{India
2005-03-25 at 7:35 a.m.
Good morning, India!
What a beautiful (albeit humid, polluted and crowded) country this is! Beautiful, and sad really. In between the palaces and the palm trees are poverty-striken neighborhoods with houses made out of cardboard and concrete. I'm not allowed to hand out money, get in taxis, or walk alone. Mom is terrified that I'll be raped or killed for my luggage or sold into slavery. I don't think so - everyone seems incredibly polite here - but we must accomodate the elderly.
As for me, I'm doing my best to be adventurous. I've tried tandoori and ogura and gone weaving through the crazy traffic. Today we're going to see tigers, and I'm on a mission to pet a sacred cow.
Indian fashion is vastly superior to what passes for clothes in America. I feel like a culture thief, a bit, a blonde girl going around in a sari. But the locals don't seem to mind. They think it's cute, and besides, my money is just as good as anyone else's.
The traffic is INSANE. People weave around between cars. Cars weave around between other cars. Sometimes cows just wander about in the road. A third or so of the traffic is motorcycles. (This strikes me as incredibly cool, somehow.)
Most of the people here are beautiful.
A few Indian boys have flirted with me. This comes as a shock to me, but apparently here I'm exotic. It's nice to feel pretty.
So to make a long story short, I love it here. Mom hates this trip because she has to work late and our luggage is lost. The fact that our suitcase is temporarily MIA is actually fine with me - all the more reason to buy some of the beautiful clothes they sell here.