SELL YOUR CLEVERNESS

"Snap photo, miss?"

On Monday, our second day in Jaipur, David and I were at the Jantar Mantar, an astronomical obeservatory built by a brilliant maharaja in the 18th century. A pink-sareed young woman approached me, camera in hand, and asked, "Snap photo, miss?" I reached for her camera, assuming she meant for me to take a picture of her and her two male companions--but instead she handed the camera to one of the guys, scooted next to me and struck a pose! The other man spied David and waved him over, and a photo was snapped of the four of us, arm in arm. It seems that even in a city of 3 million, we're a novelty.

"Incredible India!"

Temple keeper
Originally uploaded by Amberly & David.

This is the country's official tourism slogan, and I have to say, they're not messing around. As the jet lag is wearing off, along with our preconceptions, we're discovering something magical.

Our first day in Jaipur, we hiked up to a temple to Surya, the sun god, overlooking the city. Our winding path to the top was a montage of crazy encounters. We posed for pictures with a snake charmer (he assured me the snake he was wrapping around my neck had been defanged). Children begged for rupees; I gave them the candies I had in my purse, and when the candy ran out, I gave them Tums (my new campaign: strengthening the bones of Indian youth). Giggling teenage boys stopped us to practice their English ("Hello. How are you? What is your name?"). A rabid monkey snatched our bag of monkey food (the temple is also known as the monkey temple because scores of monkeys live on the hill and congregate at the temple at sunset). Everyone smiled (OK, not the monkeys).

The sun was low in the sky when we arrived at the temple, and not many people were there. At the Surya shrine, a boy applied red dots to our foreheads and tied red and saffron twine bracelets on our wrists. A woman whose family has lived in and cared for the temple for three generations told us about the shrine and offered us cups of chai. She invited us to sit for a while, told us about her family and taught us a few Hindi words. I bought a couple of wooden bangles from a small box that she called "my shop." She was so kind and gracious, and it was such a pleasure to sit and sip tea on the temple steps as the afternoon cooled. As the travel agent Farook told us, (see David's wonderful post on Baksheesh & Brahman), it's the people who make the experience.

My first pickpocketing

Breakfast
Originally uploaded by Amberly & David.

I've been initiated! At 5:30 Sunday morning in the swarming New Delhi Train Station, David and traversed the platform overpass searching for our Ajmer Shatabdi Express to Jaipur. Twelve platforms we crossed, with no sign of our train. In a sudden crush of crowd I thought, "It's in the kind of closeness that pickpocketing happens," and in that same instant I glanced down to see a hand in my purse. I turned and saw the owner of the hand, a white-bearded man wrapped in white shawls and turban. It was a surreal moment. I didn't see the man's hand withdraw--just the hand, then him. He didn't take anything; I guess I detected him just in time. I pushed David on down the platform.

We ultimately found the Shatabdi Express and located our carriage and seats. After a few minutes of confusion with some teenage boys who held tickets for the same seat numbers, we discovered that although we were indeed on the Shatabdi Express, it was the train headed in the opposite direction! No one knew where our train was, so we disembarked and trudged back down the platform. Fortunately, a man who got off the train behind us and overheard our situation directed us to the right place. Back across the overpass we went, from platform 1 to platform 11.

The train ride was great. It included the breakfast you see here: fried spicy potato-cheese balls, carrots and peas, french fries (eaten before I took the pic), bread and jam, and tea. A sweet family sat across the aisle from us, and I held their 18-month-old boy for a while. The action-packed day continued in Jaipur. More to come ...

I've got my travel hand on

travel hand
Originally uploaded by Amberly & David.

Yesterday I placed my engagement ring and real wedding band in a safe deposit box at the bank and replaced them with the sleek travel model you see here.

I'm currently backing up the files on my computer and changing out of my civilian clothes in preparation for our final trip to the storage unit. After that, we'll just have our packs. I'm making peace now with all the things I was supposed to get done but didn't...

For the record, I'm not a journalist

So I made the mistake of writing "editor" as my occupation on my visa form, prompting a thorough interrogation at the visa counter in the Indian consulate. Who did I work for (myself), who were my clients (i gave her a selective list), what did I do (editing), did I really just do editing (um, er, yes), what would I be doing in India (honeymooning), really? (yes) ...

In the end, I had to sign a form stating that I was not a journalist and would not be engaged in "commercial/ journalistic/ photographic/ filmmaking activities" for the duration of my visit. Guess I'll wait till I get home to send those pitches to Budget Travel. And since journalism seems to be akin to terrorism at the Indian consulate, I hope I never have cause to need an actual journalist visa! (You'll notice the nice, safe little "T" as in "tourist" on my visa page.)

"Sell your cleverness, and buy bewilderment"

I recently came across the above quote, attributed to the 13th century Persian poet Rumi. It’s certainly a great piece of guidance for liberating one’s life in general, but I feel it has a particular tie to travel. Over the past few months, as David and I have prepared for our upcoming trip to India, I’ve poured over guidebooks, browsed bookstore and library shelves, and obsessively trolled umpteen different online travel forums. I can recite regional weather data, train schedules and tips for overcoming jet lag. I’ve read up on the various scams that taxi drivers, hotel touts and tour guides use to fleece naive travelers, and I’ve steeled myself with counterattack plans.

A few weeks ago, however, I hit information overload. Despite what our moms might tell us, I think it’s possible to be too prepared. I’m thinking back to my first truly solo trip abroad, in 1999. I’d been living in Costa Rica and volunteering at Radio for Peace International, and I had to leave the country to renew my visa. I hopped a bus down to Panama City, with the name and address of a hostel a co-volunteer had recommended scratched on a piece of paper. I had no clue where the hostel was, if it was conveniently located or fairly priced. I had no plans apart from seeing the Panama Canal, but I figured I’d find stuff to do once I got there.

When I stepped off the bus in Panama City, a taxi driver grabbed my backpack, motioned me toward his cab, and asked where I was going. I handed him my slip of paper. I wasn’t concerned that he’d grabbed my bag from me without my consent or suspicious of his motives; it never occurred to me that he might do something like drive me elsewhere and rob me. Which is great—because he didn’t; he drove me to my hostel and wished me a pleasant visit. And the hostel, while indeed in a pretty out-of-the-way location, was a comfy and friendly place to stay. I met some cool people, got recommendations on things to see and do, and had an amazing time.

I tell this story now because my outlook then stands in sharp contrast to my more recent frame of mind. In the years since that Panama trip, I’ve heard countless warnings of travel dangers, cautions to never pay too much for a room/meal/cab ride/etc, and anecdotal tales of deceit and misadventure. I’m also complicit in our culture’s current addiction to information, so easily had with our high-speed wireless connections, which makes us feel as if there’s always something more to know or some better way to plan or do something.

I don’t think I was naive back then—I just wasn’t trying so hard to be clever. And it's time I cash it in and buy back a little bewilderment.