Um, That Monkey is Staring at Me...

I'm starting to legitimately fear Indian monkeys. They're all over the place, and they want our food. During outdoor meals, the monkeys watch us intently, usually from tree branches or window sills, plotting their attacks. Most of the time they're just unnervingly present, but once in a while a monkey will actually charge us and run off with something from the table (this morning it was my papaya).

I know this sounds kind of silly and comical, but it really isn't. Many of these monkeys are bigger than me and totally unintimidated by humans. You can run after them with a stick and they'll just side-step you and blink. Sometimes they get annoyed and bare their teeth. They're like unpredictable, hyper-agile people. I don't think I could take one in a fight. I mean, how do you fight a monkey? They're monkeys. They're crazy. They swing from trees. The locals around here try to shoot them. With guns. It's out of control.

I think my biggest issue with monkeys is that they really are human-like. When you lock eyes with one, you feel a certain recognition, a common understanding not unlike what you share with another person. And there are probably really rotten monkeys out there. Monkeys who just don't want to play by the rules of society. Hard-knock monkeys. Can monkeys be homicidal maniacs? I don't see why not. They share some of our genes, don't they? But yet monkeys aren't people, they're animals. It's all very confusing.

Brendan used to think I was overreacting about monkeys just like he thinks I overreact about everything else. He'd chuckle softly at my latest eerie encounter and remind me that all they want is our food, and that we intelligent humans have the upper hand. But lately I've noticed him closing the windows and peeking around corners, looking for the monkey mafia. Today during our hike he did this funny hands-slapping-hips thing as he walked to ward them off. He denies it, but I'm pretty sure he's afraid of them too.

-Sarah

Sniffle, Sniffle

It's Christmas morning in India, and I just ate a cold pancake and followed up breakfast with a cold shower. They said the solar panels would heat things up by 11 am, but they lied, and I just couldn't wait any longer. There were no gifts under the tree this year. There was also no tree. Brendan and I are in Bundi, Rajasthan, and things are decidedly un-festive around here. Some monkey was screaming its lungs out around 4 a.m., but I don't think it had anything to do with Jesus.

I woke up in a funk today. Obviously I knew a long time ago that I'd be spending Christmas far, far away from home, but now that the day is actually upon me, I'm feeling pretty homesick. Christmas has always been special to me. I didn't grow up in a religious household, but we had our own Christmas traditions that brought our family together and made us all happy. When I was younger, the best parts of Christmas were all the presents. As I got older, it was my mom's almond cookies, or my dad's favorite Mannheim Steamroller album, or the way the air smelled of ham and wood stoves that brought me the most joy. The phone call from my best friend who was on her way out to the movies with her folks, but wanted to meet up for a beer on Main Street after our respective dinners. The way someone always forgot an important ingredient for the pumpkin pie and we'd have to drive around forever to find a store that was actually open on Christmas, and feel so sorry for whoever was working the register and make an effort to be really nice to them. Kids riding their brand-new bikes. Twinkling lights. The joy of togetherness on a holiday that always delivered, year after year.

Brendan and I agreed that we wouldn't buy each other gifts this Christmas. It was a practical decision. We can't carry extra bulk in our backpacks, and our money's already been allotted to other things, like train tickets and guest houses with hot showers (ha!). I thought I'd be fine it, but in all honesty it's made me a little sad. Christmas means something to me, and here I am treating it like any other ho-hum day in India. Brendan thinks I'm being melodramatic. He says things like "well, at least you have your health," and "it could be a lot worse."

I know it could be worse. I could be dying of malaria on top of not singing "O Come All Ye Faithful" around the dinner table this Christmas, and that indeed would be a lot worse. Thanks, honey.

l guess I just miss my family, friends, and the comforts of home a little more than usual today. Traveling has its ups and downs, after all.

-Sarah

Merry Christmas

It's Christmas day and we're sitting inside our hotel room watching "My Best Friend's Wedding". Actually, Sarah's watching it. I've only got one eye on it, because I'm writing this. I think the movie is helping her mood some. She's a bit homesick, poor girl.

We're in a smallish town in northwest India. I'm sick (again) and she's frustrated. Last night she couldn't sleep because of some electronic toy which kept playing outside our window for no reason. This morning, there was no hot water for her shower. The banana pancake she ordered was crap. Little things, sure, but they add up.

After the last straw that was the banana pancake, she told me she was homesick. She told me she misses having a routine. A kitchen. A hot shower. Totally understandable. I sympathize with all of these things. Then she told me that she wants to get a job and go to work. She wants to sit in front of a computer all day and check email.

That is crazy talk, I tell her. A job? Who wants to get a job? Not me. I'm not getting a job until I have to (meaning when this trip is over and we are completely broke).

She just feels this way because we're away from home on Christmas. She misses all the Christmas trimmings. The food and family and whatever else. Presents I suppose. For my part, I'm just semi-bummed that I didn't get to watch "A Christmas Story" seventeen times. Other than that, I don't mind skipping christmas for a year.

She's laughing at the movie now. Things are looking up.

-Brendan

Play that Funky Music

Sarah is an iPod freak. She's like a teenage girl who refuses to take off her headset at the dinner table and instead just sits there bobbing her head to sounds no one else can hear. She's been wearing her iPod a lot lately since we've been doing so much traveling. The music makes a twelve-hour bus ride go a little faster.

For the first time in my life, I'm sharing a music library with someone. Old girlfriends never made it to the "honey I've got a great idea, let's just combine our music!" stage. It's a relief we have similar tastes in music, but we can differ quite a bit. I know lots of times she'll wonder how I can even tolerate some of my bands. A good example here is the band The Jesus Lizard. You could say she's not into them. At all. I can't bring myself to like Sarah's new flavor of the week Band of Horses.

Anyway. We have a game called the "pick a song" game. The way it works is she (or I, depending on whose turn it is) will pick a song on the other's iPod and then that person has to listen to the whole thing. The art lies in picking a song that the picker likes, but the pickee doesn't know. The last three times Sarah has picked a song for me, I have smiled at her and then shut it off the second her back was turned. I feel bad about it, but you should hear some of these songs. Lots of whiny-male-lead singer-type bands.

The other iPod related problem we have involves her headphones. They are the big old foam kind. The ones you can hear a mile away. When she puts them on, most of the people on the bus listen to her songs whether they want to or not. The music just bleeds out of them. I put my own iPod on and I can still hear her music.

But it's not this that really bothers me. What I can't stand is her refusal to turn her music off when planes are either taking off or landing. She knows keeping electronic devices in the 'on' position during these crucial moments is against the rules, but she just doesn't care. The worst part is since her headphones are so loud, the flight attendant always stops and politely asks Sarah to turn her music off (while I slink down in my seat mortified). Sarah then gives the attendant this look that says, "What? What's going on? You want me to turn this off? Oh right."

Disaster is averted. The plane lands safely and the iPod goes right back to the 'on' position.

-Brendan

He's Making a List, and Checking It Thrice...

Brendan is the planner in the relationship. He insists on making lists, running errands, and constantly keeping our lives in order at all waking hours of the day. He's hyper-responsible, and I love him for it. Things don't just fall through the cracks with this guy, and I can't say enough for the virtue of dependability.

But I'm not like Brendan. While I'm not a basket case by any stretch, my attitude is more of a "when it really needs to get done, it'll get done, and it doesn't really need to get done right this second" than "let's just bang it out, first thing in the morning, before we order coffee". I don't necessarily think I have the right attitude, but it's the only one I've ever had, and I've done OK in life so far. Sometimes I prefer to ignore a menial task for a little while to enjoy a warm, tasty beverage instead, during which period I feel no guilt or pressure to rush myself along.

Poor Brendan doesn't handle this well. My laissez-faire attitude toward a mandatory trip to the ATM in Anytown, India, puts him over the edge. "But what if it runs out of money reserves, or isn't open 24 hours?" he'll ask. "Honey, it's 11 a.m. on Wednesday," I'll say gently. "I think we'll be fine. Just sit down and relax for a bit." My cool, calm responses, designed to soothe and settle, usually cause Brendan to start pacing the room and are often accompanied by long sighs and obsessive wristwatch glances. He also wants to know what my thoughts are for dinner half an hour after lunch is over. He's not trying to be a freak, he just wants to plan out our evening well in advance. But it truly is freakish. I'm stuffed, man...don't even talk to me about dinner right now. It's all I can do not to chain him to a yoga mat or slip him some Xanax.

Under normal circumstances, our personalities aren't so wildly different that we clash too badly, but tensions tend to flare up a lot more often when you and your loved one are backpacking across the world. Sometimes I just want to sit on a rock, look out onto the river, and contemplate our existence. All afternoon. I know I have to buy those train tickets, but you know, the ticket office will be open tomorrow, and the weather is just perfect today. Who really wants to live according to plan, anyway?That's what I love about traveling. What Brendan loves about traveling is making plans so that we have the free time to sit on that rock, even though the rock may have to wait until those plans have been executed.

I guess in theory, we're working toward the same goal. But I really must insist he stop pacing.

-Sarah

Snaps

Train stations in India are really incredible. There's certainly a lot to see. The other day while waiting for our train, we watched a large monkey terrorize a family, rooting through their shopping bags and making a big scene, until a brave father shooed it away with his foot. People standing around watching all had a good laugh.

Sarah and I were also standing on the platform waiting for our (now late) train which would take us east from Lucknow to Varanasi. There aren't many tourists in Lucknow, so we were quite a curiosity at the station. That's fine. I like being the center of attention. I just worry about our safety, since we're a bit vulnerable with a few thousand dollars worth of electronic equipment on our backs. I would probably rob me if I thought about it long enough. So I jumped a little when suddenly I saw six young men in their early twenties coming up fast toward me. They stopped right in front of Sarah and me, forming a semi-circle around us. No one was smiling.

"Where you from?" said a portly guy in the center. He held out his hand.

"America."

"Where?"

"USA."

"Ahh.. .USA."

Still no smiles from the crowd. Just looking at me. I turned to glance at Sarah, and saw she was now ten feet behind me and suddenly very interested in the tops of her shoes.

"California," I said.

"California," said the leader.

More silence. I wasn't sure what was going on here and I didn't like my odds. Sarah was backing even farther away. I tried to make eye contact with some of the guys, but they were shifty.

"Excuse me, but can we ask a favor?" said the big one, "My friend would like some snaps with you."

"What?"

"Snaps." As he said this, he put an invisible camera to eye and pressed the shutter.

"Oh! pictures? You want a picture? Yea! That's great! Yea, lets all get a picture. Ok. This is awesome."

I blew a sigh of relief.

"Honey you want to get in the picture?" I asked Sarah, who at this point was halfway to Pakistan.

"Sure."

A camera was produced and the crowd of guys who looked so menacing a moment ago smiled as they gathered around Sarah and me, wrapped their arms around their neighbors' backs and stood straight for the camera.

"OK. One. Two. Three!"

Click.

"And another one? Yes?" The leader smiled and asked. He let go of me and switched places with the first picture taker who now stood next to me in his place. Everyone was smiling.

After the pictures, we stood around for a few seconds, everyone kind of grinning and embarrassed. People walking by wondered what what was going on.

"OK. We must go now," said my new friend.

And at that, one by one, the group, which had increased to about ten guys, shook my hand. I felt like a campaigning politician. One who really believed in his cause and who knew he would win.

-Brendan

Thanks for the parasites, India

Brendan is in our hotel room right now puking his guts out. I mean that literally. His guts are sort of a bright aqua-green color and there are a lot of them. I'm hanging out on the balcony because I'm afraid to leave him alone, but sitting next to him and observing the vomit-fest up close is a little too agonizing for both of us.

It's times like this that I wish I was a better nurse. I try to do all the right things. I bought a can of Sprite, some bland crackers, and a bottle of water from the local market and am gently urging him to nibble and sip every so often. I've been re-arranging his blankets after he tosses them off the bed on the way to the bathroom. I touch his forehead and pretend that I know what a fever is supposed to feel like. But the sad truth is that when Brendan gets sick, I'm terrified and clueless.

Here's why: Just between you and me, I'm one of those silly people who is afraid of throwing up. I legitimately fear vomit. I'm the kid who used to wish upon a star that I would never throw up again (the ability to fly was a close second, followed by invisibility). Slight pangs of nausea are a huge deal to me. In fact, just last night I started feeling icky from various food aromas at dinner and had to excuse myself to go walk around in sub-zero Himalayan temperatures, just in case I actually ended up doing the deed (I didn't, but given Brendan's current state, I think my foresight was ominously spot-on). See, I don't believe the people that tell me I'll feel better afterward. How can you feel better after something like that? It's your mouth, for god's sake. Mouths are for ice cream and french-kissing. Mouths are happy places. I once healed from a tonsillectomy sans painkillers because someone told me the morphine might make me throw up. That was a painful recovery week, but I never once got sick. It was worth it.

But back to Brendan. I'm terrified and clueless of his current condition, because in all honesty, I was seven years old the last time I threw up without ingesting copious amounts of alcohol (and that only happened once or twice before sheer willpower made me the best little drinker north of the Golden Gate). I really don't know much about it the act itself, I don't understand how he's feeling right now, I only know that it scares me and makes me want to wish on a star that Brendan will never throw up again. He doesn't deserve this.

Yours in fear,
Sarah

Public Displays of Affection

India has a conservative culture. Or at least that's what our guidebook says. In most of our books on Asian countries, there's always a little part that warns against public displays of affection. It usually says something like, "kissing or hand holding will be frowned upon." Funny that defecating in the streets is almost encouraged over here, but kissing your wife will earn you disapproving looks.

So I'm always a but wary about any PDA with the wife. Sometimes, we'll be holding hands and I'll think to myself, "should I be doing this?" I always feel a little guilty, as if I really am offending people. And maybe I am, just no one has ever scolded me for it. I don't know what I'm so worried about though, it's not like the PDA police are going to come arrest us for an innocent peck on the cheek.

Or are they?

You'd think we were guilty by the way they look at Sarah. Leering might be a better word. I know that Western women are perceived to be easy (thank you, Hollywood) but that's my wife you're staring at buddy. My wife who is dressed conservatively in a loose Indian-theme shirt and jeans and certainly not trying to attract attention. My wife who is walking with her also conservatively dressed "just trying to fit in" husband. The same husband who is now giving you dirty looks, sir, because now you are REALLY staring at her and making her very uncomfortable.

Maybe it's because we're just walking side by side that draws the stares. You never see Indian couples just taking a stroll. It's always packs of women or two guys walking together. And here's what's strange about the guys. Lots of times, they're holding hands. It's not a gay thing, it's just two buddies holding hands walking together. Obviously, it's cultural and that's cool, but doesn't that fall under the category of public display of affection?

Maybe it's time to rewrite the guidebooks.

-Brendan

Watch Your Mouth

Some guy spit on Brendan yesterday. It was an accident, but my husband is not the kind of person who can handle being spit on, even unintentionally. Still, he kept the rage under control pretty well. But I should explain. Here in India, people spit a lot. Men, women, children, grandmothers etc. Sometimes it's just regular spit, sometimes it's food, sometimes it's chewed up betel nut, sometimes it's hard to classify. I personally find spitting of any kind really disgusting (if it goes in, it stays in!), but you know, we're in India. Whatever.

Not only do people spit a lot, but there are just too many of us. Walking down a fairly wide street is a huge test in patience and agility, as pedestrians must constantly dodge cars, auto rickshaws, cycle rickshaws, motorcycles, and cows coming from all directions at all times honking their horns maniacally (in their defense, the cows are pretty quiet). There is no order. There is no way around it. You must propel yourself forwardish and hope for the best.

So when some guy decides to spit and his projectile saliva lands in your personal space (in this case, all over Brendan's exposed toes), there's not much you can do. Especially when the spitter realizes what he's done and starts falling all over himself apologizing (in English, which I must say was a nice touch). Poor Brendan. He was so grossed out, and we were nowhere near our hotel so he could clean up. But instead of freaking out and starting to cry (something not beyond the realm of possibility had it been my toes), my brave husband kept the profanity under his breath, did a little dance to shake off whatever moisture he could from his foot, grabbed my hand, and thrust our bodies back into the madness toward the New Delhi train station.

Bravo, honey. Bravo.

-Sarah

Nap Time

We are sleeping WAY too much these days. We were jet lagged the first few days after landing in India, so we had some trouble falling asleep at night, and had more trouble staying awake during the day. Fair enough. Now, we're just using the jet lag as an excuse to take naps whenever we please. We're tired, but we're not THAT tired. We should be out exploring more of Delhi, but we're inside sleeping at two in the afternoon. We say we're still kind of jet lagged, but that's a lie. We're just very lazy. And you know what? I'n not going to apologize.

Our hotel room is a little safe bubble. We can stay in here and hide from the loud scary India outside. We go out when we've worked up enough strength to deal with Delhi. We come in when we're tired of walking around seeing the sites. The room is our sanctuary where we watch TV, order room service and sleep. The other day, we took a marathon seven hour nap. That's just being decadent. I don't care though. I'm on vacation.

For people in India for the first time, and who really ought to be outdoors, I would say we're also watching too much TV. The cable here gives us three English language movie channels. Even though there's rarely anything good on, it's still fun to pull the covers up and veg out. Last night was a good one. 'Mr. and Mrs. Smith' was on. This gave us the chance to speculate on Brad and Angelina for the entire two hours. I am not really into celebrity gossip, but since Sarah's girlfriends aren't really here to listen to her thoughts on who is to blame for Jennifer Aniston's broken heart, I don't mind filling in. We girl talk, even though we're husband and wife.

Please don't tell anyone.

-Brendan

He Gets Me

What's awesome about traveling with Brendan is that we have pretty much the same interests and are almost always on the same page. Clearly that's why we ended up together, but it's never been more obvious how much it matters once you throw yourself into the great unknown (at the time of press, it was still Delhi, India). I'm sure I'd feel naggy and resentful if I was always the one dragging him to a museum, and vice versa if he was dragging me to the nearest McDonald's to get away from the local cuisine (to his credit, this has never happened). You want to travel with someone who will empathize if you just aren't that into it, or have a bad day, or get lonely, or feel like taking a nap rather than climbing to the top of the mosque tower for unparalleled views of the city, or any of those other inevitable buzzkills that are a reality of long-term travel.

When we started our trip, we had all the energy in the world and high expectations of what we wanted out of our year abroad. Each morning over hurried cups of coffee we'd jam-pack our schedule with once-in-a-lifetime hikes and art galleries and outdoor cafes. It took some time to accept that Earth is way too big to cover in a single year, and we just weren't going to be able to see everything. In fact, trying to do so was exhausting and often kind of disappointing. So we started to work at not guilting ourselves into overdoing it. Think about how many times you got sick or crampy or felt like watching movies inside all day in the past year. Probably more than a few, right? That stuff just happens, no matter where you are. And when I say, "Honey, do you still want to go out and get some dinner at that cool little restaurant across town? We could probably keep most of the monsoon rain at bay if we wear these garbage bags on our heads," and he replies, "Um, why don't we order room service and watch whatever's on the Star Movie channel and pass out early," I just sigh and thank my lucky stars that I'm with someone who gets me.

-Sarah