The Best of India

Here, finally, is my slideshow of favorite photos from India:

The Best of India

Hampta Pass Trek

India: Hampta Pass Trek

The thing that Carson and I most wanted out of our month in the Indian Himalayas was a long high-altitude trek through the backcountry. We got it. From Manali, we organized a seven day trek to Hampta Pass (4270 meters) in the Kullu Valley. This cost me a little less than US$300 all-inclusive for the week (including boots, which we wisely purchased beforehand), and it was by far the best thing I’ve spent money on here. The trekking party, along with the two of us, included a guide (the jovial “C.D.”), a cook (I think he may have been some type of wizard), a horseman, and four ponies. It felt strange not to carry all our bags, but this is how trekking in the Himalayas works. (We felt glad that it was horses, and not human porters, who were hauling our equipment and supplies.)

The trek itself was only moderately difficult but intensely beautiful. We started in relatively low-altitude alpine meadows, camping among lily groves, walking through forests of pine, maple, and white birch. We climbed up to a high-altitude camp, where we stood on mountain ridges, looking across green valleys, up at mammoth glaciers. Lastly we made one long push to Hampta Pass, into an austere terrain of rocks and ice shrouded in thick white clouds. There was still much snow on the trail (it was quite early in the season), and our route was becoming increasingly treacherous. So we stopped a few hundred meters from the pass itself, satisfied that we had gone as far as we could. It was exhilarating to push that deep up the isolated valley, to be surrounded on all sides by massive mountains covered in snow and ice.

Mostly, though, we just loved the rhythms of each day on the trek: Waking up to a stunning view of mountains; enjoying a cup of morning tea; walking past rushing waterfalls and blooming wildflowers; enjoying a snack of moong dal while sitting on a rock that looks out across a gaping, steep valley; reading and writing next to an ambling river; enjoying one of Gyian’s creations for dinner; drinking boiled water; playing cards in our glowing orange tent; falling asleep gazing at a pitch black sky filled with so many stars. The weather was mild: warm but not hot during the day, cold but not freezing at night, and often drizzly with misty clouds. And the food was surprisingly varied, copious, and delicious: We ate hearty dishes Indian subzi, dal, rice, tasty vegetable fritters, spicy samosas, Chinese chowmein and fried rice, Tibetan momos, American french fries, sandwiches, soup, and (cheeseless!) pizza. Not to mention a plethora of snacks. Like I said, the man was a wizard.

Most of all, perhaps, it felt so nice to have a week without—without showering, music (aside from C.D.’s crooning renditions of Bollywood songs), TV, Internet, money, autorickshaws, bus horns, bargaining, mundane concerns, and other people (aside from a handful of solitary shepherds we met along the way). But it was also a week with—with outstanding views, great conversations, and quiet moments of thought. I was very happy on this trek. I’ll remember it for a long time: I’ll remember it for its beauty, for its excitement, and for its serenity.

Hayden's Theory of Adventures

I've been reading extensively this year, and I've reluctantly come to the conclusion that the world is significantly more boring now than it used to be. Don't get me wrong: I still think it's fascinating beyond measure. But just 200 years ago, a young man my age could come to India and really have himself an exciting adventure: He could start out with nothing, raise an army, visit remote kingdoms, court princesses, build palaces, and generally live it up. Now, that's not possible. (Trust me, I tried.) Alas, the days of plunder and glory are over. Likewise, even the Free Love Era of the Sixties seems misguided and outdated.

So, what to do? What to do? I believe that our generation has been called toward a different type of adventure. It's much less glamorous and profitable. It's an adventure of ensuring human rights, fighting global health epidemics, and promoting sustainable and environmentally friendly forms of development. These are the new and pressing challenges before us. To do this, we must engage respectfully across cultures, link up with progressive leaders, and consider the attitudes and inclinations of diverse populations. For this reason, I’ve come to really value the way in which we see foreign places and engage with the local people. It's all about how we meet each other, how we interact, how we share. So an immersion into this task, and a greater understanding of how we can collaborate, is one thing that I hope to gain from my travels.

Textures of India

The Textures of India

Interlude: Food of the Month (May): Momos

A traditional Tibetan treat. Momos are steamed doughy dumplings filled with cabbage, spinach, and other vegetables. Dipped in a hot chili sauce, these little guys make a tasty snack or meal. They're bite sized if you open wide, and I can happily consume a dozen or so in a single sitting. In Dharamasala, I found a guy on the street that sold me five momos for five rupees: this has to be the great deal on the planet. I admit that I'm totally addicted, and ate them pretty much every day we spent in an area with a large Tibetan community (which was pretty much the whole month). As we liked to say: “Mo' momos, mo' happiness.”

Interlude: Was that just the Dalai Lama?

Carson and I were walking down the road that leads from the village of Bhagsu into McLeod Ganj one evening. She was telling me something fascinating and important, I’m sure. Suddenly we saw, walking toward us, an elderly monk tended to by a younger member of his order.

Me: Drooly! It's him! It's the Dalai Lama!

Carson: Woah, let's go say hello.

Me: (drawing closer) Hmmm, actually I don't think that's him.

Carson: No, it is. It has to be.

Me: No, this guy has too much hair coming out of his ears.

Several weeks later, in a remote gompa (monastery) deep in the Himalayas, we saw a similar pair walking across a courtyard.

Carson: Look, it's the Dalai Lama again!

Me: Yes, this time you're definitely right!

A Buffalo Attack in Ooty

In Ooty, a pleasant hill-station in Tamil Nadu’s Nilgiri Hills, I went for a quiet walk along the forested pathways above the town. Towards the end of my excursion, I spotted through a gap in the trees a meadow that promised fine views of the surrounding hills. I hopped a fence and strode across what turned out to be an enclosure for water buffalo belonging to a Toda pastoralist; the Toda are a tribal group from the rugged southern hills. It was indeed a beautiful spot, with the green hillsides sprawling beneath me. On my way back to the path I decided I would take this opportunity to photograph a buffalo, continuing my efforts catalog the diverse fauna of India.

I can say, in retrospect, that this was my first bad idea. At the sight of my camera, an unfamiliar and shiny object, one buffalo made loud menacing noises and began to flare his nostrils. He marched forward, closing the short distance that lay between us. Hoping to avoid incident, I turned to walk away. He continued to follow. I turned around and glared at him. He stopped.

I return to my photographic endeavors, this time selecting a seated, and supposedly more sedate, buffalo. I can say, in retrospect, that this was my second bad idea. In a second, he jumped to his feet and began to charge at me. Oh God. Apparently these guys aren’t as tame as their street-loping cousins! It was rather terrifying to have an animal that weighs several hundred pounds charge at me at full speed. I panicked as the “stand my ground” approach seemed to be leading only to paralysis. Alas, I did not have my trusty umbrella handy to use as a shield.

As the two of them began to close on me together, I ran away flailing my arms and screaming like a little girl: “Help me! Help me!” But the problem was that I could find the exact spot where I’d earlier hopped the fence. Frantic, I hid behind the cow shed. Thankfully, they didn’t follow me back there. They seemed more intent on avoiding the paparazzi than finishing me off. Still, I took some solace in knowing that, because I had spent the morning writing in the gardens, if I were to be impaled on their formidable horns I’d at least die with my journal up-to-date.

Behind the cow shed in a place of relative safety, I still had the task of surmounting a chest-high barbed wire fence, which I accomplished with a combination of haste and gingerliness, lest my cloven foes changed their mind. Having made it out of there without being crushed to death or contracting tetanus, I waved to the three planters that had responded to my cries for help. Since I spoke no Tamil, I used vivid hand gestures to explain what had just happened to me.

The first man, named Chinnu, nodded knowingly at my wild gesticulations. First he pointed to the buffalo and said “hungry.” Hungry? What did he mean by hungry? Then Chinnu pointed to me and said “escape… great escape.” I smiled and shook his hand. Now he’ll be telling the story of the idiot American who almost died in a cow patch for weeks. You know, I always assumed that, when I died in India, it would be on my bicycle or from dysentery. I never suspected a silent but angry buffalo would do me in. Safe but shaken, I sat on the far side of a fat tree to rest.

A Monkey Attack in Hampi

I was sitting on the porch of my guesthouse one evening, chatting with Chris, a British fellow I met there, and eating my second helping of mangoes for the day. Suddenly, a troupe of monkeys swept down from the roof. They made low cackling noises as they clamored about the porch. Within seconds, their beady little eyes were fixed firmly on my mangoes. As they began to circle, Chris ran to hide in his room and watch the coming scuffle through the safety of his barred window.













I, however, am devoted to my mangoes, and was not going to give them up without a fight. I grabbed the bowl and leapt back from the table. The monkeys followed me, closing in. I stood my ground and glared at them. They advanced. I whipped out my umbrella and began waving it belligerently. Their shrieking indicated that they weren’t about to back down.









Luckily, the hotel manager heard the commotion (and my cries for help) and raced up to the porch, shotgun in hand. (Don’t worry, it wasn’t loaded!) The sight of the barrel and the popping gun-like sounds the manager made with his mouth frightened my attackers. They scampered into a hasty retreat. He placed the gun in my lap and I finished my mangoes in peace.

A Careful Consideration of the Indian Movie Poster

Kathrine and I were walking through Mysore one afternoon when we came across a wall crowded with various Kannada, Tamil, and Hindi language movie posters. I took out my camera and took a photograph of the assortment.

Kat: They’re just posters. Why do you like them so much?
Me: Just posters?!? Don’t you see, my Danish, that the full range of human emotions is present on these posters? Look, see that man on the horse, he is displaying heroism. And that scowling mustachioed guy with the sword, he’s out for revenge. And that couple there: The girl has admiration for him but he only has lust in his eyes. And that guy looking sheepish as the girl plays hard-to-get, that’s the comedic folly of puppy love. And that woman with long hair and her arms outstretched, she’s expressing eternal joy and wonderment. And that family scene there with those three women, they’ve got grief, melancholia, and remorse. And that massive battle scene, there’s more pride and pain, more courage and cowardice. Here in these posters, as in India, you will find everything.

Kat: So you really like the movies then?
Me: Hmmm, actually, the movies I don’t much care for. They’re too long and, besides, I still can’t understand them. But these posters, yaar, I really love them!”









INTERLUDE – MY FAVORITE TAGLINE:

In Karnataka, the movie posters were particularly expressive. Also, it often seems like there is a whole category in Indian cinema for revenge flicks. So, perhaps inevitably, one of my favorite posters depicted a uniformed man on a rampage, giving his enemies a death scowl while he reached for his gun. The tagline read: “When God is silent, he is violent.” Yeah, you can pretty much guess what this one is about.

Greatest Hits from India

In order to get this blog warmed up before I leave for Central America, I thought I'd post some of my favorite stories and pictures from India. If you have any requests, let me know.

Here are my four favorite photos of myself from India:

Cafe -- Dharamsala, Himachal Pradesh










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Camel safari -- Sam Dunes, Rajasthan

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Celebrating Holi with Nannerl -- Jodhpur, Rajasthan

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Kit Kat, Munch, and me! -- Ooty, Tamil Nadu

All About GRAVIS

In India I worked for ten months at GRAVIS. Located in Jodhpur, Rajasthan, GRAVIS is a local NGO that promotes sustainable development in the Thar Desert. To learn more about the work we do, or to contact the organization directly, please visit GRAVIS' website.

One of my first tasks when I arrived was to assist with the writing and editing of the 2004-2005 Annual Report. Here is a picture of the cover:















Click here to view a complete copy of the report in PDF format. (It may take a moment to load.)

Sitting on One Carpet

Since I returned from India, many people have asked me where they can buy my book. Well, I've got good news for you: It's right here! You can view it on the web or download it for FREE.

First, take a look at the beautiful cover:

Next, click here for a PDF version of the complete book. (It takes a moment to load.) Enjoy!

Welcome

Welcome to Hayden Abroad!