Those aren't birds...those are giant bats.

I've said it before and I'll likely say it at least a few more times...

...India...is...awesome.

On Janpath, between the Claridge Hotel circle and Akbar Road, you'll find large trees bearing fruit lining the roadway. Amidst the hundreds of branches you'll see thousands of bats hanging upside down, clinging to those branches with their feet. There are thousands and by June thousands more or so we're told. The bats flock to Delhi in the warmer months, specifically this stretch of Janpath. We've stopped along the road and we've watched these bats...these rather large brown bats, swoop from tree to tree. Amazing. One of the best parts...the acrid smell of guano is nearly indetectable over the "usual" scent of Delhi.

In the immortal words of Indiana Jones..."Those aren't birds - those are giant bats." Awesome, Indiana...awesome.

Delhi...OUT!!!!

Chooooooooo, Choooooooooooooooooooooo!!

The Turners took the early-morning train to Rishikesh this past weekend...the birthplace of yoga and home to the Beatles' ashram in the foothills of the Himalayas. Rishikesh is about 250 kilometers north of Delhi. I'm still not firm on the metric system, but I think that's just shy of one thousand miles...The train was 1st-class all the way, but only in the sense that we booked a 1st class ticket and the ticket read first class. I mean, plenty of leg room and no short supply of "Rail Neer" Bottled Water (which was always suspiciously filled to the brim), but warm eye compresses, personal masseusses and fully-reclining seats it was not (not that I've ever enjoyed any of those luxuries, but one might expect that in "1st Class"). Whilst on the train, I peeked out a window and witnessed a red monkey riding a dog. India....is.....awesome.

Once we arrived in Haridwar (the nearest train station to Rishikesh), we hopped in the guest house-reserved vehicles for the 60-minute car ride to Rishikesh. Only one of the vehicle's ACs was working (close to 90 Degrees out), so we piled (safely) all of the kids (except Eli, 'cause he's tough!) into one vehicle and drove into the mountains. Even while perilously balanced on a cliffside roadway, without barriers, evidencing a recent landslide, the driver operated the vehicle like he was on the streets of Delhi. If Benny Franklin is correct and experience does in fact keep a dear school and fools will learn in no other....well, then, too many (not all, relax) Indians spend a ton of time in school. It's a trial and error culture..."Whoops, okay, looks like I wasn't fast enough to beat that bus." Needless to say, we parents requested the drivers save their experimentation for when they were driving solo...

We journeyed with an Israeli family and a Spanish-Colombo-German family to a small guest house on the banks of the Ganges river. The guest house was secluded, allowing all of the kids to run free, like a pack of feral dogs. We were surrounded by Languor monkeys and packs of red monkeys. The Languor monkeys (large, silver-haired, black-faced monkeys) would move into the area first, mess around for a day or so and generally just enjoy themselves. The red monkeys, even here in Delhi, are deathly afraid of the Languor monkeys (as many would be), so we never saw the two species sharing a cup of tea (unusual in India). The Languor monkeys eventually moved along. Soon after, as if signaled by a scout, the red monkeys moved into the area...a herd of red monkeys (what is a pack of monkeys called? gaggle, murder, posse?), all sizes and ages (to include babies - How frickin' precious were they?), began to play and generally wreak havoc. The monkeys would test their boundaries, and a few came right up to the guest house (pictures to come). Amazing, really...our little cousins (fossil record!). Also frequently visiting the guest house were cows...yes, a HERD of cows. We actually saw our first "traditional" looking cow...a white cow with black spots. Awesome. The first one of its kind we've seen in India. It must have been especially revered.

There was no "to-do" list, no "to-see" list...the weekend was designed for quiet reflection, relaxation and meditation. Or as much of that as was possible with eight "feral" kids running around (okay, six...two were infants...but they looked feral). We napped and we ate (but not much - the owner of the guest house, a friendly British chap, gave up all "material possessions," to include his taste buds, and rarely offered his guests anything other than vegetarian "cuisine." I mean, what about a little barbequed red monkey, Stevie? I can tell you, they're not endangered -- pigeons of the monkey family, they were). We often found ourselves at the banks of the Ganges, lounging in the rocky, riverside pools and waterfalls. The water was clean and cold, which felt great in the midday heat. We were far enough north that the Ganges was actually very clean...or cleaner. No bloated, floating corpses...no feces (or at least well-dissolved feces)...and a steady current carrying the occasional drowned white-water-rafter quickly downriver (I said no "bloated" corpses...the rafters were fresh). Just down the hill from the guest house, near the basking pools, there was a "jumpin' rock"...just like American jumpin' rocks. The idea was that one would climb to the top of this big ole rock (which always looked deceptively lower from the bottom) and then, once atop the rock, one would fling themself into the cold, deep river below. It sounded like such a good idea that I jumped seven whole times...Julie took second with three jumps, and the other adults rounded it out with single jumps each (ranked on style points). While one "jumper" called it a "religious experience," Julie just called it "jumping from a rock into a river." I fell in the middle...it was a rock and it was a river, but it was a big rock and it was a cold river. The river, also, was the Ganges...the frickin' Ganges, y'all!! I mean, some pretty cool stuff has happened in and along the Ganges (I am not referring to the frequent defecation of millions of Indians). So, yes, to me jumping from a big rock into a very cold Ganges, while not necessarily allowing me to hear the voice of God or the voices of gods or showing me the way to center, was a pretty awesome experience. On my sixth jump, I allowed myself to drift downriver until I reached a steep, sandy bank. Once there, I filled a plastic water bottle with all of the blessed Ganges sand it could carry. Again, awesomeness.

The kids had an absolute blast, actually asking if we could "live there." How many times did I say that about some wicked awesome vacation spot growing up? I wanted to live and/or work at every place we went...I still might retire to Disney World. So, it was cute to hear it from my kids' lips. Olivia and Eli both made some new friends and I managed not to jeopardize the new alliances by saying something stupid (See Phuket blog entry). It was a short trip, but a special one. While nearly impossible to "find center" (let's be honest) with the kids about, there was a certain degree of zen achieved merely by "existing" for a weekend...just being, together, separate...separate but together, enjoying each other's company and one's own company. It was refreshing to wake up and not have to move, not have to plan...it was nice for all of us just to wake up, roll out of bed, stumble down to the "cafe" and welcome the new day, red monkeys, mooing cows and all.

Delhi...OUT!!!

Winter Wonderland

Sometimes, when you're driving through the streets of Delhi, and you turn the AC way, way up...you can almost pretend that the dirt drifts being blown across the surface of the road are actually snow drifts...it also helps if you play Christmas songs while driving...

But then, when you step out of the car, you're hit with 110 degree heat and that winter fantasy withers and dies...Olivia actually said she'd like to stay overseas after India, but we have to go someplace where there's snow, where Santas lives (Finland, according to a commercial on our local TV)...

Delhi...OUT!!!

Phuket is to Paradise as Delhi is to Whatever the Opposite of Paradise Is...

Ahhhh...Phuket
Now, our celebrity faithful may
find Phuket a tad pedestrian, but for the Turners, Phuket was paradise. Crystal clear waters...water the color God intended - greens, blues, purples, all in various shades. The sand...the sand was like silk, grainy silk. Our stretch of beach was quiet and peaceful, with only the occasional European disrupting our zen by attempting to stretch inches of fabric over several miles of body.
And the beaches were clean...free of trash and medical waste...absent were the fears that one might contract a rare contagion while swimming. Phuket was a reminder that there are still parts of the planet people care about and those places make you want to put more effort into caring. In Delhi, by stark contrast, one might think littering a national pasttime.

We basked and baked (Well, I did, the first day...always on the first day because I'm always so eager!). We lounged and drank from coconuts, sweet, sweet coconuts ("You put 'da lime in 'da co-co-nut.."). We built sand castles...er, mounds, and molded sea turtles and seahorses, which half-naked Europeans clumsily stumbled over, apparently finding it difficult to see over their baguette-bellies or strudel-stomachs or tiramisu tummies. We re-re-introduced the kids to the ocean. A few more trips oughta do it...our kids, maybe all kids, have an innate fear of waves. I suppose I can understand why, especially after explaining the "Beware of Tsunami" signs posted throughout Karon and Patong beaches. Our beach time was a reprieve, an opportunity to find center and a reminder that one is never too old to chafe.
We didn't spend all of our time at the beach, of course. After all, we were in Thailand. We ventured out, took in the sights, enjoyed a safari and ate as much Pad Thai as we could bare. The big, white marble Buddha you see above was appropriately named "Big Buddha." Atop the mountain sat Buddha and at his feet was a Buddhist temple and visiting the temple were more scantily-clad Europeans (that seemed a theme). I'm certainly no prude...I mean trust me, I'm not. But really? Really?!? Buddha may not be your (lookin' at you, Europeans!) religious icon, but show him a little respect! Put some clothes on!

At the base of the same mountain was the Siam Safari. This was a great opportunity for us to ride carts pulled by water buffalo, watch "Workin'-monkeys" ply their trade (which was to climb palm trees and collect coconuts...perverts), ride elephants through the rain forest, watch elephants play soccer, watch elephants paint and dance to trance music (but not at the same time), watch elephants solve for 'x' (kidding), watch humans cook Thai cuisine with fresh, picked-from-the-forest ingredients, watch more humans split and "harvest" coconuts, and watch different humans tap rubber trees for...well, rubber. Olivia commented "They make alot of rubbers in Thailand..." Yes, they sure do...and use even more.

Our safari concluded with an incredible lunch-cruise into the bay on an authentic junk. Though spelled like "junk," the boat was far from it, and the food was fantastic. We motored past small, densely forested islets, houseboats lashed together and drifting on the tides and watched as the day's storm rolled in from the ocean (it stormed once a day and the storms were amazing and beautiful).

Speaking of storms...I nearly bore the wrath of Tropical Storm Julie (pictured to the right)...I was trying to snap a picture of my demure, soft-spoken wife, but she had to yell at me for leaving the kids at the stern (some Brits were lookin' after em', geez). Speaking of those Brits...the ride back to the safari's "base" became momentarily awkard after Julie walked me right into commenting on the Brits' former imperialistic tendencies. Unfortunately, I was speaking rather loudly (as Turners tend to do), and all but sabotaged a free trip to jolly ole England, as Olivia and Beatrice (just guessing at the little girl's name) were making quick friends. Dammit!

Alise enjoyed her first post-womb vacation. Like her parents, unlike her siblings, she really took to the ocean (technically the Sea...Arghhh, I prefers me the sea, I do!). Alise is pictured here (to the right) fresh from a bath, looking pensive...wondering why her daddy is such a jackass. That's what Julie told me she was thinking...who am I to argue?

Our hotel (resort, actually...La-tee-daa!) was amazing...the food, the pools (which the kids considered the better water-play option), the spa and the room (free upgrade!) - all of it was incredible.

One of the best things about life in Delhi is the access it provides to places like Phuket...journeys to paradise or the closest thing to a paradise I've ever experienced. In the end, one thing I've realized...while the developed world has many, many (add as many "manys" as you feel appropriate) faults, Starbucks and hamburgers are the occasional "must-have." Thailand was two for two. Delhi's batting zero.

Alas, as I can't in good conscience speak ill of my new "home," Delhi is also a wonder...like, I wonder why so many people walk into traffic and urinate on the side of the road and lie and I wonder why it's so damn hot here and so on...but also, I wonder how so many Indians can be so quick to smile and so sincerely gracious. Delhi is a city of contradictions...I think I've said that before. It is equally and simultaneously frustrating and exhilirating...Delhi kicks you in the nuts and then brings you ice.

Allow me to get to my point (about time?)...places like Phuket facilitate finding center, enable one to quickly find peace. Delhi makes you work for it, makes you search for it...for instance, today we spent our time at the market and the nursery and finally at the pool. The kids were occasionally unbearable (100 degree heat will do that), but as I walked holding Eli's hand and Olivia's hand, with Julie and Alise at my side...I found center...lost it...found it...lost it again...and then, just as the kids drifted off to sleep, found it again. It might have been easier to track down serenity in Phuket, but sometimes the effort required in Delhi makes the moment that much sweeter. Then again, I'm a jackass...what do I know?

Delhi...OUT!!!

Stand-by to Stand-by...

That's not a lyric...at least i don't think it is...not one that i've heard, anyhow...

The Turners are alive and well...we returned this past weekend from Phuket, Thailand...a little vacation. It was amazing and we'll be sure to provide an entry and some pictures shortly. We were having some internet connectivity issues prior to vacation and they've unfortunately persisted. We hope to have things up and running real proper-like, soon.

You see, when you call Verizon or whichever conglomerate you choose for internet service...and you report a problem, you'll probably end up speaking with Sanju (only he'll say his name is Ronald or Patrick) over the phone, who's sitting at a cubicle here in India. Well, Sanju can fix your problem from an ocean away. MTNL, however...our internet provider, they send a guy out to "fix" our internet...let's just say that this guy couldn't be trusted to tie Sanju's shoes...he looks at some wires, the "antique" router that they provide all new customers, walks outside, maybe onto the roof and eventually returns, babbles something about the wind or not having the right pants to do the job, and then leaves. MTNL then closes the "ticket"...problem solved. Awesome.

So, stand-by to stand-by...as they frown upon "blogging" at work, we promise to get something up once MTNL sends over Sanju.

Delhi...OUT!!!

"A man walks down the street, it's a street in a strange world, maybe it's the third world, maybe it's his first time around...

...He doesn't speak the language, He holds no currency, He is a foreign man, He is surrounded by the sound, The sound, Cattle in the marketplace, Scatterlings and orphanages..."

Now, what I just did was called a "gimme"...It should be nearly impossible for even the musically illiterate to NOT know this extended lyric (alot of negatives in that sentence, huh?). I just couldn't decide which portion of the song to include because soooo much of it was applicable. As though this man (another clue) had actually been to Old Delhi.

And that's the topic of our lesson today, children...Old Delhi.

People and more people...and then even more people coming out of shops and alleyways and on rooftops and on rooftops on top of rooftops. Dark stretches of side street that branch and cut deep into the heart of Old Delhi. Corners and caves of neon...vendor after vendor plying the same trade, selling the same goods...spices, jaleebi, knock-off clothing, saris, Indian wedding attire, silver, trinkets, antiques and all manner of useful or useless crap.

Every step along the main street, Chandni Chowk, must be measured and placed deftly or you'll find your feet covered in nameless liquids and liquids with names you wish you didn't know. Chandni Chowk is one wide sidewalk...pedestrians, cattle, tuck-tucks, rickshaws, cars and buses all share this famous stretch of Old Delhi. From Chandni Chowk you can veer off onto a side street and then cut down seemingly infinite alleyways lined with shops and guest houses and mosques. We found ourselves, kids and all, dodging rickshaws and workmen laden with loads of clothing along the alleyways...smoke and stench and incense. Noise, noise and more noise...people screaming, horns blaring from the motorcycles and scooties speeding at you from behind, vendors hawking their wares..."Buy an Indian helicopter?!?!" which is followed by a demonstration of a toy helicopter, an Indian helicopter, that lifts gracefully, spins and plummets to its doom.

Vertigo sets in when you look skyward while cutting through the alleyways. Telephone wire, electrical wire, wire and clotheslines strung among the buildings. The buildings rise only four or five stories, but when you're on street level, among the teeming and pulsing crowd, the buildings may as well be skyscrapers. Each turn and every bend looks the same. Direction is complicated. It seems like all roads double-back on themselves... everything repeats as though Delhi-6 is a person with an unfortunate stutter.

Of course nothing was the same though, nothing. So many people, individuals, waking in Old Delhi to make their day. Each shop a separate ledger. Old Delhi requires focus and full attention. Old Delhi requires you to filter out what you don't immediately need...the senses that aren't asked to provide input are put away.

The kids found themselves dodging hand after hand outstretched to pinch their tiny cheeks. Eli began to defend himself, smacking down the fast-approaching pincers. We walked with the kids marching between us, their hands in ours. Alise was snuggled against Julie, coiled deep into the sling. Old Delhi is a sensory ambush. Old Delhi comes at you from all angles and it comes with everything. It "Brings It!" It is exciting and unfamiliar. It is tense and exhilarating. Old Delhi has a rhythm that even the whitest of white men (read: me) can find and dance to.

More importantly, Old Delhi is home to the Ghantewala, the oldest sweet shop in Delhi..over two hundred years old. We stopped and sampled the delicacies...delicious. Salted cashews and burfees and sohan halwa (which Julie devoured). The story goes...'Ghanta' in Hindi means huge bell. Well, when the emperor's procession would wander down Chandni Chowk, the emperor would stop for the sweets at this particular shop. The emperor's elephant, too, would be fed. The elephant developed a sweet-tooth, and so, procession or not, the elephant would stop in front of the shop and shake its massive, decorated, bell-laden head until it was offered a treat. Once satisfied, the elephant would move along.

That's Old Delhi, but none of these words do it justice. It is a beautifully ugly dog. It is life, brutal and vibrant. Next time, Julie and I will venture there without the kids...it's just too crowded. We didn't take the camera this time because we could only defend so much...next time, though, next time. You'll see...oh, you'll see.

Delhi...OUT!!!!

"Leave me nothing I don't need at all..."

Have I (read: I) had an "Alanis" moment (...Thank you, India...)?

Nope.

Have I realized the extent of my (read: our) wastefulness? The degree of extravagancy?

Indeed.

It's hard not to. Every weekend in Rockville...neigh, multiple times a week, we found ourselves at Target. We could stroll the aisles for hours and we did. We purchased. We consumed. We loved it...who am I kidding? We miss it.

BUT.

Here, in Delhi, we're without that luxury...and believe me when I say this, it is a huge luxury. You know something? Half of half of what we bought we never needed because here we've realized we aren't missing it. The "stuff," the clutter, the things...ash and dust. Memories of the "western" life. Looking around though...at folks, at children who have nothing...and I mean nothing, barely life to cling to...it is all just stuff.

Even here we find ways to add to our collection of things, as though we'll have it buried beside us in our great tombs. We're consuming half as much here and still there is leftover. Old habits die hard...and some won't die because we won't let them. Ugly truth.

Just thoughts and observations though, nothing more. It's really just eye-opening...to be presented with SO much reality and to realize the extent to which we've been part of so many problems.

Good luck with that song lyric, by the way. If you Google it, then you're cheating. If you know it outright, then you're cool as Hell.

Delhi...OUT!!!