And this is where it all ended. My dream. India 1997. Gunilla and I. I escaped my surroundings in an infantile and desperate state and I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I remember that my beloved mother was worried and that she just told me “Mikael, isn’t three weeks in Majorca enough?” But blinded by my dream, I took my backpack and simply went to India. Ray, the man from whom I bought the flight ticket, sort of realized that I was on the wrong track, and he asked me if I had any idea what travel in India was all about. But omnipotent as I was, I didn’t care to ponder the question. He told me about a woman who would be on the same flight, who had lots of information about India. I got her name. It was Gunilla. And as the stupid 20 year old guy I was, I sought her out. Dressed as an Indian clown, she saw me at Heathrow, and judiciously ignored me. I tried to page her, but she paid me no heed. I could hardly get a word out edgewise in English, but I found a nice English guy on the flight, and tried to eke out a conversation, and actually managed somehow. Well, in Bombay, my luggage got lost, and I waited and waited. I couldn’t handle the situation, and had a terrible pang of homesickness. And through all of this, I found a screaming woman, DEMANDING her baggage, and it dawned on me that this was Gunilla. I dared to approach her, to ask if this indeed was her.
“Who the fuck are you?” was the answer. I simply explained that I had gotten her name from Ray, the man who had sold me the flight ticket, and that he had suggested that I ask her a few questions about travel in India. She mellowed at that very moment, and we ended up having to stay in Bombay for a day, since the flight to Delhi was delayed by a whole twelve hours.
Fortunately, Air India compensated us with the five-star treatment in a hotel, and Gunilla and I just happened to be next door to each other. Later on, she knocked on my door and wanted to talk, and as we did, we had lunch together. I took an instant liking to her, and we ended up deciding to travel together for a couple of weeks. She was someone who really knew her shit about arriving in Delhi in the middle of the night, and she correctly saw me as this snot-nosed youth on the run. One of her friends was supposed to pick her up at the airport and she offered to let me stay together with them for the night. It was January 18, 1997, and it was fucking COLD. Krishna was the name of her friend, and he was an exceedingly gracious man. The following day, Gunilla left me to go stay with another of her friends in Delhi. But Krishna was really nice to me, driving me into the city to the quarter where his office was located, and in the evenings, let me lodge with him for free. I decided to move to the central part of Delhi, and with the help of Gunilla, I got the name of a decent hotel: Mehta’s Room. It was a small hotel in Connaught Place, right smack downtown. Since it was January, it was really cold, and I requested an extra blanket, and they were nice enough to provide me with three thick ones to prevent me from freezing to death in bed.
Every morning, we met up at the Don’t Pass Me By Café, where I ate plain Tibetan bread with black tea, which delighted me to no end. I got ripped of big time one day while trying to see a bit of the city on my own. Gunilla saved me and we found the guy who ripped me off, although we obviously didn’t get any of my money back. Nevertheless, Gunilla threatened him with police action, and the tout was never heard from again. I was so scared and shocked that it reduced me to tears. But Gunilla was there to comfort me, and just explained that this was the way things happened in India. I was scared. I escaped to the Main Bazaar to try to get “back on stage”. I found a really cheap hotel, where I found myself drinking whisky with a couple of English guys one night. We did some sightseeing in Delhi, including, among other sites, the Jama Masjid, where we ascended the minaret, in its narrow lightlessness, where someone had the audacity to attempt to steal my money belt. It scared me even more, compounding a sense of fear and hatred of India. But Gunilla, once again, was there. She calmed me down, and we escaped from Delhi all the way down to Madurai.
The train to Madurai took almost 60 hours, with a short stopover in Chennai. We had dinner surrounded by Indians completely fascinated by seeing a young and completely disoriented foreigner pierced up like pin cushion, trying in all futility to “fit in”. I was obviously unsuccessful in this attempt with my morbid-patterned rave pants, piercings in all sorts of strange places, and my not-so-groovy Nepali hat.
New College House was the hotel where we lodged. Madurai’s salient feature is the Sri Meenakshi Temple, where you can be blessed by an elephant, simply by giving it a coin, thereby receiving a blessing from its trunk on your head. I got the blessing two or three times, and found it most amusing. This was my happiest memory from that trip to India, and my joy was indescribable. We had plans to go to Kodaikanal to see the mountains, and then afterwards to Goa. And even though there were thirty years between Gunilla and I, we became the very best of friends. Once we had finished touring the temple, a tailor found us, offering to show us the temple from a nearby rooftop. But of course, there was a catch, and he wanted to sell us clothing of “excellent quality”, as so often happens in this country. He took us to the Water Temple in a large rowboat, which was so jam-packed with Indians, that it was a miracle that we didn’t sink, drowning every last one of us. We took it all in stride, laughing the whole way, filled with happiness to be living such a wonderful experience.
But it all ended. On my way back, I stopped in a phone booth to call home. My Dad answered, and I immediately understood that something was terribly wrong. The only thing he said was, “Mikael, come home. Your mother is dying, and I want you to come home right now.” And in that moment, my whole world crashed down on my head. I only remember saying, “Please Dad, just pick me up from the airport.” Six thousand miles away from home, my tears fell ceaselessly. The rest of the memory is hazy. Gunilla took the phone from me, and promised me that I would be home before the respirator could be turned off. And in the meantime, I went back to the hotel to pack my bags, and Gunilla called the Embassy and various travel agencies, and the following morning, I was on a flight home. My three month trip lasted only two weeks. I cried nonstop for the 24 hours it took to get home. I sent a fax to the ICU at Sahlgrenska Hospital, asking the nurses to read them out to my Mom. My singular goal was to arrive home before it was too late. And I did it. In the event, my Mom survived, and she lived another several years before she actually passed away. But I never got the chance to get back to India, and all the remained in terms of memories from the trip was just of one big trauma.
Today I am sitting in the very same hotel in Madurai, crying the day through as the memories flood back. But I am here to make my peace with India. And I went back to the temple, have been blessed twice, endlessly pacing around the streets, crying. I made my way back to the Water Temple, openly weeping on the street, thinking about the meaning of life. This is the most important and seminal event for me on this trip. And it took me ten whole years. But I did it. And I did something good with it. And my Mom was here with me, to share the good memories, and I can finally leave it behind me. I finally have closure. And so far, I can honestly say that I’ve had a fantastic time, and now I can enjoy the rest India in all its splendor.
This is for my Mom and Gunilla, both of whom no longer enjoy the luxury of being alive, like I do.
(Intro: Sade “Flow”)
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Saturday, November 3, 2007
“We can stick around and see this night through”
And meanwhile I walk along the beach, in a country that has been my dream for ten years, I suddenly hear Bo Kaspers Orkester “Semester”, from all of the restaurants which makes me so happy, I buy four cans of tonic water and return to my room. Like every other evening we have this “ritual”: see the sunset from the rocks, drink a gin and tonic, and just talk bullshit!
From Cochin, in first class of course, just because when I suggested second class, André turned around and just look at me as if I was a mental retard, order lunch at a place where the food was cheap (something that for sure that neither André nor Mother Nina give a shit about). Whatever, we got from Cochin to Kovalam.
Trivandrum is just a stopover and we arrive late in the evening, and with a sort of stressed André, who has the hope of finding a hotel. After a late dinner at a place we found in the Lonely Planet, they don’t have any rooms available, we find a room eventually, but hey, not without problems. While we wait for the food we ordered, Nina and I go out for a smoke, take the time to ask around at all the hotels within striking distance, but they are all fully booked. Frustration and irritation are the words of the hour. Finally we are lucky enough to find a room, a decent one, like the price, and in the end everything turns out well, as it always does.
Kovalam is one of the most beautiful places a young man who is fulfilling his dream has ever seen. Wish to find a bungalow as close to the beach as possibly, but they don’t have on any, and through our taxi driver who takes us from Trivandrum this fixer meet us, takes us to a place named Rock View. Half an hour discussion results in a fat discount (from Rs 40,000 to Rs 20,000) for three weeks.
Mikael has reached PARADISE! That’s for sure, and even if it’s only been two months since he left the country that he belongs to, he’s in an unfamiliar world and the fact that he has four more months on the road is just thrilling. And so far, I did it.
And in this paradise, I’ve taking a vacation from the travelling for three weeks. With the beach 30 meters from the house we rent I‘m not going to do anything other than being big time LAZY (that basically means that I will sleep for as long as I want, head right to the beach after André or Nina give me breakfast in bed and the just cook in the sun).
Regarding the beach and things you do on it (like go in the water once in a while, maybe hire a body board, EVENTUALLY dip your toes in the boiling hot water), André managed to make a fool of himself BIG TIME (now we’re talking really big big time!) After tanning for two hours lying completely still and basically cooking ourselves, we take the big step and hit the water. Meanwhile the laughing in background gets clearer and clearer, with the two of us plashing around in the water, I turn my head towards the beach where people were laughing like a hallelujah song, and out of the water it becomes clear to me that André’s swimming shorts have torn right down the ass!!
HAHAHAHA!! OH MY GOD! YOU SHOULD HAVE ALL BEEN THERE, SEEING THIS BIG RIP IN HIS SHORTS WAS TOO MUCH FUN. (Although not that was inside his short, his fish-belly white ass), along with the enthusiastic and crazy laughing from the people on the beach!
One thing for sure, is that he certainly from this moment has achieved a nick name by the locals (as well as all the tourists that had the privilege of watching this MISERY, something like ”Mr. White Ass”!
And as if this would be the only stupid thing that happened to him, this guy from USA (try to compare this with being born in Chile regarding skin type, André has started a sun tan competition challenging me to win it. HAHA…well well we all have our dreams, some of them come true, some of them don’t. And after one week of intensive tanning on the beach, where I’m BLACK compared to him, he still think that he has a chance (come on, give me break, just give up, because that dream of yours will NEVER come true!)
“Excuse me….excuse ME, but how old did you say you were, 7 or 37??”
However, André is a funny guy, cultivated and well spoken (which he more than happily announces at every chance he gets), spontaneous, cool and together with “Mother Nina” who is also one of the funniest peopIe I have ever met, they both make me happy with simple thing like giving me breakfast in bed or massages on the beach.
And the three of us got it all, manage to get everything that a five star all inclusive hotel has for a tenth of what the Swedish tourist pay for a room next door! Garzia’s is the place that brings us lunch at the beach (beer and Gin and Tonic of course if that’s what we want), and has the best food around. And on top of that, if you’re not in the mood for having dinner with an English family of three, that how some manages to drink 23 beers over five hours (if they were drunk, well…”sort of”) you just order the food to the room. Of course we take every opportunity to do so, since we all are lazy and on vacation!
The only thing you have to do for this “luxury” is to simply give a Bounty or a school pen, depending on the age I perceive him to be on the day to “Busboy” as we have called him so far. And Busboy cleans our room every third day and makes sure that our minibar is complete, changes our bed sheets, gives us clean towels and takes care of our laundry, but as the neurotic guy I am, this young man with his “cleaning neurosis” starts his day by cleaning the room (had a guest for a couple of nights that resulted in that our room looked like the source of SARS!), and of course doing the daily sit ups and push-ups, just to make sure that I remain the ultimate “beach bum” that I am!
Hey, who is going to be the hottest guy on the beach? Me of course!
Rent a motorbike one day and drive endlessly around Kovalam; the urge for a nice beach drives us to this beautiful place. It’s just amazing. The day ends with the usual “ritual” at “our” place on the rocks watching the sunset and then dinner with André and Nina, and as always it’s good, thanks to Nina and André’s impressive knowledge about food and cooking. That’s how this young man spends his day in paradise, including a couple of hours at the internet café at Leo’s.
One morning a policeman knocks on our door (and of course a morning after having “guests”, which made me open the door in a miserably state, all wrapped in the bed sheets and a hat that I obviously fall asleep with (no further questions, please!), and I opened the door with my sunglasses on just so he wouldn’t arrest me for illegal appearance, asking for our passports. For security reasons was his answer when I asked him why. Sure, but after that it becomes sort of scary, there are police everywhere but no one know why. A murder in Trivandrum a couple of days earlier is one explanation, together with rumors of terror threats, all of which kind of worries us. But it all turns out that what was going on was that the President of India was coming for a visit to Trivandrum as well to the beach! Just because of this, they closed the whole city down, the shut down everything, even the cell phone network, and internet, forget about it all. The whole town was DEAD. Just because one fucking woman, that bitch!
For three days we’ve been kind if bored, spending the nights restlessly, but nothing bad comes without something good. We had the beach to ourselves, meaning that we didn’t have to bother with all the annoying “fruit mammas”, (that during the day scream out Pineapple, Coconut, Banana, Mango at least 697,895, 404 times a day and after saying NO for the third time, you just want to rip that fucking pineapple from the basket on her head and shove it down her throat so she would just shut the fuck up), no harassing beach hawkers that want to sell you a piece of crap they call a sarong for Rs 300, that you can get for Rs 60 in the end, no fortune teller and best of all, incredible weather!
Kovalam is Paradise, so amazingly beautiful, quiet and who is happiest in the world? Is it you or me?
(Intro: Peter, Bjorn and John (feat. Victoria Bergsman): “Young Folks”
From Cochin, in first class of course, just because when I suggested second class, André turned around and just look at me as if I was a mental retard, order lunch at a place where the food was cheap (something that for sure that neither André nor Mother Nina give a shit about). Whatever, we got from Cochin to Kovalam.
Trivandrum is just a stopover and we arrive late in the evening, and with a sort of stressed André, who has the hope of finding a hotel. After a late dinner at a place we found in the Lonely Planet, they don’t have any rooms available, we find a room eventually, but hey, not without problems. While we wait for the food we ordered, Nina and I go out for a smoke, take the time to ask around at all the hotels within striking distance, but they are all fully booked. Frustration and irritation are the words of the hour. Finally we are lucky enough to find a room, a decent one, like the price, and in the end everything turns out well, as it always does.
Kovalam is one of the most beautiful places a young man who is fulfilling his dream has ever seen. Wish to find a bungalow as close to the beach as possibly, but they don’t have on any, and through our taxi driver who takes us from Trivandrum this fixer meet us, takes us to a place named Rock View. Half an hour discussion results in a fat discount (from Rs 40,000 to Rs 20,000) for three weeks.
Mikael has reached PARADISE! That’s for sure, and even if it’s only been two months since he left the country that he belongs to, he’s in an unfamiliar world and the fact that he has four more months on the road is just thrilling. And so far, I did it.
And in this paradise, I’ve taking a vacation from the travelling for three weeks. With the beach 30 meters from the house we rent I‘m not going to do anything other than being big time LAZY (that basically means that I will sleep for as long as I want, head right to the beach after André or Nina give me breakfast in bed and the just cook in the sun).
Regarding the beach and things you do on it (like go in the water once in a while, maybe hire a body board, EVENTUALLY dip your toes in the boiling hot water), André managed to make a fool of himself BIG TIME (now we’re talking really big big time!) After tanning for two hours lying completely still and basically cooking ourselves, we take the big step and hit the water. Meanwhile the laughing in background gets clearer and clearer, with the two of us plashing around in the water, I turn my head towards the beach where people were laughing like a hallelujah song, and out of the water it becomes clear to me that André’s swimming shorts have torn right down the ass!!
HAHAHAHA!! OH MY GOD! YOU SHOULD HAVE ALL BEEN THERE, SEEING THIS BIG RIP IN HIS SHORTS WAS TOO MUCH FUN. (Although not that was inside his short, his fish-belly white ass), along with the enthusiastic and crazy laughing from the people on the beach!
One thing for sure, is that he certainly from this moment has achieved a nick name by the locals (as well as all the tourists that had the privilege of watching this MISERY, something like ”Mr. White Ass”!
And as if this would be the only stupid thing that happened to him, this guy from USA (try to compare this with being born in Chile regarding skin type, André has started a sun tan competition challenging me to win it. HAHA…well well we all have our dreams, some of them come true, some of them don’t. And after one week of intensive tanning on the beach, where I’m BLACK compared to him, he still think that he has a chance (come on, give me break, just give up, because that dream of yours will NEVER come true!)
“Excuse me….excuse ME, but how old did you say you were, 7 or 37??”
However, André is a funny guy, cultivated and well spoken (which he more than happily announces at every chance he gets), spontaneous, cool and together with “Mother Nina” who is also one of the funniest peopIe I have ever met, they both make me happy with simple thing like giving me breakfast in bed or massages on the beach.
And the three of us got it all, manage to get everything that a five star all inclusive hotel has for a tenth of what the Swedish tourist pay for a room next door! Garzia’s is the place that brings us lunch at the beach (beer and Gin and Tonic of course if that’s what we want), and has the best food around. And on top of that, if you’re not in the mood for having dinner with an English family of three, that how some manages to drink 23 beers over five hours (if they were drunk, well…”sort of”) you just order the food to the room. Of course we take every opportunity to do so, since we all are lazy and on vacation!
The only thing you have to do for this “luxury” is to simply give a Bounty or a school pen, depending on the age I perceive him to be on the day to “Busboy” as we have called him so far. And Busboy cleans our room every third day and makes sure that our minibar is complete, changes our bed sheets, gives us clean towels and takes care of our laundry, but as the neurotic guy I am, this young man with his “cleaning neurosis” starts his day by cleaning the room (had a guest for a couple of nights that resulted in that our room looked like the source of SARS!), and of course doing the daily sit ups and push-ups, just to make sure that I remain the ultimate “beach bum” that I am!
Hey, who is going to be the hottest guy on the beach? Me of course!
Rent a motorbike one day and drive endlessly around Kovalam; the urge for a nice beach drives us to this beautiful place. It’s just amazing. The day ends with the usual “ritual” at “our” place on the rocks watching the sunset and then dinner with André and Nina, and as always it’s good, thanks to Nina and André’s impressive knowledge about food and cooking. That’s how this young man spends his day in paradise, including a couple of hours at the internet café at Leo’s.
One morning a policeman knocks on our door (and of course a morning after having “guests”, which made me open the door in a miserably state, all wrapped in the bed sheets and a hat that I obviously fall asleep with (no further questions, please!), and I opened the door with my sunglasses on just so he wouldn’t arrest me for illegal appearance, asking for our passports. For security reasons was his answer when I asked him why. Sure, but after that it becomes sort of scary, there are police everywhere but no one know why. A murder in Trivandrum a couple of days earlier is one explanation, together with rumors of terror threats, all of which kind of worries us. But it all turns out that what was going on was that the President of India was coming for a visit to Trivandrum as well to the beach! Just because of this, they closed the whole city down, the shut down everything, even the cell phone network, and internet, forget about it all. The whole town was DEAD. Just because one fucking woman, that bitch!
For three days we’ve been kind if bored, spending the nights restlessly, but nothing bad comes without something good. We had the beach to ourselves, meaning that we didn’t have to bother with all the annoying “fruit mammas”, (that during the day scream out Pineapple, Coconut, Banana, Mango at least 697,895, 404 times a day and after saying NO for the third time, you just want to rip that fucking pineapple from the basket on her head and shove it down her throat so she would just shut the fuck up), no harassing beach hawkers that want to sell you a piece of crap they call a sarong for Rs 300, that you can get for Rs 60 in the end, no fortune teller and best of all, incredible weather!
Kovalam is Paradise, so amazingly beautiful, quiet and who is happiest in the world? Is it you or me?
(Intro: Peter, Bjorn and John (feat. Victoria Bergsman): “Young Folks”
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
“It’s when you’re swaying, riding on a dive, focal attraction, and standing on the side”
From happy days of being drunk in Diu, this young man flies to BOLLYWOOD. André picks me up at the airport that is located 90 minutes from Colaba, which is the cheapest and best place to stay in Bombay. Here you get a decent room for Rs 1500!
Mr. André, an incredibly knowledgeable guy, who knows a lot about Hinduism, speaks ten languages, loves to talk about politics (which I don’t, you know me), has been all over the world, comes and takes me to a really expensive and flashy restaurant and buys me dinner. To celebrate, we drink Champagne (and Gin and Tonic, of course), get drunk, laugh and, we are the kings of the world! The places that he takes me to are not the regular restaurants that I’m use to, but what the fuck, who cares? The last night in Bombay, we went for sushi at the Taj, which is the most expensive palace in Bombay, and the bill ended up at Rs 7500 (1200 Swedish crowns, and this is in India!!)
Speaking of the Taj, I have to tell you the story about the first time we went there for a couple of beers, and it turned out that they had a dress code, which basically means that you’re not supposed to show up in shorts and a tank top, even though it’s Dolce and Gabbana (I had “real” shorts from India; shouldn’t that have been good enough?) They just kicked us out! Capital assholes!
We took a boat trip to Elephanta Island, which was interesting because André knew the history about it, but otherwise not so much to see, just caves, and if you’ve seen one, you seen them all (like watching Swedish porn). Five very INTENSIVE days in Bombay concluding with……a BOLLYWOOD MOVIE!!
André’s agent gets us in to this big movie that is coming out next year. André has done this before, so he knows how it works, and of course a day like this has the privilege of getting up early in the morning, and for those who know me, this is not one of my favorite things….hmm… Me, André and this REALLY neurotic bitch from Austria, and a “ couple” (or something that should look like it) from Australia, where he actually was an actor and singer back in Australia, and a “ non-English speaking”) a girl from Peru (very pretty though, honestly so hot that I almost had ho hide my hard on), and a FAT CRUMMY cochon from San Francisco, and like top of it all, a totally disoriented guy from Iceland and two Swedish girls. And as usual I let my verbal diarrhea flow, but with these Swedish girls, there was only “one-way communication” meaning that I asked a lot of questions, like where they were from and things like that, but with these “deaf mutes” or rather socially retarded girls, I didn’t get any kind of response. (ADHD, DAMP, juvenile dementia?) Fuck it! The neurotic girl from Austria was just too much; she couldn’t even drink from the same bottle of water that I and André was drinking from, she had to clean it with antiseptic before she took a swig, and she demanded plastic mugs and thought that Indians were a “dirty humans” and I would not be surprised if this girl never experienced a REAL orgasm, or even worse, being finger fucked by a guy wearing sterile hand glove!!
When she told us, back in the car, from the movie shooting that she couldn’t stand the beggars and the children asking for money, my patience sort of ran out. Hey bitch, put yourself in their position, do you think they do it for fun, huh? Wake up, OK!
And at the movie shoot we have the opportunity to dance in the background, along with these really famous Indian stars, and the two first shots make us so popular, that the director put the two of us in front of the camera (I did my Tony Manero/Madonna moves combined with “my own steps”), and the more we dance the closer we get to the camera. The Indian extras totally surround us and the attention we get is just crazy! And the more we dance, the closer to the camera we get, and at the end, WE are The KINGS! Up at the DJ-booth and the spotlight is on me! People are surrounding me, asking about my earrings, and my sunglasses (PRADA, of course, what else?), which I more than proudly tell them ( And of course I’m wearing D&G tank top and shorts from Gucci). Confessions on a Dance Floor, I just love the affirmation and the validation I get, and best of all, I will be seen in this movie, that’s for sure. They asked us to come back the next day, but since I got a ticket to Goa I have to say no. (Bad thing, they pay for everything: the transport, the food and a stipend of Rs 600 a day). But since I decided to head further down south, I got myself a ticket to Goa (flight of course) for only 500 Swedish crowns.
André is going to Cochin to meet up his “surrogate mother” and I will be there on Wednesday. The plan is to go on a houseboat for a couple of days, and André and Nina are going to cook for me, and as well teach me how to cook, too! Believe or not! ( just hope it’s going to be “diet food”, do not want ruin my so called “yoyo weight loss diet”
Bombay, a city filled with posh people and places that are expensive, but it has its dark side that I can’t even describe in words, all these beggars, particularly all the kids, dirty and totally exploited, without any future, just makes me cry. I feel so much for these people. Gave away the coins that I had in my bag, and gave away some clothes that I don’t need. I tried.
For whatever reason, sitting here in Goa, where I had my first shark for dinner, where I’m sitting right now , had a Carlsberg for the first time since I got here (And you all know me, I LOVE Carlsberg beer), got a nice fucking suntan, got robbed at Anjuna beach, the fucking asshole took my wallet, though there was only cash in it, he took what I had, but still it was Rs 2000, (approximately 350 Swedish crowns). Tried to find the fucker to rearrange his face but of course I couldn’t find him, but since I’m going back to Goa, I will find him, and when I find him, he will end up in a wheelchair. Whatever, having the time of my life and it’s only getting better and better, and I’m just so excited for the next four months that I have before I’m going home. “Little Brown/Blue” in the big world is making the best out of it.
More pictures are coming, that’s for sure, and please keep writing to me. I hope that you all are just fine, even though the fall is coming closer, I’m just enjoying the 35 degree heat (it’s hot here, don’t even bother to ask!)
Next thing I will do, is pack my bag and have a Gin and Tonic (just a tiny one), since a bottle of gin only cost 35 Swedish crows
You’re all on my mind. Through cyberspace, you will all have a BIG hug!
(Intro: Bo Kaspers Orkester: “The Spotlight Is On Me”)
Mr. André, an incredibly knowledgeable guy, who knows a lot about Hinduism, speaks ten languages, loves to talk about politics (which I don’t, you know me), has been all over the world, comes and takes me to a really expensive and flashy restaurant and buys me dinner. To celebrate, we drink Champagne (and Gin and Tonic, of course), get drunk, laugh and, we are the kings of the world! The places that he takes me to are not the regular restaurants that I’m use to, but what the fuck, who cares? The last night in Bombay, we went for sushi at the Taj, which is the most expensive palace in Bombay, and the bill ended up at Rs 7500 (1200 Swedish crowns, and this is in India!!)
Speaking of the Taj, I have to tell you the story about the first time we went there for a couple of beers, and it turned out that they had a dress code, which basically means that you’re not supposed to show up in shorts and a tank top, even though it’s Dolce and Gabbana (I had “real” shorts from India; shouldn’t that have been good enough?) They just kicked us out! Capital assholes!
We took a boat trip to Elephanta Island, which was interesting because André knew the history about it, but otherwise not so much to see, just caves, and if you’ve seen one, you seen them all (like watching Swedish porn). Five very INTENSIVE days in Bombay concluding with……a BOLLYWOOD MOVIE!!
André’s agent gets us in to this big movie that is coming out next year. André has done this before, so he knows how it works, and of course a day like this has the privilege of getting up early in the morning, and for those who know me, this is not one of my favorite things….hmm… Me, André and this REALLY neurotic bitch from Austria, and a “ couple” (or something that should look like it) from Australia, where he actually was an actor and singer back in Australia, and a “ non-English speaking”) a girl from Peru (very pretty though, honestly so hot that I almost had ho hide my hard on), and a FAT CRUMMY cochon from San Francisco, and like top of it all, a totally disoriented guy from Iceland and two Swedish girls. And as usual I let my verbal diarrhea flow, but with these Swedish girls, there was only “one-way communication” meaning that I asked a lot of questions, like where they were from and things like that, but with these “deaf mutes” or rather socially retarded girls, I didn’t get any kind of response. (ADHD, DAMP, juvenile dementia?) Fuck it! The neurotic girl from Austria was just too much; she couldn’t even drink from the same bottle of water that I and André was drinking from, she had to clean it with antiseptic before she took a swig, and she demanded plastic mugs and thought that Indians were a “dirty humans” and I would not be surprised if this girl never experienced a REAL orgasm, or even worse, being finger fucked by a guy wearing sterile hand glove!!
When she told us, back in the car, from the movie shooting that she couldn’t stand the beggars and the children asking for money, my patience sort of ran out. Hey bitch, put yourself in their position, do you think they do it for fun, huh? Wake up, OK!
And at the movie shoot we have the opportunity to dance in the background, along with these really famous Indian stars, and the two first shots make us so popular, that the director put the two of us in front of the camera (I did my Tony Manero/Madonna moves combined with “my own steps”), and the more we dance the closer we get to the camera. The Indian extras totally surround us and the attention we get is just crazy! And the more we dance, the closer to the camera we get, and at the end, WE are The KINGS! Up at the DJ-booth and the spotlight is on me! People are surrounding me, asking about my earrings, and my sunglasses (PRADA, of course, what else?), which I more than proudly tell them ( And of course I’m wearing D&G tank top and shorts from Gucci). Confessions on a Dance Floor, I just love the affirmation and the validation I get, and best of all, I will be seen in this movie, that’s for sure. They asked us to come back the next day, but since I got a ticket to Goa I have to say no. (Bad thing, they pay for everything: the transport, the food and a stipend of Rs 600 a day). But since I decided to head further down south, I got myself a ticket to Goa (flight of course) for only 500 Swedish crowns.
André is going to Cochin to meet up his “surrogate mother” and I will be there on Wednesday. The plan is to go on a houseboat for a couple of days, and André and Nina are going to cook for me, and as well teach me how to cook, too! Believe or not! ( just hope it’s going to be “diet food”, do not want ruin my so called “yoyo weight loss diet”
Bombay, a city filled with posh people and places that are expensive, but it has its dark side that I can’t even describe in words, all these beggars, particularly all the kids, dirty and totally exploited, without any future, just makes me cry. I feel so much for these people. Gave away the coins that I had in my bag, and gave away some clothes that I don’t need. I tried.
For whatever reason, sitting here in Goa, where I had my first shark for dinner, where I’m sitting right now , had a Carlsberg for the first time since I got here (And you all know me, I LOVE Carlsberg beer), got a nice fucking suntan, got robbed at Anjuna beach, the fucking asshole took my wallet, though there was only cash in it, he took what I had, but still it was Rs 2000, (approximately 350 Swedish crowns). Tried to find the fucker to rearrange his face but of course I couldn’t find him, but since I’m going back to Goa, I will find him, and when I find him, he will end up in a wheelchair. Whatever, having the time of my life and it’s only getting better and better, and I’m just so excited for the next four months that I have before I’m going home. “Little Brown/Blue” in the big world is making the best out of it.
More pictures are coming, that’s for sure, and please keep writing to me. I hope that you all are just fine, even though the fall is coming closer, I’m just enjoying the 35 degree heat (it’s hot here, don’t even bother to ask!)
Next thing I will do, is pack my bag and have a Gin and Tonic (just a tiny one), since a bottle of gin only cost 35 Swedish crows
You’re all on my mind. Through cyberspace, you will all have a BIG hug!
(Intro: Bo Kaspers Orkester: “The Spotlight Is On Me”)
Thursday, October 4, 2007
“But it’s not the fall that hurts, It’s when you hit the ground”
To do something extraordinary in life, you sometimes do you different things; some things you don’t do again, some things you do over and over again. The “little incredibly fantastic” bus trip that was supposed to take 15 hours, had the pleasure of clocking the amazing time of 26 hours. NO MORE FUCKING BUS, THAT’S FOR SURE!! MOTHERFUCK! And as usual it started out well, like the bus was on time and I put me self in the box and my 70 kg backpack, doubly folded, hungry and in a bad need of a toilet, the HELL started. Got the driver to stop the bus just so I wouldn’t pee my pants, with my pure Swedish urine, in their little “exclusive” box was hardly sufficient.
Finally reach Jangart, where I have to change buses (if I you think it was a simple procedure, THINK AGAIN!) and of course it was delayed and after waiting for two and a half hours, they just told me that the bus to Diu was cancelled and that I had take the local bus which took 6.5 hours (instead of the three that it was supposed to take). Stuffed in the back of the bus with my big fucking backpack, which was CROWDED with locals), tired and annoyed, this really DRUNK Indian man starts to talk to me with very bad English, which only served to increase my irritation, and when I told him I was too tired and “out of order” he asked me if he could see my dick!
What did you say, ha? I swear to God, Buddha, every fucking so called diety, no matter what, that my patience totally crashed, and I got so angry that I just yelled at him, and called him every fucking word I had in my mind, and the all people at the bus just turned over and finally the driver stopped the bus and had the fucking asshole kicked off! Revenge can be so sweet!
Arriving in Diu, the place is DEAD; no tourist can even get a rickshaw. I was tired and hungry, and on top it all, I couldn’t find any place to stay, pacing around for and an hour or so, trying to find a hotel. The first one was really dirty and awful, I just skipped it, back on the horse, I suddenly find a bar (A beer is the definitely what I deserve after all I’ve been through, what the hell did I do to deserve this, answer me!) Refill myself with two beers, and make my way to a hotel that I found in Lonely Planet, but sort of drunk I got lost, confused (or rather a TOTALLY disoriented) and this Polish guy on a motorbike sees me, takes me on his bike to a hotel.
And being the only one at the hotel, which a FAT lazy old man and his two wives run, I study them: he is fat and disabled (in more ways than physiologically)… I watch him during a dinner that is spicy as hell, but good, telling his wife’s what to do or not. They cut his nails, wash his hair, shave him (and I wouldn’t be surprised if they give him laxatives, but hopefully not in the restaurant). Can’t stand it, change hotels, or at least try to next morning but can’t find a decent hotel before check out time, so I stay another night.
Next morning I change hotels and there all of a sudden, the three girls from Sweden were there. We decide to have dinner together and have “couple of beers” (a “couple” is a definition, isn’t it?). And from that it just got totally out of control (BIG TIME). At the time, the Indians had a “dry day” which basically meant that all liquor stores are closed and the restaurants are not allowed to serve any kind of alcohol, but “ well known” as I am (just because it was the same restaurant where I had my two first beers in this town), I manage to get them to serve us Gin and Limca!, Drunk and as the Swedes we are, we buy two bottles of gin an Limca, enough to last for a life time! We finished the two bottles in 45 minutes. The PARTY resulted in a MONSTEROUS drunk, where two German guys and the Swedish girls had the enjoyment of carrying me back to my bungalow, in a state where I was so drunk I couldn’t even stand on my own two feet. Time for the ”Swedish dude” to sleep. BIG TIME hangover next day is just the first humiliation. Of course we did the same thing next night, but the Swedish girls didn’t have to act in the role of nurses.
But I have to admit that from all this there was some kind of inner tension and stress that I had carried along since I got to India, and of course, I let I out by getting myself so drunk, just as the “Swedish dude” I am. Whatever; I had so much fun those nights, so what the fuck!?
Going to Bombay on Thursday and I’m going to be in a BOLLYWOOD MOVIE!!!!
Hahaha….can you believe that? André has his own agent so he fixed it all: an A-movie production, just too bad that I parceled home my “Tony Manero suit”. And how am I going to Bombay? Not by bus, that’s for sure! This time I’m taking the flight that cost me only 450 Swedish crowns!
And then I realized that I’m not as disoriented as I thought, I was (even though I was “sort of” disoriented for two nights), and that I’m going to make it. This is the trip that I have been waiting for, for ten years!!! And it’s just getting better and better every day. Had a down period with some tears and actually missed all the –comforts that I have back home, but just the knowledge of going to Bombay to hook up with André again and do the south part of India just makes me so much happier, even though I’m happy, happy to be here.
Whatever: got a nice suntan (combined with black and blue marks all over my body), excited about Bombay, newly shaved and with 365,354 new mosquito bites I’m now going to get myself together and my backpack as well and hit BOLLYWOOD!!!
To be continued……
Finally reach Jangart, where I have to change buses (if I you think it was a simple procedure, THINK AGAIN!) and of course it was delayed and after waiting for two and a half hours, they just told me that the bus to Diu was cancelled and that I had take the local bus which took 6.5 hours (instead of the three that it was supposed to take). Stuffed in the back of the bus with my big fucking backpack, which was CROWDED with locals), tired and annoyed, this really DRUNK Indian man starts to talk to me with very bad English, which only served to increase my irritation, and when I told him I was too tired and “out of order” he asked me if he could see my dick!
What did you say, ha? I swear to God, Buddha, every fucking so called diety, no matter what, that my patience totally crashed, and I got so angry that I just yelled at him, and called him every fucking word I had in my mind, and the all people at the bus just turned over and finally the driver stopped the bus and had the fucking asshole kicked off! Revenge can be so sweet!
Arriving in Diu, the place is DEAD; no tourist can even get a rickshaw. I was tired and hungry, and on top it all, I couldn’t find any place to stay, pacing around for and an hour or so, trying to find a hotel. The first one was really dirty and awful, I just skipped it, back on the horse, I suddenly find a bar (A beer is the definitely what I deserve after all I’ve been through, what the hell did I do to deserve this, answer me!) Refill myself with two beers, and make my way to a hotel that I found in Lonely Planet, but sort of drunk I got lost, confused (or rather a TOTALLY disoriented) and this Polish guy on a motorbike sees me, takes me on his bike to a hotel.
And being the only one at the hotel, which a FAT lazy old man and his two wives run, I study them: he is fat and disabled (in more ways than physiologically)… I watch him during a dinner that is spicy as hell, but good, telling his wife’s what to do or not. They cut his nails, wash his hair, shave him (and I wouldn’t be surprised if they give him laxatives, but hopefully not in the restaurant). Can’t stand it, change hotels, or at least try to next morning but can’t find a decent hotel before check out time, so I stay another night.
Next morning I change hotels and there all of a sudden, the three girls from Sweden were there. We decide to have dinner together and have “couple of beers” (a “couple” is a definition, isn’t it?). And from that it just got totally out of control (BIG TIME). At the time, the Indians had a “dry day” which basically meant that all liquor stores are closed and the restaurants are not allowed to serve any kind of alcohol, but “ well known” as I am (just because it was the same restaurant where I had my two first beers in this town), I manage to get them to serve us Gin and Limca!, Drunk and as the Swedes we are, we buy two bottles of gin an Limca, enough to last for a life time! We finished the two bottles in 45 minutes. The PARTY resulted in a MONSTEROUS drunk, where two German guys and the Swedish girls had the enjoyment of carrying me back to my bungalow, in a state where I was so drunk I couldn’t even stand on my own two feet. Time for the ”Swedish dude” to sleep. BIG TIME hangover next day is just the first humiliation. Of course we did the same thing next night, but the Swedish girls didn’t have to act in the role of nurses.
But I have to admit that from all this there was some kind of inner tension and stress that I had carried along since I got to India, and of course, I let I out by getting myself so drunk, just as the “Swedish dude” I am. Whatever; I had so much fun those nights, so what the fuck!?
Going to Bombay on Thursday and I’m going to be in a BOLLYWOOD MOVIE!!!!
Hahaha….can you believe that? André has his own agent so he fixed it all: an A-movie production, just too bad that I parceled home my “Tony Manero suit”. And how am I going to Bombay? Not by bus, that’s for sure! This time I’m taking the flight that cost me only 450 Swedish crowns!
And then I realized that I’m not as disoriented as I thought, I was (even though I was “sort of” disoriented for two nights), and that I’m going to make it. This is the trip that I have been waiting for, for ten years!!! And it’s just getting better and better every day. Had a down period with some tears and actually missed all the –comforts that I have back home, but just the knowledge of going to Bombay to hook up with André again and do the south part of India just makes me so much happier, even though I’m happy, happy to be here.
Whatever: got a nice suntan (combined with black and blue marks all over my body), excited about Bombay, newly shaved and with 365,354 new mosquito bites I’m now going to get myself together and my backpack as well and hit BOLLYWOOD!!!
To be continued……
Saturday, September 29, 2007
“Was it all worth it and how did I earn it, nobody’s perfect, I guess I deserve it”
And from nowhere he just showed up, Mr. André, a guy from Canada, and as always in this country people speak to me in Hindi, or think I’m from Israel. Whatever, in some strange way we got into where we both came from, and his background sort of fascinated me, made me curious, born in New York, raised in Canada spent a couple of years in Indonesia and for the last eight years had been living in Israel. And of course I had to tell him the long boring story that I’m not from Sweden, originally from Chile, blah blah blah. Well, the point is that I finally found a really nice and funny guy who wants to travel with me.
Does the pope have an ugly hat?? Does Dolly Parton sleep on her back??
Of course was all I said. And after I puked myself tired (not from Mr. Food Poisoning, rather from cabin fever), I leave Pushkar after nine days for Udaipur, a small town which should be one of the most romantic towns in this country (not so fucking funny as a single guy, being smashed by the dark side of single life when you watch all disgusting quite and “sweetheart, I Love You SOOOOOO Much” couples choosing between pink or purple toilet paper in every store you enter).
Udaipur, a small, quiet town with few tourists makes it all feel a little better, and the bus trip that I took from Pushkar was just an ”incredibly fascinating” experience in itself. Sleeper Class cost me Rs 240 (40 Swedish crowns) and took eight hours. In something that looks like a box from the TV-show “På Spåret” they push you in and you’re expected to sleep throughout the trip. This English girl in the same box under me has some sort of claustrophobia so we talk for a while until I find two Valium, because since Mr. Food Poisoning’s visit, Mr. Sandman had obviously been in a BAD mood (probably from not getting laid last night) for right in the middle of our conversation I just pass out, like getting a fat bitch-slap.
Through Jitu’s help, I have the name of the hotel and as usual, the staff picks me up, and the room I get is just fantastic and the discount is even better, got it down from Rs 650 to Rs 200!! Window opening onto the garden and of course I let them open it because of the HEAT. What I didn’t know was what the garden belonged to a girl’s school, so out from the shower I’m jumping around in my birthday suit until I realized a sound that belongs to 12 years old girls laughing their asses of and ogling me until the limit where they pee their pants. If these girls didn’t have Anatomy as a subject, I would swear they had their first “live lecture”.
Morning starts with breakfast and the English girl, Galit shows up and we decide to do some sightseeing, starting with the totally meaningless city palace and the museum, which was almost as interesting as the three mosquito bites that my ass was tortured with on the ”incredibly fascinating” bus trip. After the palace we take a boat trip, that probably was one of the most funny things so far, and for economic reasons we decide to take one of the paddle boats and just paddle around the lake. In the middle of the lake there is a famous hotel (James Bond had shot one of his movies there, but who the fuck cares?) and it is surrounded by a “ private area” where tourists from “Lonely Planet hotels” are not allowed to enter, and just guess what we do! Simply paddle into the “private area” and while we both enjoying the beautiful sunset, a police boat comes up and directs us toward “our area of the lake” (fucking asshole). But nothing bad comes about without something good, and we had a nice and funny boat trip and an amazing sunset.
The next day we went downtown, checked out the spice market, went to a churchyard where they had buried a bunch of old maharajas, which was just as much fun as running around counterclockwise in a churchyard in Gothenburg. After dinner, we meet three Swedish girls and take another boat trip (not a paddle boat, that’s for sure) . The Swedish girls are one the way to Diu, and so am I, so I’m just waiting to catch up with these girls and freak out like Swedes do when they are abroad, and of course, get myself a nice fucking suntan!
There are moments in your life when you realize the meaning of life. For me, it’s just to live it and do something good about it. All these amazing, fantastic experiences that I’ve had so far on this trip, just give me so much strength and energy. Just spending a sleepless night on the rooftop, watching the sky and the stars, or just spending an hour an half in a store, talking with Indian people and drinking chai, having 256,984 kids running after Jitu’s ( NEW MOTORBIKE) trying to touch a tourist, which is one of the dreams an Indian kid has, giving away my school pens to other kids and seeing the happiness of getting a simple thing such as a school pen, giving away an old T-shirt to a beggar, sleeping for as long I can or two, no requirements, no obligations. All the people I meet, all the validation I get for my shaved head and my earrings as well just pacing around the city, all makes me feel so free and independent. Perhaps the happiest I’ve ever been.
André is going to Bombay for a date and I will hook up with him the next week. Suffering from cold, that made me lose almost all of my voice and my nose is running like an elephant pissing. I manage to forget my camera on the last boat trip we had; but a really nice Indian guy went back to the boat and found it for me; after that I forget my memory card at the internet café ( being the idiot I am, I discover it three hours later), but the nice guy at the place has is, so it turned out well. In three hours I will take another “incredibly fantastic” bus trip, but this time to Diu, and best of all it only takes 15 hours!! Do you think I fell excited about it?
If I don’t stop my writing, my nose is going to drip all over the keyboard and electrocute my face, and if I don’t stop coughing, I’ll blow a hole in the monitor. I’ll probably pee my pants too. Time to finish up here.
(Intro: Madonna: “How High”)
Does the pope have an ugly hat?? Does Dolly Parton sleep on her back??
Of course was all I said. And after I puked myself tired (not from Mr. Food Poisoning, rather from cabin fever), I leave Pushkar after nine days for Udaipur, a small town which should be one of the most romantic towns in this country (not so fucking funny as a single guy, being smashed by the dark side of single life when you watch all disgusting quite and “sweetheart, I Love You SOOOOOO Much” couples choosing between pink or purple toilet paper in every store you enter).
Udaipur, a small, quiet town with few tourists makes it all feel a little better, and the bus trip that I took from Pushkar was just an ”incredibly fascinating” experience in itself. Sleeper Class cost me Rs 240 (40 Swedish crowns) and took eight hours. In something that looks like a box from the TV-show “På Spåret” they push you in and you’re expected to sleep throughout the trip. This English girl in the same box under me has some sort of claustrophobia so we talk for a while until I find two Valium, because since Mr. Food Poisoning’s visit, Mr. Sandman had obviously been in a BAD mood (probably from not getting laid last night) for right in the middle of our conversation I just pass out, like getting a fat bitch-slap.
Through Jitu’s help, I have the name of the hotel and as usual, the staff picks me up, and the room I get is just fantastic and the discount is even better, got it down from Rs 650 to Rs 200!! Window opening onto the garden and of course I let them open it because of the HEAT. What I didn’t know was what the garden belonged to a girl’s school, so out from the shower I’m jumping around in my birthday suit until I realized a sound that belongs to 12 years old girls laughing their asses of and ogling me until the limit where they pee their pants. If these girls didn’t have Anatomy as a subject, I would swear they had their first “live lecture”.
Morning starts with breakfast and the English girl, Galit shows up and we decide to do some sightseeing, starting with the totally meaningless city palace and the museum, which was almost as interesting as the three mosquito bites that my ass was tortured with on the ”incredibly fascinating” bus trip. After the palace we take a boat trip, that probably was one of the most funny things so far, and for economic reasons we decide to take one of the paddle boats and just paddle around the lake. In the middle of the lake there is a famous hotel (James Bond had shot one of his movies there, but who the fuck cares?) and it is surrounded by a “ private area” where tourists from “Lonely Planet hotels” are not allowed to enter, and just guess what we do! Simply paddle into the “private area” and while we both enjoying the beautiful sunset, a police boat comes up and directs us toward “our area of the lake” (fucking asshole). But nothing bad comes about without something good, and we had a nice and funny boat trip and an amazing sunset.
The next day we went downtown, checked out the spice market, went to a churchyard where they had buried a bunch of old maharajas, which was just as much fun as running around counterclockwise in a churchyard in Gothenburg. After dinner, we meet three Swedish girls and take another boat trip (not a paddle boat, that’s for sure) . The Swedish girls are one the way to Diu, and so am I, so I’m just waiting to catch up with these girls and freak out like Swedes do when they are abroad, and of course, get myself a nice fucking suntan!
There are moments in your life when you realize the meaning of life. For me, it’s just to live it and do something good about it. All these amazing, fantastic experiences that I’ve had so far on this trip, just give me so much strength and energy. Just spending a sleepless night on the rooftop, watching the sky and the stars, or just spending an hour an half in a store, talking with Indian people and drinking chai, having 256,984 kids running after Jitu’s ( NEW MOTORBIKE) trying to touch a tourist, which is one of the dreams an Indian kid has, giving away my school pens to other kids and seeing the happiness of getting a simple thing such as a school pen, giving away an old T-shirt to a beggar, sleeping for as long I can or two, no requirements, no obligations. All the people I meet, all the validation I get for my shaved head and my earrings as well just pacing around the city, all makes me feel so free and independent. Perhaps the happiest I’ve ever been.
André is going to Bombay for a date and I will hook up with him the next week. Suffering from cold, that made me lose almost all of my voice and my nose is running like an elephant pissing. I manage to forget my camera on the last boat trip we had; but a really nice Indian guy went back to the boat and found it for me; after that I forget my memory card at the internet café ( being the idiot I am, I discover it three hours later), but the nice guy at the place has is, so it turned out well. In three hours I will take another “incredibly fantastic” bus trip, but this time to Diu, and best of all it only takes 15 hours!! Do you think I fell excited about it?
If I don’t stop my writing, my nose is going to drip all over the keyboard and electrocute my face, and if I don’t stop coughing, I’ll blow a hole in the monitor. I’ll probably pee my pants too. Time to finish up here.
(Intro: Madonna: “How High”)
Saturday, September 22, 2007
“I raise my hands to heaven of curiosity; I don’t know what to ask for. What has it got for me?”
And as usual, I’m late and the bus to Pushkar leaves in ten minutes and I’m still changing money, trying to find a liquor store to buy a bottle of whiskey as a present to the guys that will pick me up at the bus station. Stressed as hell, sweat stains under my arms, and a dry mouth that’s crying out for liquid relief, this Indian guy helps me to buy the ticket, takes my heavy backpack and manages to get my stupid ass on the bus just as it pulls out! Jitu is his name, and the guy picks me up with a garland and a placard with my name spelled so atrociously you can’t believe it, but I care as much as the enormous cow that is shitting just outside the local hairdresser.
Jitu, my new private guide and driver takes me as well to this nice hotel run by a family, where a night in a middle class room only cost 30 Swedish crowns. On his NEW motorbike (of which I am repeatedly reminded at least ten times a day) he shows me the sights around town. I have to say that he is a really nice guy, didn’t ask me for any kind of money regarding the sightseeing that we were doing; the only thing I had to pay for was the petrol. But of course I tip him in between (like buying him a banana cake!)
Having seen the most incredible sunset up at a temple in the mountains, fed even more monkeys, driven around in the desert and out in the villages, and seen the abjectly poor people and what’s comes with it, shitty, dirty, poverty, it is so unfamiliar to me, compared to what I have back home. Another Rajastani Festival (just like The “Pee And Poo Festival” in Gothenburg, but without langos and teenage drunkenness!), bumped right into a big fat cow in the middle of the night (first of all it was dark, and second, yes, I’d had a couple of beers). No more explanations, thank you very much! Heard Bah Bah Black Sheep played by two kids out in the desert with something that looked like a fiddle. I thought of how Jitu could overcome his fear of water in a very simple way: forcing him on a boat trip, and believe it or not, taught myself to eat breakfast at the same time!
Pushkar, a small town with a holy lake (in which all Indians happily bathe) is just so much easier to handle compared to the big cities. The people are just so friendly and kind, and you can, believe it or not, go into to a store without being harassed and get yourself out of there with your brain intact and without losing your patience, just because you don’t want to buy a fucking stone for Rs 5000, or a T-shirt of “good quality” that as soon as you put it in the plastic bag, it mutates into a dishrag.
But of course there are some assholes here as well, which I had the opportunity to meet. A so-called “priest” all of a sudden came up to me, managed to con me, dragged me down to the holy lake to do a “puja” (which is a sort of Hindu prayer for your family, basically meaning that the bigger your family, the emptier your wallet!) This hash smoking “priest” just forced med down to the lake, starting the “ritual” by putting a bunch of flowers in my hand; I tried to get myself out of the situation by telling him that I’m still suffering from Mr. Food Poisoning, and that I had to get back to the room before there a “tacky accident” occurred, but this guy did not buy it at all, grabbed my arm and took me to the holy lake to perform his ritual. Well fortunately, one of Jitu’s friends sees what’s going on, runs down and saves me. The thing is that we talked earlier about doing this “puja” at some point that evening. I then had the privilege to meet Viru, (whom after that became my own private guru) so I recognized him. There are just so many tourists that have been ripped off badly by these so-called priests, so I guess that I was just lucky.
The next morning I bumped into the fucking stupid holy priest, and he was so angry, and told me that I owed him money just because he didn’t have the chance to complete his “holy ritual”. My ritual with this asshole would simply be, as the anesthetizing nurse I am, to sedate him with cow shit, and then invite family and friends for a big fucking barbeque party!)
The benefit of hanging out with the local guys like Jitu is that you don’t have to overpay or get ripped off in every store you enter (basically, I point out what I want, Jitu buys it for me, with my money). A fat crummy tourist (being so fat, it isn’t necessary to ask where he was from) got “sort of” angry when we both bought almost the same silver ring (his size was just a wee bit bigger than mine, and I swear that I could have used it as a cock-ring!!) When it became clear to him that he paid so much more than I did, I saw that being twice as big can cost twice as much.
One day I thought I deserved some “pampering”, like getting my head shaved, maybe getting a manicure as well as pedicure, so what I do is try to find an Indian “salon”, which I finally succeeded in doing. There, this polite man in the reception shows me to the chair. A young guy, lying in one of the chairs is ogling me as I sit down, and it turns out that HE is the one that is going to shave my head (a fucking 12 year old practitioner with his parents studying their son’s training progress) I got my head cut to ribbons, and it took that little bastard an hour and a half just to shave my head!! I swear to God, if this little kid had done the rest of my “pampering” I would have ended up without fingers and toes! So he just did the head (God Bless Gilette’s MACH-3).
Pushkar is definitely the best place so far, compared to the big cities: quiet, peaceful, awesome rooftop restaurants with good food where you drink your beer well hidden in a big mug, just because it’s not legal to drink alcohol in Pushkar. The beers are served in coffee mugs and the bottle is hidden in your bag. Amazing to drink beer at a restaurant as a 30 years old man, in a way that makes you feel like you’re 15 again. You don’t get younger than you are, no matter how old you grow. Since Mr. Food Poisoning’s happy days, there has not been much drinking, but Jitu managed to get me a bottle of gin, so, here I am, back on stage!
Don’t know where I’m headed next, stuck here in some ways but so far, I’m having the time of my life, enjoying every minute of this trip and all the experiences that I am having. The only thing I know is that I’m going to have beer under the table at my hotel and maybe kill at least 300 mosquitoes that want to eat me!
Keep writing to me! You’re all in my heart. And don’t do anything that I wouldn’t do, OK!
(Intro: The Knife: Marble House”)
Jitu, my new private guide and driver takes me as well to this nice hotel run by a family, where a night in a middle class room only cost 30 Swedish crowns. On his NEW motorbike (of which I am repeatedly reminded at least ten times a day) he shows me the sights around town. I have to say that he is a really nice guy, didn’t ask me for any kind of money regarding the sightseeing that we were doing; the only thing I had to pay for was the petrol. But of course I tip him in between (like buying him a banana cake!)
Having seen the most incredible sunset up at a temple in the mountains, fed even more monkeys, driven around in the desert and out in the villages, and seen the abjectly poor people and what’s comes with it, shitty, dirty, poverty, it is so unfamiliar to me, compared to what I have back home. Another Rajastani Festival (just like The “Pee And Poo Festival” in Gothenburg, but without langos and teenage drunkenness!), bumped right into a big fat cow in the middle of the night (first of all it was dark, and second, yes, I’d had a couple of beers). No more explanations, thank you very much! Heard Bah Bah Black Sheep played by two kids out in the desert with something that looked like a fiddle. I thought of how Jitu could overcome his fear of water in a very simple way: forcing him on a boat trip, and believe it or not, taught myself to eat breakfast at the same time!
Pushkar, a small town with a holy lake (in which all Indians happily bathe) is just so much easier to handle compared to the big cities. The people are just so friendly and kind, and you can, believe it or not, go into to a store without being harassed and get yourself out of there with your brain intact and without losing your patience, just because you don’t want to buy a fucking stone for Rs 5000, or a T-shirt of “good quality” that as soon as you put it in the plastic bag, it mutates into a dishrag.
But of course there are some assholes here as well, which I had the opportunity to meet. A so-called “priest” all of a sudden came up to me, managed to con me, dragged me down to the holy lake to do a “puja” (which is a sort of Hindu prayer for your family, basically meaning that the bigger your family, the emptier your wallet!) This hash smoking “priest” just forced med down to the lake, starting the “ritual” by putting a bunch of flowers in my hand; I tried to get myself out of the situation by telling him that I’m still suffering from Mr. Food Poisoning, and that I had to get back to the room before there a “tacky accident” occurred, but this guy did not buy it at all, grabbed my arm and took me to the holy lake to perform his ritual. Well fortunately, one of Jitu’s friends sees what’s going on, runs down and saves me. The thing is that we talked earlier about doing this “puja” at some point that evening. I then had the privilege to meet Viru, (whom after that became my own private guru) so I recognized him. There are just so many tourists that have been ripped off badly by these so-called priests, so I guess that I was just lucky.
The next morning I bumped into the fucking stupid holy priest, and he was so angry, and told me that I owed him money just because he didn’t have the chance to complete his “holy ritual”. My ritual with this asshole would simply be, as the anesthetizing nurse I am, to sedate him with cow shit, and then invite family and friends for a big fucking barbeque party!)
The benefit of hanging out with the local guys like Jitu is that you don’t have to overpay or get ripped off in every store you enter (basically, I point out what I want, Jitu buys it for me, with my money). A fat crummy tourist (being so fat, it isn’t necessary to ask where he was from) got “sort of” angry when we both bought almost the same silver ring (his size was just a wee bit bigger than mine, and I swear that I could have used it as a cock-ring!!) When it became clear to him that he paid so much more than I did, I saw that being twice as big can cost twice as much.
One day I thought I deserved some “pampering”, like getting my head shaved, maybe getting a manicure as well as pedicure, so what I do is try to find an Indian “salon”, which I finally succeeded in doing. There, this polite man in the reception shows me to the chair. A young guy, lying in one of the chairs is ogling me as I sit down, and it turns out that HE is the one that is going to shave my head (a fucking 12 year old practitioner with his parents studying their son’s training progress) I got my head cut to ribbons, and it took that little bastard an hour and a half just to shave my head!! I swear to God, if this little kid had done the rest of my “pampering” I would have ended up without fingers and toes! So he just did the head (God Bless Gilette’s MACH-3).
Pushkar is definitely the best place so far, compared to the big cities: quiet, peaceful, awesome rooftop restaurants with good food where you drink your beer well hidden in a big mug, just because it’s not legal to drink alcohol in Pushkar. The beers are served in coffee mugs and the bottle is hidden in your bag. Amazing to drink beer at a restaurant as a 30 years old man, in a way that makes you feel like you’re 15 again. You don’t get younger than you are, no matter how old you grow. Since Mr. Food Poisoning’s happy days, there has not been much drinking, but Jitu managed to get me a bottle of gin, so, here I am, back on stage!
Don’t know where I’m headed next, stuck here in some ways but so far, I’m having the time of my life, enjoying every minute of this trip and all the experiences that I am having. The only thing I know is that I’m going to have beer under the table at my hotel and maybe kill at least 300 mosquitoes that want to eat me!
Keep writing to me! You’re all in my heart. And don’t do anything that I wouldn’t do, OK!
(Intro: The Knife: Marble House”)
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
“Let’s make it happen, boy; it’s in the air, I’d sell my soul for this to last forever”
And finally I have the privilege of meeting Mr. Food Poisoning, oh happy days! OK, well let’s get this straight, and for your edification, I can tell you the story about the young man who has seen directly into the brown eye of tourist diarrhea! Just after that I arrived at the “well-spoken” hotel with the whiskey-thirsty Indians, where we all had mutton in a party mood, like nothing else, the following morning started with sightseeing in a rickshaw, including temples, and the second one was just same as the first, and all of a sudden I get this really strange feeling in the abdominal region. Get a bit worried, and after that, I am forced into jewelry shop, spending an hour there, “where they only wanted to sell things for the benefit of poor people in the city” and thereafter, a camel ride that made me feel like my ass was still on the camel long after getting off (like when you wash your mouth with Listerine, everything disappears: your teeth, mouth, gums, tongue, just about everything), I manage to forget about my stomach and am just wondering if the nerve damage from the camel ride could be irreversible. Whatever… as evening falls, I “try to expunge the bacteria from my body” with a gin & tonic (just a small one).
Night comes, bringing with it the full effects of the food poisoning. Jesus fuck, I was so FUCKING SICK. For THREE WHOLE FUCKING DAYS I lay in the strangest and most hilarious positions, trying to avoid the stomach cramps, turning myself upside down in the toilet, turning all of hope of getting rid of the stomach cramps.
The friendly Indians got a little bit of scared by the time they found me, lying on the floor trying to call the reception for some water. The first thing that they want to do was to get me in to a hospital, which I refused. I asked them to get me some antibiotics from the closest pharmacy and as quickly as possible, which they fortunately did.
And they did it all: they the nursed me throughout the days I was sick, gave me cold towels (to reduce my fever every other hour) and of course got me the antibiotics that I asked for. And it all turned out well quite, with some help from the medications: Lexinor, Ciproxin, Paracetamol, Stesolide and of course Lopermaid, but I have to tell you the story about the “holy man” that they called “Mr. Guru” whom I meet on a late Friday and who told me that my chakra was unbalanced and offered me the purchase of a fucking stone for Rs 5000 , which would immediately get me in a better shape!!
“Sweetheart, just keep that little stone, I’ll survive without it” was all I said, and in fetal position, lying inside a highly pregnant mother, back I went by rickshaw. It’s not my chakra that that is unbalanced, it’s my stomach, you idiot.
Back on stage, I was able to see some more interesting things, even though my adnominal region remained unbalanced (there was a little “accident” in one of all the holy temples I saw; not so great for my karma).
In my confusion of being exhausted by Mr. Food Poisoning, I saw myself as one of the candidates for “The 2007 World Travelers’ Tourist Diarrhea Award”.
“And the nominees are:
1. Mr. Mikael, for shitting his pants in a holy temple somewhere in Jaipur
2. Mr. “Jalla Jalla” for finally getting his long-term diarrhea into a chronic state
3. Ms. Tiffany Persson for constantly misusing laxative drugs
4. Mr. DJ Bobo for actually looking like a splash of diarrhea himself
The winner goes to……………Mr. Mikael (of course)…
Whatever. Back on stage I fed monkeys in just another temple up in the mountains, bought myself a Tony Manero suit, (Saturday Night Fever), which I’ll probably never use, bought even more silver jewelry, had dinner at a real Indian McDonald’s, visited a Rajastani festival, where I danced my ass off and got famous at the dance floor (they even thought I was a Bollywood star; the validation just thrilled me), ate toast and water for a week, cleaned the whole hotel room with an antiseptic that I stole from my job just to be sure of that would be no trace of Mr. Food Poisoning after finally banishing him, washed my hands manically just before every meal I had, called my dad like an coward when I thought I was going to die because of Mr. Food Poisoning, and sent back half of what was in my backpack by parcel post. Who the fuck is so stupid to bring 35 pairs of underwear (even though it is Dolce & Gabbana), ten pairs of socks, 20 tank tops, all white, (bright thing to bring to a country like India) and finally got myself by local bus to Pushkar!
(Intro: The Though Alliance; “Make It Happen”)
Night comes, bringing with it the full effects of the food poisoning. Jesus fuck, I was so FUCKING SICK. For THREE WHOLE FUCKING DAYS I lay in the strangest and most hilarious positions, trying to avoid the stomach cramps, turning myself upside down in the toilet, turning all of hope of getting rid of the stomach cramps.
The friendly Indians got a little bit of scared by the time they found me, lying on the floor trying to call the reception for some water. The first thing that they want to do was to get me in to a hospital, which I refused. I asked them to get me some antibiotics from the closest pharmacy and as quickly as possible, which they fortunately did.
And they did it all: they the nursed me throughout the days I was sick, gave me cold towels (to reduce my fever every other hour) and of course got me the antibiotics that I asked for. And it all turned out well quite, with some help from the medications: Lexinor, Ciproxin, Paracetamol, Stesolide and of course Lopermaid, but I have to tell you the story about the “holy man” that they called “Mr. Guru” whom I meet on a late Friday and who told me that my chakra was unbalanced and offered me the purchase of a fucking stone for Rs 5000 , which would immediately get me in a better shape!!
“Sweetheart, just keep that little stone, I’ll survive without it” was all I said, and in fetal position, lying inside a highly pregnant mother, back I went by rickshaw. It’s not my chakra that that is unbalanced, it’s my stomach, you idiot.
Back on stage, I was able to see some more interesting things, even though my adnominal region remained unbalanced (there was a little “accident” in one of all the holy temples I saw; not so great for my karma).
In my confusion of being exhausted by Mr. Food Poisoning, I saw myself as one of the candidates for “The 2007 World Travelers’ Tourist Diarrhea Award”.
“And the nominees are:
1. Mr. Mikael, for shitting his pants in a holy temple somewhere in Jaipur
2. Mr. “Jalla Jalla” for finally getting his long-term diarrhea into a chronic state
3. Ms. Tiffany Persson for constantly misusing laxative drugs
4. Mr. DJ Bobo for actually looking like a splash of diarrhea himself
The winner goes to……………Mr. Mikael (of course)…
Whatever. Back on stage I fed monkeys in just another temple up in the mountains, bought myself a Tony Manero suit, (Saturday Night Fever), which I’ll probably never use, bought even more silver jewelry, had dinner at a real Indian McDonald’s, visited a Rajastani festival, where I danced my ass off and got famous at the dance floor (they even thought I was a Bollywood star; the validation just thrilled me), ate toast and water for a week, cleaned the whole hotel room with an antiseptic that I stole from my job just to be sure of that would be no trace of Mr. Food Poisoning after finally banishing him, washed my hands manically just before every meal I had, called my dad like an coward when I thought I was going to die because of Mr. Food Poisoning, and sent back half of what was in my backpack by parcel post. Who the fuck is so stupid to bring 35 pairs of underwear (even though it is Dolce & Gabbana), ten pairs of socks, 20 tank tops, all white, (bright thing to bring to a country like India) and finally got myself by local bus to Pushkar!
(Intro: The Though Alliance; “Make It Happen”)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)