup and assumed the throne. The king, however, was lucky in that from his windows in his home arrest he could still see the Taj Mahal shimmering in the distance. He’d look out onto his wife’s grave every single day to remember his love for her.
For some reason, this expression of love propelled me to open up to my friends about my bizarre, absurd love life, and they were doubled over, about to pee their pants laughing at my recounts of bewilderment and boys. Pretty sure that some of the Indian tourists also overheard; I got even weirder looks that usual.
Regales of such stories kept us occupied along the three-hour ride back to our apartment. Upon our return, the rest of my crew primped in order to join our host out on the town in Delhi, but my regimen of antibiotics and resurgence of unwillingness to be trapped in crowded, dark places with lots of people and noise motivated me to tap out of the merriment. Our host, though, was determined that I have a good time.
Actual conversation:
Him: “Don’t worry, you can still have coke when you’re on antibiotics.”
Me, spotting the Coca Cola bottle on the counter: “No it’s fine, I have water!!!”
*Cue everybody laughing at me*
Him: “I wasn’t talking about that kind of coke.”
Me: “Oh…. Yeah water is still fine.”
End scene.
Imagine my relief at remaining in the comfy, calm, quiet apartment and my relaxed mood when everyone left.
WRONG.
You may remember from my few days alone in my Israeli home, but I am a terribly anxious, morbid individual. As soon as the great departure took place, I felt my heart speed up and jump into my throat as I imagined the murderers lurking right outside my door. I locked myself in my bedroom, feeling slightly safer. UNTIL. SOMEONE/SOMETHING (A GHOST???) BANGED AND I MEAN BANGED ON MY DOOR. Did I imagine it?!?!?! Had it happened? I looked at the shaking door and swinging key that stayed in the lock and just about peed my pants.
“Okay,” I thought rationally, “people (or ghosts) are here. They’re gonna steal everyone’s belongings. That should only take like twenty minutes. I’ll just hide out in the bathroom.”
I LITERALLY LOCKED MYSELF IN MY BATHROOM IN MY LOCKED BEDROOM to protect myself from the malicious intruders (or ghosts). Brought my book in and sat on the ground and held my breath so that they wouldn’t hear me.
After twenty minutes—an appropriate length of time to nag some passports and a camera or two—I tiptoed to my bedroom door and listened for the murmurs of satisfied thieves. I tried to ever so slowly creep the door open, but it squeaked louder than I could have imagined, and I figured that if I was gonna die, I might as well just get it over with quickly. I padded into the living room…. And promptly noticed that laptops remained on tables and valuables were untouched. Turns out my bedroom door’s lock has to take a few minutes to settle into its latch, so the thud had been the heavy door falling into place. I was safe.
I rejoiced for a few minutes, then returned to my bedroom… And relocked the door.
I woke up a few times throughout the night as friends returned from their revelry and felt well-rested for our Delhi tour on Sunday.
The tour started slowly, hesitantly; our guide rubbed us the wrong way initially and we were nervous that the misty rain falling would poison our skin due to the clogging pollution that it entrapped in its droplets. When we anxiously asked our guide whether the water would hurt our skin, he looked at us somberly and responded, “I really can’t say.”
Awesome.
But the sky ended up clearing by the time we arrived at our first few sites, thank goodness! We first stopped at India Gate, a British monument for the Indian soldiers that fought in World War I. We also had the opportunity to watch the changing of the guard at the Indian Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. You may not know this, but the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier (regardless of nationality) is one of my favorite traditions in military history. I find it incredibly honorable and respectful, a symbol that regardless of whether or not history forgets your deeds, your accomplishments or even your name, your country will never your sacrifice. It gives me the chills!
Sidenote, I’m super intrigued and interested in American military relations and history. Stemming from a deep-seated respect for service members and for the ideals of the country that they vow to protect, I have found myself dedicating myself more and more to the civilian side of military affairs. From my attendance at a conference at West Point Academy, to an involved paper on the relationship between Boston and the Army, I have and hope to continue to connect myself to the missions of the American military.
But back to India, and to our steadily-improving Delhi tour. From the Tomb we travelled to a Sikh temple on the site at which an important Sikh martyr was murdered many centuries ago. Not only was I wowed by the stunning and luxe interior of the temple, but I also admired the communal atmosphere of the nearby kitchen and eating area in which Sikhs could receive meals for only a donation. We got to walk around the kitchen and even help prepare some bread!
We stopped by at a souvenir shop after the temple (from the spiritual to the worldly in a hot minute), and I picked up more fab presents for the fam.
We drove through the disgustingly trashy streets of Delhi; literal piles of waste were accumulating in the street because the waste workers are on strike. Some people had even started burning the trash in the middle of the street, and a sickeningly acrid stench wafted through the air. It actually made me miss Ahmedabad—which is only the fourth most polluted city in the world. (Upon our arrival, a guest lecturer advised us “not to breathe” for the entire month we were here—awesome, yah, thanks a ton.)
We were relieved to finally arrive at Humayan’s Tomb, another inspiration for the Taj Mahal. Built with rusty-red sandstone and milky marble, the tomb holds 136 bodies. WOW! It looked and felt much more earthy and natural than the heavenly Taj, which actually made me feel comfortable and intrigued as opposed to overwhelmingly awestruck (but still amazed at the construction!). We all really enjoyed exploring the tomb, and the nearby mausoleum for some high-ranking officers. Its stony exterior and influence from Hindu temples reminded me of an Indiana Jones temple, and I finally got some other people to agree with me! It looked like it belonged in a jungle, and I felt like I should have had to whack my way through miles of vines and trees, batting monkeys and leopards to stumble upon it. Instead, I’d just ridden in a rickshaw with a scarf over my face to protect me from the smog and the incessant pictures taken by random people of the first white person they’d ever seen.
After the tomb, we drove to lunch (Italian—woah!) then arrived at our final site of the trip: Qutb Minar. The gigantic victory pillar soared hundreds of meters in the air and commemorated the Muslim victory over Delhi two thousand years ago. In the complex, there were also mosques built from stones and pieces of Hindu and Jain temples from the area. The conglomeration of the three religious architectural styles was fascinating, and I marveled at its alluring appearance.
I actually took a year-long art history class in high school, and the only monument I have recognized on this entire trip is the Taj Mahal. Isn’t that absurd? It made me realize how Western-centric my learning has been thus far, and it made me very thankful that I’ve been given the opportunity to travel to places and to world-renowned sites of which I may not have otherwise learned! Plus, it’s actually kind of cool to see things for the first time without the spoiler of having seen pictures beforehand. It adds to my awe!
After the tour of the Qutb Minar complex, our van drove us to the airport, where Sally and I lounged for FIVE HOURS because of our later flight. We boarded around 9:50 PM and embarrassingly endured more photographs IN THE PLANE by these creepy old men. Our sassy friend Eli actually got out of her seat, several rows behind us, and strode up to the creeps to tell them off. I later flipped out on them (and may or may not have flipped them off) when they continued to take pictures of Sally while she was sleeping. GROSS! Another man attempted to explain to me that we were the first white people they’d ever seen—but in my opinion, that does not excuse the rudeness and inhumanity of treating other people like digestible spectacles that can be ogled at and photographed without permission.
Being in a place so different from home, and from any other place I’ve been, for such an extended period of time has forced me to question my definition of morals and politeness and acceptability. At what point do we draw the line between cultural difference and downright rude ignorance? Is it at a not-so sneaky photo taken of teenage girls by middle-aged men? Is it at the derogatory remarks made about a member of a different race or religion? Or, do we simply shrug and refuse to decide whether there are certain rules of respect and humanity that must transverse cultural divides? I haven’t decided yet. Let me know if you do.
We ignored the numerous aggressive rickshaw drivers crowding us at the airport attempting to attract our patronage and chose the quiet old man wrapped in a blanket on principle. We finally got home at 1 AM, did our homework until 2 AM, and passed tf out.
I have many more stories to tell from today (including the tragic mistake of mixing up vegetables, Discovery Channel-induced tears, and cross-linguistic connections), but they will have to wait for another day, because I am EXHAUSTED and I’m sure you’re tired of reading by now.
Thanks for sticking with me through such a LONG post. It’s been one of the most exciting and wonderful weekends of my life.
Until next time,
Traveller Aubs
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