Several people have asked me if I'm getting any vaccines for my trip to Nigeria. Thankfully, I received the recommended vaccines for Nigeria when I went to India, and my company paid for them. If I had to pay for them on my own, it would be almost like buying another plane ticket. Many travel vaccines and medications are not covered by insurance. The only medicine I plan to take is Malarone, the malaria pills. I picked them up today at a cost of $153. Since I'm paying out of pocket this time, I will take every single one of those pills. No leftovers. I also have some Cipro left over from India that I never used. Maybe I should check the expiration date. lol
Here's my checklist of things to do for the trip:
Purchase ticket - done
Apply for Nigerian visa - done
Get malaria pills (Remember how well that went in India? lol - done
Send measurements for dress - done
Research the Lagos area for things of interest, dress, local norms - in progress
Apply for Egyptian visa - research says I can purchase it at the airport, but I'm going to keep looking
Research things to do in Cairo (Will I have enough time to go to Giza?) - in progress
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Bright Idea...
I had a flash of brillance while on a flight yesterday. I keep seeing posters in the airport for all the countries where Continental flies, and it made me think of something. I am a member of their One Pass Mileage program, and they recently joined Star Alliance. My idea is to set a goal to fly on all 26 members of Star Alliance within 5 years. I'll revisit this plan periodically to see where I stand. My trip to Nigeria will cover 3 of the member airlines.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
You're going where?!?!
When I first interned in Houston in 2002, I had the good fortune to work with a beautiful lady with a funny accent. (I know, I know...I have a funny accent to someone too. lol) She introduced me to her family and we developed a great friendship. She thought I was a little weird because I would sometimes go to the (not so clear) Clear Lake to read during lunch...by myself. gasp
We kept in touch even after I left Houston. She moved to London for a year and I stayed with her and her family while I was there. I also had the opportunity to meet her sister in person in London after talking to her on the phone several times. After she moved back to Houston, her sister's family came to visit and I hung out with them again.
I visited with my friend last December, and she mentioned that her sister was going to their native place soon. I've told her since 2002 that I wanted to go with them, but the circumstances were never right. Either I was in school, I didn't have the funds, or it was a last minute trip. This time, I knew I was in a place where I could go. I connected with her sister through the magic of Facebook and told her I was interested in going with her family (husband and 3 girls) on their next trip. She told me her husband's sister was getting married in April and I was welcomed to come with them. That was all I needed to hear. I started making arrangements right after that.
Where am I going? I'm going to Lagos, Nigeria. Why am I going to a wedding when I don't know the couple? Unlike American weddings, Nigerians (and many other cultures) welcome everyone to attend their celebrations. The whole village will be there, and I'll be in the middle of it all. They will have a traditional engagement ceremony and a Catholic marriage ceremony. Everyone on the bride's side will wear specific colors, likewise for the groom's side. I'm included in the bride's family, so I will wear her colors. I'm excited about seeing a traditional ceremony, because I've only ever attended American weddings, which are basically all the same in my opinion.
I also have a long layover in Cairo on both legs of the trip, and I'm planning to leave the airport each time to do a little exploring. I have no idea what I'm going to do there, but I just think it would be a waste to spend all that time inside the airport when I could at least walk outside and get a meal or buy a souvenir.
Here's my checklist of things to do for the trip:
Purchase ticket - done
Apply for Nigerian visa - done
Get malaria pills (Remember how well that went in India? lol )- in progress
Send measurements for dress - done
Research the Lagos area for things of interest, dress, local norms - in progress
Apply for Egyptian visa - research says I can purchase it at the airport, but I'm going to keep looking
Research things to do in Cairo (Will I have enough time to go to Giza?) - in progress
Check back for more updates on my trip preparation.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
I was there!
I arrived at BWI on Monday afternoon and waited for about 30 minutes for Super Shuttle to pick me up. I boarded the van with 7 other people. It was quite an interesting group - an older man from Chicago, a middle-aged woman with a landscape architecture firm returning to DC, a 30-something woman from Chicago, and 4 female professors from Seattle. We were all there for the inauguration. I was the youngest and the only person of color other than the Salvadoran driver. The 2 hour ride through Maryland was full of talk about plans for the week and how people felt about what was happening.
I arrived at my friend's house just in time to shower and dress for a pre-inauguration house party. There were several people at the party that I had not seen since FAMU. Some people were planning to go to the inauguration, while others were unable to go due to their flights. After the party, we took a friend to BWI. We finally got back to the house around 4am and I decided I would take a nap for a couple of hours. Before I laid my head down, my friend, who had been watching the news downstairs and saw the reports about the chaos already happening at the metro stations, told me I should probably just head to the Metro station without the nap. I had not slept since Sunday night, but I reluctantly got dressed (in layers).
I went to the Metro station and the ticket machines seemed possessed. I stood in line waiting to buy my ticket, and it flashed "Out of Service" as soon as I stepped up. I moved to the next line. Another machine would not allow a woman to enter her fare. I finally got mine, and walked through the gates to wait on the train. I had observed from the parking lot that the cars at the end of the train were practically empty, and people were crowding in to the middle. I got my seat at the end of the train and proceeded to DC. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. I opened my eyes every time the doors opened and saw more and more people in my car. I embarked from the train at Judiciary Square station. It was 6:48am when I walked out on the street level.
There was a huge crowd on the street that was not moving. They would not allow anyone to walk towards the Mall until 7am. Those with tickets were directed one way and the others went another way. I did not have a ticket. There were volunteers on several corners giving us directions as we walked. We walked almost an hour on streets, through a tunnel, up hills, around corners, and finally onto the lawn of the Mall. There was no security check for the unticketed area. We were greeted by rows of porta-potties with lines already formed in front of them.
It was a few minutes before 8am. We still had a few hours until the ceremony started. What do a million people do in 20 degree weather for 3 hours? Keep moving. I walked onto the lawn and moved as close to the front as I could. I stood in front of the red castle in the first section of the unticketed section. I could see the Capitol in the distance ahead of me, the Washington Monument was behind me, and the museums of the Smithsonian flanked the sides. The concert from the night before was showing on the screens. I had a hard time viewing the jumbotron with all the tall people in front of me, but I could hear everything clearly. Everyone sang and danced to keep their spirits up and their bodies warm.
After over 2 hours of standing there marching in place to keep my blood circulating, I could no longer feel my toes. I was so afraid I had frostbite. The rest of my body was pretty warm because I dressed in layers, but I failed to layer my socks. That was a very dumb move for me. I will never ever do that again. I had to find some toe warmers. I left my spot up front and walked out to the sidewalk. I spotted a couple of Boy Scout volunteers and asked them where I could get toe warmers (heated packs you place in your shoes or gloves). They told me they were being sold at the concession tent. I walked the length of the Mall all the way to the back where the tent was. I didn't realize how close I was to the front until I took that walk. I stood in line for an hour and watched the procession of dignitaries on the screen as I waited. I heard Aretha Franklin singing, but could not see her just as I stepped up to order hot chocolate and toe warmers. I was so hurt when they told me they didn't have the toes warmers. I walked away just in time to see Barack Obama take the Oath of Office. I found a spot better than the original one (I could see the jumbotrons clearly) and stood amongst my fellow Americans beaming with pride, tears streaming down my face. It was so cold I thought my tears would freeze.
Everyone around me waved the flags the Boy Scouts passed out while cheering and celebrating this moment in our history. There was complete silence as President Barack Obama gave a very commanding speech. I was happy to share the experience with all the people around me. After the speech, some of the crowd started walking off the field. As I walked, I listened to the inauguration poem, and then the prayer by the legendary Rev. Joseph Lowery.
All 2 million people poured out from the Mall at the same time. Some people decided to visit the museums and stood in the long lines to enter. For those of us trying to get to the trains/buses to take us home, we were told to walk to 14th St. to exit, but they were not allowing anyone out that way. While I was walking, I finally found someone selling toe warmers, and put them in my shoes. I turned around and walked east going against the crowd headed west. I couldn't get out that way either. We couldn't walk north because Constitution St. was closed. I stopped to ask a few police how we were supposed to get out, and they said, "I don't know." It was pure chaos. There was no organization around clearing people out of the area - no signs, no volunteers giving directions, nothing. We felt like trapped animals. I found a set of stairs near a museum and stood there to get out of the crowd while I tried to figure out my next move. The crowd started thinning, and I decided I would walk south back across the Mall. I followed the crowd walking south where there were vendors lined up hawking their wares. I skimmed a few and kept walking when I didn't see anything I wanted. I looked at the map to find the closest Metro stations on the south side. I went to L'Enfant Plaza and was mystified by the crowd I saw waiting to enter the station.
crowd waiting to enter station
I was tired, cold, hungry, my body was sore from all that standing and walking, and I needed to go to the bathroom. I was on the verge of tears. I just wanted to get on a train and get out of there. I was surrounded by thousands of people, exhaust fumes from the tour buses, and the piercing sirens of police cars and ambulances parting the ocean of people in the streets every few minutes. I kept walking down 7th St., and I saw a line of people. I asked someone why they were in line. It was the line for the Federal Center Metro station with the yellow/green lines. I needed to be on the red line to get back to Rockville, but I was willing to get on any train that would take me out of the area. I could read the map to figure out where to go from there as long as I wasn't outside anymore. The line was wrapped around the building on 7th and down E St. I stood in the line which seemed to move a couple of feet every few minutes. After waiting in line for about an hour or more, I was finally on the escalator down to the platform. I walked through the doors of the train where I stood holding the straps for 2 stops before changing trains at Gallery Pl./Chinatown. I stood in the line to enter the platform for the red line to Shady Grove. I walked all the way to the end of the platform where the crowds usually don't go. The doors opened and I sat down. I finally exhaled. The ride to Rockville was pretty calm. I actually nodded off for a bit. I was so exhausted.
Would I do it again? Was it worth it? I would not have missed the inauguration even with all the drama and stress surrounding it. I endured the freezing temperatures for hours, walked for miles, and went without sleep on behalf of my unborn children. I want to be able to tell them I was there between the US Capitol and the Washington Monument on the day that President Barack Obama was sworn in. The people who participated in the March on Washington witnessed Dr. Martin Luther King's famous "'>I Have a Dream
I arrived at my friend's house just in time to shower and dress for a pre-inauguration house party. There were several people at the party that I had not seen since FAMU. Some people were planning to go to the inauguration, while others were unable to go due to their flights. After the party, we took a friend to BWI. We finally got back to the house around 4am and I decided I would take a nap for a couple of hours. Before I laid my head down, my friend, who had been watching the news downstairs and saw the reports about the chaos already happening at the metro stations, told me I should probably just head to the Metro station without the nap. I had not slept since Sunday night, but I reluctantly got dressed (in layers).
I went to the Metro station and the ticket machines seemed possessed. I stood in line waiting to buy my ticket, and it flashed "Out of Service" as soon as I stepped up. I moved to the next line. Another machine would not allow a woman to enter her fare. I finally got mine, and walked through the gates to wait on the train. I had observed from the parking lot that the cars at the end of the train were practically empty, and people were crowding in to the middle. I got my seat at the end of the train and proceeded to DC. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. I opened my eyes every time the doors opened and saw more and more people in my car. I embarked from the train at Judiciary Square station. It was 6:48am when I walked out on the street level.
There was a huge crowd on the street that was not moving. They would not allow anyone to walk towards the Mall until 7am. Those with tickets were directed one way and the others went another way. I did not have a ticket. There were volunteers on several corners giving us directions as we walked. We walked almost an hour on streets, through a tunnel, up hills, around corners, and finally onto the lawn of the Mall. There was no security check for the unticketed area. We were greeted by rows of porta-potties with lines already formed in front of them.
It was a few minutes before 8am. We still had a few hours until the ceremony started. What do a million people do in 20 degree weather for 3 hours? Keep moving. I walked onto the lawn and moved as close to the front as I could. I stood in front of the red castle in the first section of the unticketed section. I could see the Capitol in the distance ahead of me, the Washington Monument was behind me, and the museums of the Smithsonian flanked the sides. The concert from the night before was showing on the screens. I had a hard time viewing the jumbotron with all the tall people in front of me, but I could hear everything clearly. Everyone sang and danced to keep their spirits up and their bodies warm.
After over 2 hours of standing there marching in place to keep my blood circulating, I could no longer feel my toes. I was so afraid I had frostbite. The rest of my body was pretty warm because I dressed in layers, but I failed to layer my socks. That was a very dumb move for me. I will never ever do that again. I had to find some toe warmers. I left my spot up front and walked out to the sidewalk. I spotted a couple of Boy Scout volunteers and asked them where I could get toe warmers (heated packs you place in your shoes or gloves). They told me they were being sold at the concession tent. I walked the length of the Mall all the way to the back where the tent was. I didn't realize how close I was to the front until I took that walk. I stood in line for an hour and watched the procession of dignitaries on the screen as I waited. I heard Aretha Franklin singing, but could not see her just as I stepped up to order hot chocolate and toe warmers. I was so hurt when they told me they didn't have the toes warmers. I walked away just in time to see Barack Obama take the Oath of Office. I found a spot better than the original one (I could see the jumbotrons clearly) and stood amongst my fellow Americans beaming with pride, tears streaming down my face. It was so cold I thought my tears would freeze.
Everyone around me waved the flags the Boy Scouts passed out while cheering and celebrating this moment in our history. There was complete silence as President Barack Obama gave a very commanding speech. I was happy to share the experience with all the people around me. After the speech, some of the crowd started walking off the field. As I walked, I listened to the inauguration poem, and then the prayer by the legendary Rev. Joseph Lowery.
All 2 million people poured out from the Mall at the same time. Some people decided to visit the museums and stood in the long lines to enter. For those of us trying to get to the trains/buses to take us home, we were told to walk to 14th St. to exit, but they were not allowing anyone out that way. While I was walking, I finally found someone selling toe warmers, and put them in my shoes. I turned around and walked east going against the crowd headed west. I couldn't get out that way either. We couldn't walk north because Constitution St. was closed. I stopped to ask a few police how we were supposed to get out, and they said, "I don't know." It was pure chaos. There was no organization around clearing people out of the area - no signs, no volunteers giving directions, nothing. We felt like trapped animals. I found a set of stairs near a museum and stood there to get out of the crowd while I tried to figure out my next move. The crowd started thinning, and I decided I would walk south back across the Mall. I followed the crowd walking south where there were vendors lined up hawking their wares. I skimmed a few and kept walking when I didn't see anything I wanted. I looked at the map to find the closest Metro stations on the south side. I went to L'Enfant Plaza and was mystified by the crowd I saw waiting to enter the station.
crowd waiting to enter station
I was tired, cold, hungry, my body was sore from all that standing and walking, and I needed to go to the bathroom. I was on the verge of tears. I just wanted to get on a train and get out of there. I was surrounded by thousands of people, exhaust fumes from the tour buses, and the piercing sirens of police cars and ambulances parting the ocean of people in the streets every few minutes. I kept walking down 7th St., and I saw a line of people. I asked someone why they were in line. It was the line for the Federal Center Metro station with the yellow/green lines. I needed to be on the red line to get back to Rockville, but I was willing to get on any train that would take me out of the area. I could read the map to figure out where to go from there as long as I wasn't outside anymore. The line was wrapped around the building on 7th and down E St. I stood in the line which seemed to move a couple of feet every few minutes. After waiting in line for about an hour or more, I was finally on the escalator down to the platform. I walked through the doors of the train where I stood holding the straps for 2 stops before changing trains at Gallery Pl./Chinatown. I stood in the line to enter the platform for the red line to Shady Grove. I walked all the way to the end of the platform where the crowds usually don't go. The doors opened and I sat down. I finally exhaled. The ride to Rockville was pretty calm. I actually nodded off for a bit. I was so exhausted.
Would I do it again? Was it worth it? I would not have missed the inauguration even with all the drama and stress surrounding it. I endured the freezing temperatures for hours, walked for miles, and went without sleep on behalf of my unborn children. I want to be able to tell them I was there between the US Capitol and the Washington Monument on the day that President Barack Obama was sworn in. The people who participated in the March on Washington witnessed Dr. Martin Luther King's famous "
Sunday, January 18, 2009
On the Pulse of Morning
I looked down at the sheet of paper Mrs. Reed, my 6th grade teacher, was handing out to the class. It was full of words that the whole class had to memorize. There was a collective groan. "Do we really have to memorize all of this?" "I can't do this." "Why is it so long?" On the top of that piece of paper was typed, "On the Pulse of Morning by Maya Angelou". It was the poem she wrote and recited at the request of newly elected Bill Clinton for the 1993 Presidential Inauguration. It was the spring of 1993.
I was born eight days after Ronald Reagan was inaugurated to his first term as President of the United States (POTUS). I was too young to know or even care about his subsequent election and the one after that. However, when I was 11 years old in the 6th grade, I became acutely aware of the 1992 presidential election. Mrs. Reed gave the class an assignment that required us to write a report on the candidates and their stances on the issues. This was before the internet age so I used newspapers, magazines, and the local news to write my paper. After we completed our research, there was a mock election for all of the 6th graders. We felt so empowered and excited to be able to vote for POTUS like the adults. Eight years later, I voted officially. My first real election was marred by drama. It was 2000. I was a student at an HBCU. I was in Florida. Need I say more? The next one wasn't much better.
I first heard about Barack Obama around the same time as the rest of the country. He was introduced to us at the Democratic National Convention in 2004. I was impressed by his speech and looked forward to seeing him more in the years to come. Two years later, when he announced he was running for president, I did not jump on the bandwagon. I read his books and was fascinated by his life, but I did not think he was ready to be POTUS. So many people around me were buzzing with Obama fever. I had friends who were precinct captains and campaign volunteers, but I did not acquiesce. I did not want to commit to anyone until I had done my own research. Too bad I didn't know any 6th graders who could do the research for me. I refused to support him just because he was a black man. I was angered every time I heard that someone was voting for him because of his race. I was also angered every time I heard that someone was not voting for him because of his race. I made my decision before the Texas primary using data from http://www.procon.org/ and other sources. I voted early in the primary and then went back to caucus in my first national election in Texas. I was officially on the team - no turning back. For the first time, I actively participated in a national campaign by doing more than just voting.
I did not know what to expect when November 4, 2009 finally came. Would it take days to hear the final results? Would there be mass disfranchisement again? Based on all the watch parties and gatherings advertised for that night, people were anticipating good news. Shortly after 10pm CNN projected Barack Obama as the winner. Everyone had a reaction. They screamed, cried, stared at the screen in silence, jumped for joy, clapped their hands, hugged friends and strangers. My initial reaction was a shout of joy, then silence. I couldn't believe what I saw and heard. Was it a dream? I immediately thought of the impact of Barack Obama's presidency on my 2 nephews. He would show them that they could also aspire to the highest office in the land and actually achieve it. They will grow up seeing a black man in the White House and will not think it is unusual. The next morning I cried as I thought about two little black girls living at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. They are not the daughters of slaves or servants, but of the President of the United States of America.
I knew I had to be there on January 20, 2009 when President Barack Obama was sworn into office. I'd thought about going before the announcement, but decided to wait until it was confirmed before buying a ticket. All I needed was a flight and an inauguration ticket because I could stay with a friend in the area. I sent my requests to the 2 US Senators and 1 Representative for my area and waited in anticipation. I received rejection emails from all 3 over the next couple of months, but that only dampened my spirits a little bit. I just wanted to be in Washington, DC to say that I was there when history was made. I want to tell my children all about the day the first person of African descent was sworn in to the office of the President of the Unites States of America.
I will board a plane to Washington, DC by way of BWI tomorrow morning to partake in the inaugural festivities. The profound meaning of that is not lost on me. I am flying into an airport named after the first black Supreme Court Justice to witness the inauguration of the first black President.
Here on the pulse of this new day, I say to my sisters and brothers, "Good morning".
Thank you Mrs. Reed.
'On The Pulse Of Morning' : An Inaugural Poem by Maya Angelou
A Rock, A River, A Tree
Hosts to species long since departed,
Marked the mastodon,
The dinosaur, who left dried tokens
Of Their sojourn here
On our planet floor,
Any broad alarm of their hastening doom
Is lost in the gloom of dust and ages.
But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly,
forcefully,
Come, you may stand upon my
Back and face your distant destiny,
But seek no haven in my shadow,
I will give you no hiding place down here.
You, created only a little lower than
The angels, have crouched too long in
The bruising darkness
Have lain too long
Facedown in ignorance,
Your mouths spilling words
Armed for slaughter.
The Rock cries out to us today,
You may stand upon me;
But do not hide your face.
Across the wall of the world,
A River sings a beautiful song. It says,
Come, rest here by my side.
Each of you, a bordered country,
Delicate and strangely made proud,
Yet thrusting perpetually under siege.
Your armed struggles for profit
Have left collars of waste upon
My shore, currents of debris upon my breast.
Yet today I call you to my riverside,
If you will study war no more.
Come, clad in peace,
And I will sing the songs
The Creator gave to me when I and the
Tree and the Rock were one.
Before cynicism was a bloody sear across your brow
And when you yet knew you still knew nothing.
The River sang and sings on.
There is a true yearning to respond to
The singing River and the wise Rock.
So say the Asian, the Hispanic, the Jew
The African, the Native American, the Sioux
The Catholic, the Muslim, the French, the Greek,
The Irish, the Rabbi, the Priest, the Sheik,
The Gay, the Straight, the Preacher,
The privileged, the homeless, the Teacher.
They hear. They all hear
The speaking of the Tree.
They hear the first and last of every Tree
Speak to humankind today.
Come to me,
Here beside the River.
Plant yourself beside the River.
Each of you, descendant of some passed-
On traveler, has been paid for.
You, who gave me my first name, you,
Pawnee, Apache, Seneca, you
Cherokee Nation, who rested with me, then
Forced on bloody feet,
Left me to the employment of
Other seekers -- desperate for gain,
Starving for gold.
You, the Turk, the Arab, the Swede,
The German, the Eskimo, the Scot,
The Italian, the Hungarian, the Pole,
You the Ashanti, the Yoruba, the Kru, bought
Sold, stolen, arriving on a nightmare
Praying for a dream.
Here, root yourselves beside me.
I am that Tree planted by the River,
Which will not be moved.
I, the Rock, I, the River, I, the Tree
I am yours -- your passages have been paid.
Lift up your faces, you have a piercing need
For this bright morning dawning for you.
History, despite its wrenching pain,
Cannot be unlived, but if faced
With courage, need not be lived again.
Lift up your eyes
Upon this day breaking for you.
Give birth again
To the dream.
Women, children, men,
Take it into the palms of your hands,
Mold it into the shape of your most
Private need. Sculpt it into
The image of your most public self.
Lift up your hearts
Each new hour holds new chances
For a new beginning.
Do not be wedded forever
To fear, yoked eternally
To brutishness.
The horizon leans forward,
Offering you space
To place new steps of change
Here, on the pulse of this fine day
You may have the courage
To look up and out and upon me,
The Rock, the River, the Tree, you country.
No less to Midas than the mendicant.
No less to you now than the mastodon then.
Here on the pulse of this new day
You may have the grace to look up and out
And into your sister's eyes,
And into your brother's face,
Your country,
And say simply
Very simply
With hope --
Good morning.
January 20, 1993
I was born eight days after Ronald Reagan was inaugurated to his first term as President of the United States (POTUS). I was too young to know or even care about his subsequent election and the one after that. However, when I was 11 years old in the 6th grade, I became acutely aware of the 1992 presidential election. Mrs. Reed gave the class an assignment that required us to write a report on the candidates and their stances on the issues. This was before the internet age so I used newspapers, magazines, and the local news to write my paper. After we completed our research, there was a mock election for all of the 6th graders. We felt so empowered and excited to be able to vote for POTUS like the adults. Eight years later, I voted officially. My first real election was marred by drama. It was 2000. I was a student at an HBCU. I was in Florida. Need I say more? The next one wasn't much better.
I first heard about Barack Obama around the same time as the rest of the country. He was introduced to us at the Democratic National Convention in 2004. I was impressed by his speech and looked forward to seeing him more in the years to come. Two years later, when he announced he was running for president, I did not jump on the bandwagon. I read his books and was fascinated by his life, but I did not think he was ready to be POTUS. So many people around me were buzzing with Obama fever. I had friends who were precinct captains and campaign volunteers, but I did not acquiesce. I did not want to commit to anyone until I had done my own research. Too bad I didn't know any 6th graders who could do the research for me. I refused to support him just because he was a black man. I was angered every time I heard that someone was voting for him because of his race. I was also angered every time I heard that someone was not voting for him because of his race. I made my decision before the Texas primary using data from http://www.procon.org/ and other sources. I voted early in the primary and then went back to caucus in my first national election in Texas. I was officially on the team - no turning back. For the first time, I actively participated in a national campaign by doing more than just voting.
I did not know what to expect when November 4, 2009 finally came. Would it take days to hear the final results? Would there be mass disfranchisement again? Based on all the watch parties and gatherings advertised for that night, people were anticipating good news. Shortly after 10pm CNN projected Barack Obama as the winner. Everyone had a reaction. They screamed, cried, stared at the screen in silence, jumped for joy, clapped their hands, hugged friends and strangers. My initial reaction was a shout of joy, then silence. I couldn't believe what I saw and heard. Was it a dream? I immediately thought of the impact of Barack Obama's presidency on my 2 nephews. He would show them that they could also aspire to the highest office in the land and actually achieve it. They will grow up seeing a black man in the White House and will not think it is unusual. The next morning I cried as I thought about two little black girls living at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. They are not the daughters of slaves or servants, but of the President of the United States of America.
I knew I had to be there on January 20, 2009 when President Barack Obama was sworn into office. I'd thought about going before the announcement, but decided to wait until it was confirmed before buying a ticket. All I needed was a flight and an inauguration ticket because I could stay with a friend in the area. I sent my requests to the 2 US Senators and 1 Representative for my area and waited in anticipation. I received rejection emails from all 3 over the next couple of months, but that only dampened my spirits a little bit. I just wanted to be in Washington, DC to say that I was there when history was made. I want to tell my children all about the day the first person of African descent was sworn in to the office of the President of the Unites States of America.
I will board a plane to Washington, DC by way of BWI tomorrow morning to partake in the inaugural festivities. The profound meaning of that is not lost on me. I am flying into an airport named after the first black Supreme Court Justice to witness the inauguration of the first black President.
Here on the pulse of this new day, I say to my sisters and brothers, "Good morning".
Thank you Mrs. Reed.
'On The Pulse Of Morning' : An Inaugural Poem by Maya Angelou
A Rock, A River, A Tree
Hosts to species long since departed,
Marked the mastodon,
The dinosaur, who left dried tokens
Of Their sojourn here
On our planet floor,
Any broad alarm of their hastening doom
Is lost in the gloom of dust and ages.
But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly,
forcefully,
Come, you may stand upon my
Back and face your distant destiny,
But seek no haven in my shadow,
I will give you no hiding place down here.
You, created only a little lower than
The angels, have crouched too long in
The bruising darkness
Have lain too long
Facedown in ignorance,
Your mouths spilling words
Armed for slaughter.
The Rock cries out to us today,
You may stand upon me;
But do not hide your face.
Across the wall of the world,
A River sings a beautiful song. It says,
Come, rest here by my side.
Each of you, a bordered country,
Delicate and strangely made proud,
Yet thrusting perpetually under siege.
Your armed struggles for profit
Have left collars of waste upon
My shore, currents of debris upon my breast.
Yet today I call you to my riverside,
If you will study war no more.
Come, clad in peace,
And I will sing the songs
The Creator gave to me when I and the
Tree and the Rock were one.
Before cynicism was a bloody sear across your brow
And when you yet knew you still knew nothing.
The River sang and sings on.
There is a true yearning to respond to
The singing River and the wise Rock.
So say the Asian, the Hispanic, the Jew
The African, the Native American, the Sioux
The Catholic, the Muslim, the French, the Greek,
The Irish, the Rabbi, the Priest, the Sheik,
The Gay, the Straight, the Preacher,
The privileged, the homeless, the Teacher.
They hear. They all hear
The speaking of the Tree.
They hear the first and last of every Tree
Speak to humankind today.
Come to me,
Here beside the River.
Plant yourself beside the River.
Each of you, descendant of some passed-
On traveler, has been paid for.
You, who gave me my first name, you,
Pawnee, Apache, Seneca, you
Cherokee Nation, who rested with me, then
Forced on bloody feet,
Left me to the employment of
Other seekers -- desperate for gain,
Starving for gold.
You, the Turk, the Arab, the Swede,
The German, the Eskimo, the Scot,
The Italian, the Hungarian, the Pole,
You the Ashanti, the Yoruba, the Kru, bought
Sold, stolen, arriving on a nightmare
Praying for a dream.
Here, root yourselves beside me.
I am that Tree planted by the River,
Which will not be moved.
I, the Rock, I, the River, I, the Tree
I am yours -- your passages have been paid.
Lift up your faces, you have a piercing need
For this bright morning dawning for you.
History, despite its wrenching pain,
Cannot be unlived, but if faced
With courage, need not be lived again.
Lift up your eyes
Upon this day breaking for you.
Give birth again
To the dream.
Women, children, men,
Take it into the palms of your hands,
Mold it into the shape of your most
Private need. Sculpt it into
The image of your most public self.
Lift up your hearts
Each new hour holds new chances
For a new beginning.
Do not be wedded forever
To fear, yoked eternally
To brutishness.
The horizon leans forward,
Offering you space
To place new steps of change
Here, on the pulse of this fine day
You may have the courage
To look up and out and upon me,
The Rock, the River, the Tree, you country.
No less to Midas than the mendicant.
No less to you now than the mastodon then.
Here on the pulse of this new day
You may have the grace to look up and out
And into your sister's eyes,
And into your brother's face,
Your country,
And say simply
Very simply
With hope --
Good morning.
January 20, 1993
Monday, April 28, 2008
Home at Last
I started writing this blog over 2 months ago. My purpose was to document my travels so that 1) family and friends could share in my experience 2) I could look back and relive the trip in my own words forever (or until blogger deletes it) and 3) when another single black woman travels to India or any other country, she has a personal reference beyond what is found in guidebooks.
The blog was not an original idea. I was inspired to share my story by 3 people. A few years ago, my friend Kherri interned in the UK and wrote a newsletter about her life there for the people at home. I found the newsletter idea to be very creative and informative. Last year, Clarence traveled across Europe for several weeks and wrote a travel journal under a nom de plume. I thought that added touch made it even more appealing; it was like reading the start of a novel. I didn’t want to write under a pseudonym, but I did want to have a creative headline. Credit goes to Chibuke for coming up with the fitting title, “Eclectic Soul”. Finally, I was inspired by Megan Lyles, a woman I only talked to online once a long time ago. She wrote a travel blog about her trip from New York to South America by bus http://www.meganlyles.com/. It is informative, funny, and inspiring, and I recommend that everyone read at least a few entries if they want to travel to a new place without actually leaving their seat.
People keep asking what I enjoyed the most about India. It was definitely the people I worked with. They were so thoughtful. They did their best to make my time memorable and enjoyable. Moumita and her roommate, Sarika and her mother, and Anita and her husband opened their homes to me and I was able to see how real Indians lived. Their hospitality was immeasurable. Sushama invited me to her baby shower so I could see a formal celebration. I was also invited to Rupali's sister's wedding but it is the week after I return to the States. Alkesh and Jitesh planned a full day of Mumbai site seeing for me along with Rupali, Prasanna, Jaya, Sarika, and Febin. Jaya and Shiva showed me the Vashi train station, and Trunal and Moumita made my last day in Mumbai unforgettable riding the local train. I would have been miserable without all of them. They served as my translators and my tour guides, my colleagues and my friends.
A few months ago, I was inspired by a song on a commercial called “Unwritten”. Today is where your book begins, the rest is still unwritten. I made a list of what I wanted my book to read and it included traveling to new and exotic places. I am grateful that I had the opportunity to travel to India. I’m looking forward to my next journey around the world. Where am I going next? Here’s a clue: I named my car after the city. For those of you who don’t know my car’s name, read some of my earlier posts. : )
Thanks to those who were regular readers and sent me feedback on my writing. Stay tuned for the next installment. I’ve posted my pictures of India. Please send me your email address if you did not receive the link.
The blog was not an original idea. I was inspired to share my story by 3 people. A few years ago, my friend Kherri interned in the UK and wrote a newsletter about her life there for the people at home. I found the newsletter idea to be very creative and informative. Last year, Clarence traveled across Europe for several weeks and wrote a travel journal under a nom de plume. I thought that added touch made it even more appealing; it was like reading the start of a novel. I didn’t want to write under a pseudonym, but I did want to have a creative headline. Credit goes to Chibuke for coming up with the fitting title, “Eclectic Soul”. Finally, I was inspired by Megan Lyles, a woman I only talked to online once a long time ago. She wrote a travel blog about her trip from New York to South America by bus http://www.meganlyles.com/. It is informative, funny, and inspiring, and I recommend that everyone read at least a few entries if they want to travel to a new place without actually leaving their seat.
People keep asking what I enjoyed the most about India. It was definitely the people I worked with. They were so thoughtful. They did their best to make my time memorable and enjoyable. Moumita and her roommate, Sarika and her mother, and Anita and her husband opened their homes to me and I was able to see how real Indians lived. Their hospitality was immeasurable. Sushama invited me to her baby shower so I could see a formal celebration. I was also invited to Rupali's sister's wedding but it is the week after I return to the States. Alkesh and Jitesh planned a full day of Mumbai site seeing for me along with Rupali, Prasanna, Jaya, Sarika, and Febin. Jaya and Shiva showed me the Vashi train station, and Trunal and Moumita made my last day in Mumbai unforgettable riding the local train. I would have been miserable without all of them. They served as my translators and my tour guides, my colleagues and my friends.
A few months ago, I was inspired by a song on a commercial called “Unwritten”. Today is where your book begins, the rest is still unwritten. I made a list of what I wanted my book to read and it included traveling to new and exotic places. I am grateful that I had the opportunity to travel to India. I’m looking forward to my next journey around the world. Where am I going next? Here’s a clue: I named my car after the city. For those of you who don’t know my car’s name, read some of my earlier posts. : )
Thanks to those who were regular readers and sent me feedback on my writing. Stay tuned for the next installment. I’ve posted my pictures of India. Please send me your email address if you did not receive the link.
Personal Care
I realize that some people had questions on basic necessities that I didn't address previously. After I moved to the second hotel, I had easy access to grocery stores where I could buy what I needed. If you are not staying near a store or are unsure of your accommodations, I recommend bringing your own trial-size products until you can find a local store. If you're going to be out in the bush or somewhere remote, you might want to bring enough of everything to last you your entire trip.
Mouthcare
I use bottled water to brush my teeth as a precaution. I pour the water in a small glass. I think I will actually use the same method when I return home, because I use a lot less water. I brought my own trial size toothpaste, but I bought a bigger size from the store here. They have brands that Americans will recognize - Colgate, Closeup, Pepsodent. BYO only if you require special products.
Bathing
No different than home, except my first hotel only had a shower. Indians prefer showers or running water to sitting in a tub of still water. You can find a variety of soaps, bar and liquid, in the store. BYO only if you have sensitive skin that requires special products.
Hair care/skin care
There are a variety of shampoos in the grocery store, but very few conditioners. They carry brands like Dove, Garnier, Pantene, etc., as well as ayuverdic products. You won't find any Cream of Nature here. There are hair dyes, but mostly in dark brown or reddish tones. Some of the products guarantee healthy, shiny, black hair (the natural color for most Indian hair). If only those same companies helped maintain natural skin appearance also. Many of the skin care products focus on lightening skin for both men and women. BYO Recommended if you require special products.
Shaving
Gillette creams and razors are very popular here. I haven't really noticed the other brands. I've read that men should have an "Indian shave" at least once while here, but make sure the razor has been sterilized. For women, beauty parlors offer very cheap hair removal services. I recommend getting your eyebrows threaded at least once. BYO only if you require special products.
Feminine products
Stayfree and Kotex napkins are popular here, as well as a brand called Whisper that looks a lot like Always packaging. I saw a tiny section on a bottom shelf for O.B., which was the only brand of tampons. Based on what I've read, they are not widely used here. BYO Recommended
Eyecare
I've seen a tiny section for B&L contact solution in the grocery store. I've torn 2 contacts while here, and I hope I don't have to replace the other 2 before I leave. I've seen signs for optometrists while driving, but they all show glasses. I asked my co-workers if they wear contacts and no one in the group wears them. It is hard for me to believe that so few people wear contacts here. You can read about my contact solution story in an earlier post. BYO Required
Laundry
I used the hotel's laundry service for my jeans and work clothes, and I handwashed smaller items like underwaer and t-shirts. I bought a small package of Tide because it was a brand that I recognized, but there were many other options. BYO only if you require special products.
Mouthcare
I use bottled water to brush my teeth as a precaution. I pour the water in a small glass. I think I will actually use the same method when I return home, because I use a lot less water. I brought my own trial size toothpaste, but I bought a bigger size from the store here. They have brands that Americans will recognize - Colgate, Closeup, Pepsodent. BYO only if you require special products.
Bathing
No different than home, except my first hotel only had a shower. Indians prefer showers or running water to sitting in a tub of still water. You can find a variety of soaps, bar and liquid, in the store. BYO only if you have sensitive skin that requires special products.
Hair care/skin care
There are a variety of shampoos in the grocery store, but very few conditioners. They carry brands like Dove, Garnier, Pantene, etc., as well as ayuverdic products. You won't find any Cream of Nature here. There are hair dyes, but mostly in dark brown or reddish tones. Some of the products guarantee healthy, shiny, black hair (the natural color for most Indian hair). If only those same companies helped maintain natural skin appearance also. Many of the skin care products focus on lightening skin for both men and women. BYO Recommended if you require special products.
Shaving
Gillette creams and razors are very popular here. I haven't really noticed the other brands. I've read that men should have an "Indian shave" at least once while here, but make sure the razor has been sterilized. For women, beauty parlors offer very cheap hair removal services. I recommend getting your eyebrows threaded at least once. BYO only if you require special products.
Feminine products
Stayfree and Kotex napkins are popular here, as well as a brand called Whisper that looks a lot like Always packaging. I saw a tiny section on a bottom shelf for O.B., which was the only brand of tampons. Based on what I've read, they are not widely used here. BYO Recommended
Eyecare
I've seen a tiny section for B&L contact solution in the grocery store. I've torn 2 contacts while here, and I hope I don't have to replace the other 2 before I leave. I've seen signs for optometrists while driving, but they all show glasses. I asked my co-workers if they wear contacts and no one in the group wears them. It is hard for me to believe that so few people wear contacts here. You can read about my contact solution story in an earlier post. BYO Required
Laundry
I used the hotel's laundry service for my jeans and work clothes, and I handwashed smaller items like underwaer and t-shirts. I bought a small package of Tide because it was a brand that I recognized, but there were many other options. BYO only if you require special products.
Friday, April 25, 2008
My Last Night in Mumbai
Last night was my last time in the Mumbai office. I asked the ladies to wear saris on my last day to take pictures. I wore the same sari, but I had a new blouse stitched. I also needed lessons on how to wrap myself before going home. I brought my sari to the office and Iffat gave me a lesson on how to wrap it. I was able to do it with her help, but I need more practice on my own. One of the ladies also painted my hand in mehinde (henna). Many people told me I was ready to be a bride in my sari and mehinde. I just need a groom. It took about 45 minutes for her to apply the henna, and an hour for it to dry. I slept with it on my arm so that the color would darken and scraped it away with coconut oil this morning. The designs will last for a couple of weeks.
The team had a celebration for me and gave me gifts, including beautiful diamond and pearl jewelry that could be worn with my sari, a hand-stitched bag, and a hand-painted tray. The picture on the tray was something I've been looking for the entire time I've been here. No one knew that but me and God. The finishing touch was a beautiful shawl from Kashmir that Jaya gave me. Previously, she'd told me about her trip there with her mother to visit her brother in the army. I knew that the trip to Kashmir meant a lot to her and for her to give me something so personal was very touching.
Normally, I would be at work right now, but I'm using my final night here to pack and do last minute stuff. I bought an extra bag to take back all the things I bought, and I have just enough room.
The team had a celebration for me and gave me gifts, including beautiful diamond and pearl jewelry that could be worn with my sari, a hand-stitched bag, and a hand-painted tray. The picture on the tray was something I've been looking for the entire time I've been here. No one knew that but me and God. The finishing touch was a beautiful shawl from Kashmir that Jaya gave me. Previously, she'd told me about her trip there with her mother to visit her brother in the army. I knew that the trip to Kashmir meant a lot to her and for her to give me something so personal was very touching.
Normally, I would be at work right now, but I'm using my final night here to pack and do last minute stuff. I bought an extra bag to take back all the things I bought, and I have just enough room.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Disclaimer: I started writing about my trip on Saturday, but it took me a few days (okay, almost a week) to sit down and finish writing about my experience. I added dates so you know when it was written initially.
Saturday, April 19
I haven’t slept in about 30 hours. Yesterday, I left work at 2am to catch my flight to Delhi on Spice Jet (http://spicejet.com/), a domestic carrier. Mumbai has 2 airports – domestic and international – and they both have the same name. They are located about 15 minutes away from each other. The domestic airport looks totally different from what I saw at the international airport. It looks relatively new and has this simplistic, yet sophisticated design. There is marble everywhere. In fact, marble seems to be a very prominent building material here. All of my hotels have had marble walls and floors. Also, the homes that I visited had marble. Maybe later I’ll look into why marble is used so much. But, I digress. The marble at the airport had designs in some areas that looked like maharajas. I walked into the airport and all the airlines had ticket counters immediately to the left and right. There was a second set of doors guarded by Indian police with guns that opened to the check-in desks. I checked in and walked to the gate. I still had a couple of hours to kill, so I walked around the small terminal. There were a couple of gift shops and a book store open, but everything else was closed. The first thing I noticed when I looked into the gift shop window was a box of Ciallis and next to it was Viagra. I walked into the store and saw a bunch of pills that I thought required prescriptions. Silly me. There was nothing else for me to do other than read my book while I waited. I looked a little while later and saw people starting to line up to go through the security gate. I walked over and saw a really long line in the middle and a shorter line on the right that had just opened. As I was walking into the right lane, I made eye contact with an African man (#4 since I’ve been here) in the longer line. He motioned for me to go to the other line on the left. The line I was in was for men only. The line on the left was for women. I went through the female only line and waited at the gate for them to call my flight number to start boarding. I was shocked that no one asked me for my ID at the airport. A lot of people were there for those early morning flights. The other African man (#5) came over and talked to me for a few minutes while we were waiting to board. He told me I looked South African when I told him I was American. He was the first of many to say that to me today. We had to take a bus from the terminal to the plane. I thought I was going to sleep for an hour and a half on the plane, but I could not. There was a woman with 2 boys behind me. I thought the youngest one was around 18-24 months initially. He screamed, talked, pushed the seats, kicked and had a smelly diaper. Every time I nodded off, he made sure I wouldn’t stay asleep long. At one point, he stood on the seat and was touching my head. I turned around and gave his mother an evil eye for not keeping him under control. It was 5:45am and most people were trying to catch a quick nap. She made that impossible for everyone. When we arrived at Delhi, and took the bus to the terminal, I saw the boy fully for the first time. He looked like he was at least 3, maybe 4.
The hotel sent a driver to pick me up from the airport. My first impression leaving the airport was pretty good. The streets were clean and pot-hole free, unlike Mumbai. They even had recycle bins and signs to keep the city clean and green. I also didn’t see any beggars. All of that soon changed. The ubiquitous piles of rotting garbage soon emerged, and we seemed to step back in time. There were carts pulled by cows and small horses (not sure if I should call them ponies or just malnourished horses). There were also bicycle rickshaws along with green and yellow auto rickshaws.
I booked the budget hotel, Hotel Ajanta (http://www.hotelajanta.com/), online with hotels.com, so I wasn’t sure of what to expect. The hotel is in a very busy area surrounded by other budget hotels and travel companies catering to foreigners, i.e. tourist traps. The hotel manager tried to give me a higher rate than what I paid online. I showed him my paperwork and he seemed to lose some steam. The room that they gave me was not what I paid for. I looked at the website again to be sure, and I showed it to one of the hotel workers at the front desk. He told me that I checked in before the regular 12 pm check-in time so they gave me that room until 12. Ha. No one said that when I checked in. They were expecting me not to say anything. These people underestimate me.
I walked outside around the hotel while waiting to change rooms. Every other stall is a travel agency. I also looked at another hotel where I was planning to stay originally (had they responded to me). If I didn’t like my new room, I had a back-up plan. The new room was better, but still not great. I showered, but refused to use the towels. I also asked for clean sheets to put on top of what was already there. You get what you pay for. I took a rickshaw to Connaught Place (CP) to find food, shopping, and entertainment. I asked the hotel staff how much I should expect to pay the rickshaw before leaving. The rickshaws have meters but they are not always used. It is very important to get a somewhat objective local to provide the rate so that you have a bargaining position with the driver. If you go into it blindly and accept the rate that they give, you could end up paying 2-3 times more than necessary. I ate and shopped at CP. I also made dinner plans with a woman from my office who is working in Delhi. I walked around CP and the surrounding area for hours before dinnertime. I was approached with the same scam 3 times. Very friendly locals wanted to show me a market with good deals. I had already heard of the place and didn’t need an escort. They were eager to get me there because the merchants give them a cut of the jacked-up prices they charge tourists. They all had the same lines, which reminded me of the kids on the train in NY who sell candy. Two of them were teenagers “practicing” their English with me. I told them to stop following me. I walked around for most of the day and stopped at a coffee shop for refreshment before dinner.
I met Tracey for dinner in an area mostly occupied by expats. The restaurant had a movie theme and served Western food. Tracey was scheduled to be in Delhi for 9 weeks, but she’s leaving after 6 weeks. She doesn’t appear to be as open to India. She told me that she developed a horrible sickness while here and now she refuses to eat anywhere but her hotel and this particular restaurant. We talked about our experiences here. I told her about my day at the parlor after she mentioned her spa treatments at the hotel. I asked her if they bleached her feet too, but of course they didn’t. Her skin is already ideal; she’s white. She found all the emphasis on whitening creams and fairness ads to be disturbing too. We talked for a while and enjoyed good food before leaving for our respective hotels.
Sunday, April 20
Today, I woke up at 4:30am so that I would be ready to leave at 5:30am. I scheduled a tour online with Informative Tours (http://www.indiatraveltours.com/agra%20day%20trip.htm) to see Agra. A driver picked me up from the hotel and took me to the train station. He gave me my tickets and instructions for the rest of the day. The train ride was 2 hours from Delhi to Agra with tea and breakfast. There were so many people at the train station. My car was filled mostly with tourists going to Agra. I brought a newspaper along to read on the train. I started reading and then decided to look out at the countryside instead. All along the tracks were men squatting with their bottle or bucket of water. The train stopped and a man just went about his business with all the passengers staring down at him. I went back to my newspaper. I could do without “the view”. When the announcer said the next stop was Agra, half of my car stood up to disembark. I walked out and saw someone holding a sign with that was supposed to be my name, except it was spelled “Alizabeth”.
An English-speaking guide named Edwin Benjamin Lal (yes, he told me his full name) met me at the gate with a driver. We went to a local 5-star hotel, Hotel Taj View, where I could freshen up. This was the same hotel where I would have lunch later. He asked me what order I preferred to see the 3 monuments and gave me a short description of each. I decided to see Fatehpur Sikri (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fatehpur_Sikri) first, since it was the farthest away (over an hour). After visiting Fatehpur Sikri, I would have lunch, and then visit Agra Fort and Taj Mahal. Edwin talked a lot about the sites and about the city of Agra during the drive. He also talked about his family. He’s the only Christian I’ve met my whole time in India. The driver took us to a parking lot near Fatehpur Sikri where we had to catch a bus to the entrance at the top of the hill. The bus driver wanted to wait on 2-3 more tourists to come since it was just me and my guide. Two women came and he still wanted to wait on more. Then, he hit paydirt when a whole bus full of Russians started walking over. They were a huge target for hawkers. All of a sudden, the bus was swarmed by people trying to sell their wares.
Fatehpur Sikri was built by Mughal King Akbar. The legend says that he was married to a Muslim woman and did not produce children. She encouraged him to marry another woman to bear a child. He married a Jew – still no child. Finally, he married a Hindu woman and still did not produce an heir. He went to see a saint and made a sacrifice, and later his third wife bore a child. (I don’t think it was his, but who am I to destroy the legend.) Anyway, the fort contains marvelous buildings and carvings in red sandstone. There was a pillar that I found very interesting. It contained symbols from Islam (crescents), Judaism (stars), Hinduism (swastikas and lotus), and other secular symbols (mostly Persian). He built each of his wives a home that incorporated her religious beliefs and lifestyle. The Hindu wife had the most elaborate home and temple because she bore the son. He created a religion that incorporated all 3 religions into one, but it didn’t really catch on. There was a slimy green pool on the side where 2 men would jump for the tourists’ money. I thought it was pretty degrading, but it showed how people are willing to debase themselves at a price. There is also a mosque attached to the back of the fort. I walked around the back and saw the mausoleum from the back side. There were huge bee hives hanging from the top of the domes at the entrance. I was frightened at the thought of those things falling on the people below.
We drove back to the hotel where I had lunch. The food wasn’t very good. It seemed like they watered it down too much for the tourists. There were shops inside the hotel where I walked around to kill the rest of the hour. I bought some leather (camel) shoes for Rs 600 after bargaining down from Rs 1150. Pay attention because the shoes come up again later. Edwin and the driver came back to pick me up in a new car. The air conditioner wasn’t working in the old one, and I wasn’t going to make it through the day riding with the windows down with all those smells. (Aside: My uvula has never worked as much as it has since I’ve been here.) We headed over to Agra Fort (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Agra_Fort). It was built by Shah Jahan, Akbar’s grandson. He also built the Taj Mahal, which is not too far, and is visible from the fort. I took several pictures with the back of the Taj Mahal as a backdrop. Most of the fort is made of local red sandstone and marble from Rajasthan. There was also gold on some structures that was stolen at some point by the British or some other conquerors. The buildings were very cool inside even though the sun was beaming down and the heat was unbearable outside.
After leaving the fort, we went to several stores. As part of the tour, Edwin had to take me to certain markets. He told me I didn’t have to buy anything unless I wanted to. Apparently, all of the tour companies do the same thing because I kept running into the same tourists. There were also shops that I saw where I wanted to stop and he obliged. At one very fancy multileveled store, I asked the saleslady not to follow me. She told the other lady and they backed off. Then, a man came over and I told him I was just browsing and he stuck to me like glue. The lady told him I didn’t want to be followed around and he ignored her. All of this was in Hindi, but I knew the context based on their body language. He kept following 2 ft behind me, and I quickly proceeded to the elevator. Do I need to wear a sign that says, “Be attentive, without hovering”? I saw a group of about 5 black people at one of the stores. That doubled the number I’ve seen my whole time in India. I think they were American even though I didn’t hear their voices, because we shared the same nod of recognition. There’s something about having no one else like you around and then seeing that you’re not totally alone every once in a while. It’s a little like seeing someone who could be your relative in a strange land. The Africans that I’ve seen here seem to just ignore me. Maybe they see me as just as foreign to them as everyone else. Or, maybe, it doesn’t really matter and I’m making a big deal out of nothing.
We went to Taj Mahal (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Taj_Mahal) around 5:30pm in time to watch the changes before sunset. Vehicles are not allowed near the structures because all the pollution was damaging the white marble. We had to take a bus to the perimeter and then walk through the East Gate. On the bus, I heard an American accent (southern) offering a woman a seat. I asked him where he was from and he said, “ATL, shawty”. Ok, not really. I told him I was from Texas and we had a brief conversation on the ride up the hill. At the gate, they gave each visitor a bottle of water and shoe covers. I learned during my trip to Elephanta Caves that the national monuments charge a higher rate for foreigners. I had to pay Rs 250 at the Taj Mahal in addition to the Rs 500 I paid at Fatehpur Sikri for a daypass to the 3 monuments, while Indian residents only paid about Rs 20. The Taj Mahal was beautiful from every angle. It is a shrine to the love Shah Jahan had for his wife. It took 22 years and 20,000 workers from all over the land to build. Many of the people living in Agra today are the descendants of those workers.
Edwin showed me how the marble changed colors from the waning sunlight and the inlaid stones and gems looked like glitter. I took a lot of pictures. Shah Jehan had planned to build a black onyx replica of Taj Mahal for his own tomb across the river. He started the foundation, but was arrested by his son before he could finish. I took a picture of the foundation and its surroundings. I actually spent about 5 minutes inside the Taj Mahal. It is a small circular tomb with 2 marble casket-like sculptures in the middle. (The actual bodies are buried underneath the building.) It was hot, crowded, loud, dark and stinky. Everyone was pushing to see the middle. It was a claustrophobic’s worst nightmare and a thief’s paradise. There were signs on the outside warning us of pickpockets. No pictures were allowed inside. I went back out and took more pictures. I ran out of space on my memory card after Edwin took some pictures of me right outside the mausoleum.
We walked back to the bus and I stopped to see the wares along the side of the road. The same shoes I paid Rs 600 for earlier that day were being sold for Rs 100-250. We were going back to the Taj View Hotel to freshen up before going to the train station. I told Edwin I was going to return the shoes I bought earlier since I could get them for less on the street. I walked into the shop and handed the guy my receipt asking for a refund. He told me he couldn’t give me a refund on my credit card because he had already submitted the paperwork. Uh huh. He still had a couple more hours before the shop closed. No one settles their receipts before closing; I’ve worked in retail before. I told him that he could either put the money back on my card or give me cash back. It was that simple. He hemmed and hawed about how he didn’t have the authority to give refunds. I told him to call the owner or whoever had the authority because I wanted my money back. Then he said that credit card transactions could not be voided in “his country” unlike “my country”. Do I look stupid? Visa is Visa everywhere. All of the anger and frustration I’ve felt since being here all came to a head with this man. He underestimated me. I wasn’t leaving without my money. The other shopkeepers were standing at their doors watching the whole dispute transpire. I went back to the lobby and asked to speak to a manager, the hotel owner, or whoever had some authority over the retailers in that hotel because I wanted my money. It wasn’t even about the amount of money anymore, but the principle. This man had no integrity. I told the manager at the front desk what happened and we walked back to that store. She told him I wanted the transaction cancelled and I wanted my money back. He quickly said he would void the transaction on my card. “Didn’t I ask you to do that 10 minutes ago and you said you couldn’t?” I was so angry. He had to go to a credit card machine on the other side. I followed my card over there to watch him void the transaction. I walked out of there with my money, and resolved to never return to that place if I was ever in Agra again.
I took the train back to Delhi and was picked up at the station by the same driver from that morning. The train station was extremely crowded. Families were camped out on the platform having their dinner and they had pallets laid out for sleeping. The driver took me back to the hotel where I showered and packed my things for my flight back to Mumbai on Monday. The flight arrived on time at 2:25pm. I had just enough time to go to my hotel, eat lunch, and get ready for work. Overall, I had a good time on my short excursion to Delhi and Agra. I realize that it was very risky for me to travel in a foreign country as a single female. I was a walking target, but God kept me safe.
Saturday, April 19
I haven’t slept in about 30 hours. Yesterday, I left work at 2am to catch my flight to Delhi on Spice Jet (http://spicejet.com/), a domestic carrier. Mumbai has 2 airports – domestic and international – and they both have the same name. They are located about 15 minutes away from each other. The domestic airport looks totally different from what I saw at the international airport. It looks relatively new and has this simplistic, yet sophisticated design. There is marble everywhere. In fact, marble seems to be a very prominent building material here. All of my hotels have had marble walls and floors. Also, the homes that I visited had marble. Maybe later I’ll look into why marble is used so much. But, I digress. The marble at the airport had designs in some areas that looked like maharajas. I walked into the airport and all the airlines had ticket counters immediately to the left and right. There was a second set of doors guarded by Indian police with guns that opened to the check-in desks. I checked in and walked to the gate. I still had a couple of hours to kill, so I walked around the small terminal. There were a couple of gift shops and a book store open, but everything else was closed. The first thing I noticed when I looked into the gift shop window was a box of Ciallis and next to it was Viagra. I walked into the store and saw a bunch of pills that I thought required prescriptions. Silly me. There was nothing else for me to do other than read my book while I waited. I looked a little while later and saw people starting to line up to go through the security gate. I walked over and saw a really long line in the middle and a shorter line on the right that had just opened. As I was walking into the right lane, I made eye contact with an African man (#4 since I’ve been here) in the longer line. He motioned for me to go to the other line on the left. The line I was in was for men only. The line on the left was for women. I went through the female only line and waited at the gate for them to call my flight number to start boarding. I was shocked that no one asked me for my ID at the airport. A lot of people were there for those early morning flights. The other African man (#5) came over and talked to me for a few minutes while we were waiting to board. He told me I looked South African when I told him I was American. He was the first of many to say that to me today. We had to take a bus from the terminal to the plane. I thought I was going to sleep for an hour and a half on the plane, but I could not. There was a woman with 2 boys behind me. I thought the youngest one was around 18-24 months initially. He screamed, talked, pushed the seats, kicked and had a smelly diaper. Every time I nodded off, he made sure I wouldn’t stay asleep long. At one point, he stood on the seat and was touching my head. I turned around and gave his mother an evil eye for not keeping him under control. It was 5:45am and most people were trying to catch a quick nap. She made that impossible for everyone. When we arrived at Delhi, and took the bus to the terminal, I saw the boy fully for the first time. He looked like he was at least 3, maybe 4.
The hotel sent a driver to pick me up from the airport. My first impression leaving the airport was pretty good. The streets were clean and pot-hole free, unlike Mumbai. They even had recycle bins and signs to keep the city clean and green. I also didn’t see any beggars. All of that soon changed. The ubiquitous piles of rotting garbage soon emerged, and we seemed to step back in time. There were carts pulled by cows and small horses (not sure if I should call them ponies or just malnourished horses). There were also bicycle rickshaws along with green and yellow auto rickshaws.
I booked the budget hotel, Hotel Ajanta (http://www.hotelajanta.com/), online with hotels.com, so I wasn’t sure of what to expect. The hotel is in a very busy area surrounded by other budget hotels and travel companies catering to foreigners, i.e. tourist traps. The hotel manager tried to give me a higher rate than what I paid online. I showed him my paperwork and he seemed to lose some steam. The room that they gave me was not what I paid for. I looked at the website again to be sure, and I showed it to one of the hotel workers at the front desk. He told me that I checked in before the regular 12 pm check-in time so they gave me that room until 12. Ha. No one said that when I checked in. They were expecting me not to say anything. These people underestimate me.
I walked outside around the hotel while waiting to change rooms. Every other stall is a travel agency. I also looked at another hotel where I was planning to stay originally (had they responded to me). If I didn’t like my new room, I had a back-up plan. The new room was better, but still not great. I showered, but refused to use the towels. I also asked for clean sheets to put on top of what was already there. You get what you pay for. I took a rickshaw to Connaught Place (CP) to find food, shopping, and entertainment. I asked the hotel staff how much I should expect to pay the rickshaw before leaving. The rickshaws have meters but they are not always used. It is very important to get a somewhat objective local to provide the rate so that you have a bargaining position with the driver. If you go into it blindly and accept the rate that they give, you could end up paying 2-3 times more than necessary. I ate and shopped at CP. I also made dinner plans with a woman from my office who is working in Delhi. I walked around CP and the surrounding area for hours before dinnertime. I was approached with the same scam 3 times. Very friendly locals wanted to show me a market with good deals. I had already heard of the place and didn’t need an escort. They were eager to get me there because the merchants give them a cut of the jacked-up prices they charge tourists. They all had the same lines, which reminded me of the kids on the train in NY who sell candy. Two of them were teenagers “practicing” their English with me. I told them to stop following me. I walked around for most of the day and stopped at a coffee shop for refreshment before dinner.
I met Tracey for dinner in an area mostly occupied by expats. The restaurant had a movie theme and served Western food. Tracey was scheduled to be in Delhi for 9 weeks, but she’s leaving after 6 weeks. She doesn’t appear to be as open to India. She told me that she developed a horrible sickness while here and now she refuses to eat anywhere but her hotel and this particular restaurant. We talked about our experiences here. I told her about my day at the parlor after she mentioned her spa treatments at the hotel. I asked her if they bleached her feet too, but of course they didn’t. Her skin is already ideal; she’s white. She found all the emphasis on whitening creams and fairness ads to be disturbing too. We talked for a while and enjoyed good food before leaving for our respective hotels.
Sunday, April 20
Today, I woke up at 4:30am so that I would be ready to leave at 5:30am. I scheduled a tour online with Informative Tours (http://www.indiatraveltours.com/agra%20day%20trip.htm) to see Agra. A driver picked me up from the hotel and took me to the train station. He gave me my tickets and instructions for the rest of the day. The train ride was 2 hours from Delhi to Agra with tea and breakfast. There were so many people at the train station. My car was filled mostly with tourists going to Agra. I brought a newspaper along to read on the train. I started reading and then decided to look out at the countryside instead. All along the tracks were men squatting with their bottle or bucket of water. The train stopped and a man just went about his business with all the passengers staring down at him. I went back to my newspaper. I could do without “the view”. When the announcer said the next stop was Agra, half of my car stood up to disembark. I walked out and saw someone holding a sign with that was supposed to be my name, except it was spelled “Alizabeth”.
An English-speaking guide named Edwin Benjamin Lal (yes, he told me his full name) met me at the gate with a driver. We went to a local 5-star hotel, Hotel Taj View, where I could freshen up. This was the same hotel where I would have lunch later. He asked me what order I preferred to see the 3 monuments and gave me a short description of each. I decided to see Fatehpur Sikri (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fatehpur_Sikri) first, since it was the farthest away (over an hour). After visiting Fatehpur Sikri, I would have lunch, and then visit Agra Fort and Taj Mahal. Edwin talked a lot about the sites and about the city of Agra during the drive. He also talked about his family. He’s the only Christian I’ve met my whole time in India. The driver took us to a parking lot near Fatehpur Sikri where we had to catch a bus to the entrance at the top of the hill. The bus driver wanted to wait on 2-3 more tourists to come since it was just me and my guide. Two women came and he still wanted to wait on more. Then, he hit paydirt when a whole bus full of Russians started walking over. They were a huge target for hawkers. All of a sudden, the bus was swarmed by people trying to sell their wares.
Fatehpur Sikri was built by Mughal King Akbar. The legend says that he was married to a Muslim woman and did not produce children. She encouraged him to marry another woman to bear a child. He married a Jew – still no child. Finally, he married a Hindu woman and still did not produce an heir. He went to see a saint and made a sacrifice, and later his third wife bore a child. (I don’t think it was his, but who am I to destroy the legend.) Anyway, the fort contains marvelous buildings and carvings in red sandstone. There was a pillar that I found very interesting. It contained symbols from Islam (crescents), Judaism (stars), Hinduism (swastikas and lotus), and other secular symbols (mostly Persian). He built each of his wives a home that incorporated her religious beliefs and lifestyle. The Hindu wife had the most elaborate home and temple because she bore the son. He created a religion that incorporated all 3 religions into one, but it didn’t really catch on. There was a slimy green pool on the side where 2 men would jump for the tourists’ money. I thought it was pretty degrading, but it showed how people are willing to debase themselves at a price. There is also a mosque attached to the back of the fort. I walked around the back and saw the mausoleum from the back side. There were huge bee hives hanging from the top of the domes at the entrance. I was frightened at the thought of those things falling on the people below.
We drove back to the hotel where I had lunch. The food wasn’t very good. It seemed like they watered it down too much for the tourists. There were shops inside the hotel where I walked around to kill the rest of the hour. I bought some leather (camel) shoes for Rs 600 after bargaining down from Rs 1150. Pay attention because the shoes come up again later. Edwin and the driver came back to pick me up in a new car. The air conditioner wasn’t working in the old one, and I wasn’t going to make it through the day riding with the windows down with all those smells. (Aside: My uvula has never worked as much as it has since I’ve been here.) We headed over to Agra Fort (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Agra_Fort). It was built by Shah Jahan, Akbar’s grandson. He also built the Taj Mahal, which is not too far, and is visible from the fort. I took several pictures with the back of the Taj Mahal as a backdrop. Most of the fort is made of local red sandstone and marble from Rajasthan. There was also gold on some structures that was stolen at some point by the British or some other conquerors. The buildings were very cool inside even though the sun was beaming down and the heat was unbearable outside.
After leaving the fort, we went to several stores. As part of the tour, Edwin had to take me to certain markets. He told me I didn’t have to buy anything unless I wanted to. Apparently, all of the tour companies do the same thing because I kept running into the same tourists. There were also shops that I saw where I wanted to stop and he obliged. At one very fancy multileveled store, I asked the saleslady not to follow me. She told the other lady and they backed off. Then, a man came over and I told him I was just browsing and he stuck to me like glue. The lady told him I didn’t want to be followed around and he ignored her. All of this was in Hindi, but I knew the context based on their body language. He kept following 2 ft behind me, and I quickly proceeded to the elevator. Do I need to wear a sign that says, “Be attentive, without hovering”? I saw a group of about 5 black people at one of the stores. That doubled the number I’ve seen my whole time in India. I think they were American even though I didn’t hear their voices, because we shared the same nod of recognition. There’s something about having no one else like you around and then seeing that you’re not totally alone every once in a while. It’s a little like seeing someone who could be your relative in a strange land. The Africans that I’ve seen here seem to just ignore me. Maybe they see me as just as foreign to them as everyone else. Or, maybe, it doesn’t really matter and I’m making a big deal out of nothing.
We went to Taj Mahal (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Taj_Mahal) around 5:30pm in time to watch the changes before sunset. Vehicles are not allowed near the structures because all the pollution was damaging the white marble. We had to take a bus to the perimeter and then walk through the East Gate. On the bus, I heard an American accent (southern) offering a woman a seat. I asked him where he was from and he said, “ATL, shawty”. Ok, not really. I told him I was from Texas and we had a brief conversation on the ride up the hill. At the gate, they gave each visitor a bottle of water and shoe covers. I learned during my trip to Elephanta Caves that the national monuments charge a higher rate for foreigners. I had to pay Rs 250 at the Taj Mahal in addition to the Rs 500 I paid at Fatehpur Sikri for a daypass to the 3 monuments, while Indian residents only paid about Rs 20. The Taj Mahal was beautiful from every angle. It is a shrine to the love Shah Jahan had for his wife. It took 22 years and 20,000 workers from all over the land to build. Many of the people living in Agra today are the descendants of those workers.
Edwin showed me how the marble changed colors from the waning sunlight and the inlaid stones and gems looked like glitter. I took a lot of pictures. Shah Jehan had planned to build a black onyx replica of Taj Mahal for his own tomb across the river. He started the foundation, but was arrested by his son before he could finish. I took a picture of the foundation and its surroundings. I actually spent about 5 minutes inside the Taj Mahal. It is a small circular tomb with 2 marble casket-like sculptures in the middle. (The actual bodies are buried underneath the building.) It was hot, crowded, loud, dark and stinky. Everyone was pushing to see the middle. It was a claustrophobic’s worst nightmare and a thief’s paradise. There were signs on the outside warning us of pickpockets. No pictures were allowed inside. I went back out and took more pictures. I ran out of space on my memory card after Edwin took some pictures of me right outside the mausoleum.
We walked back to the bus and I stopped to see the wares along the side of the road. The same shoes I paid Rs 600 for earlier that day were being sold for Rs 100-250. We were going back to the Taj View Hotel to freshen up before going to the train station. I told Edwin I was going to return the shoes I bought earlier since I could get them for less on the street. I walked into the shop and handed the guy my receipt asking for a refund. He told me he couldn’t give me a refund on my credit card because he had already submitted the paperwork. Uh huh. He still had a couple more hours before the shop closed. No one settles their receipts before closing; I’ve worked in retail before. I told him that he could either put the money back on my card or give me cash back. It was that simple. He hemmed and hawed about how he didn’t have the authority to give refunds. I told him to call the owner or whoever had the authority because I wanted my money back. Then he said that credit card transactions could not be voided in “his country” unlike “my country”. Do I look stupid? Visa is Visa everywhere. All of the anger and frustration I’ve felt since being here all came to a head with this man. He underestimated me. I wasn’t leaving without my money. The other shopkeepers were standing at their doors watching the whole dispute transpire. I went back to the lobby and asked to speak to a manager, the hotel owner, or whoever had some authority over the retailers in that hotel because I wanted my money. It wasn’t even about the amount of money anymore, but the principle. This man had no integrity. I told the manager at the front desk what happened and we walked back to that store. She told him I wanted the transaction cancelled and I wanted my money back. He quickly said he would void the transaction on my card. “Didn’t I ask you to do that 10 minutes ago and you said you couldn’t?” I was so angry. He had to go to a credit card machine on the other side. I followed my card over there to watch him void the transaction. I walked out of there with my money, and resolved to never return to that place if I was ever in Agra again.
I took the train back to Delhi and was picked up at the station by the same driver from that morning. The train station was extremely crowded. Families were camped out on the platform having their dinner and they had pallets laid out for sleeping. The driver took me back to the hotel where I showered and packed my things for my flight back to Mumbai on Monday. The flight arrived on time at 2:25pm. I had just enough time to go to my hotel, eat lunch, and get ready for work. Overall, I had a good time on my short excursion to Delhi and Agra. I realize that it was very risky for me to travel in a foreign country as a single female. I was a walking target, but God kept me safe.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)