You don't get love, you give it

When I was traveling last year, I read a lot of books.

One of those books was "Shantaram" by Gregory David Roberts. It's a mammoth book, a colossal undertaking of 944 pages that I braved largely because it was based in my newly-adopted hometown of Mumbai (Bombay), India. Like the author, I too had relocated there, though admittedly on much tamer circumstances. I bought the book on the second day of a 9 day trek in Nepal (after realizing Twilight #2 was nowhere to be found). I still shoulder some guilt for having our 16-year old porter Norbu carry it all those miles.

There's a line in the book, where Roberts ends one of the chapters by writing "You don't get love, you give it." At the time, I wrote it off for a cliche statement. But it has stuck with me since that quiet day in May when I read it, and I find myself lately reflecting back on one of the most amazing years of my life, and realizing just how true it is.

I've been fortunate enough to meet people throughout this year, and have experiences, that I would never have had the courage to even attempt in the first place without the support of so many family and friends. I've found myself thinking a lot about giving versus getting love, as I have been lucky enough to be the recipient of so much love, often when I didn't even deserve it.

Selflessly and completely, people have seriously shown me the love this year. And I keep wondering if I've done the same in return.

Several people have asked me what the highlights were of my time abroad, and one of the first things that comes to mind is my experience teaching in Bombay. The children I taught there are amazing, and as much as I love them, I feel like they gave me so much more love, unconditionally and without question, even while having so little, that it wasn't nearly a fair trade (though I did teach them what "totally awesome" meant, so I tried to show my appreciation on some level).

My entire adventure would not have been possible without my friend Sunitha and her husband Ashwyn who welcomed me not as a guest in their home, but as part of their family. I'm yet to figure out a proper repayment for their kindness, generosity, and sharing of their wealth of knowledge about Bombay (specifically its fine foods, both at home and eating out!) To have that time to spend with Sunitha again was priceless; I hope someday I will have a home as awesome as theirs to host them in (and maybe even on a beach, too!) and try and live up to the high bar that is Indian hospitality.

I'm not sure I ever explained how much it meant to me that friends and family came to visit me--Jessie, Bryan, and Randy--and experience the craziness of India firsthand, but the random motorcycle rides in the dark, the beers for breakfast, and the photo collages of food in Nepal and India will not soon be forgotten. For those friends I traveled with outside of India--Libby, Abdullah, Patti, Sarah and Gareth--the nights out in Mykonos, the kufte in Istanbul, the brewery tours in Ireland/Holland, the MeatBowl in Melbourne all still bring a smile to my face.

The list goes on of all the people who have given me so much love: the D-town winos, who got me bacon when I was fresh off the plane back in Denver in August; Annie K, not only for keeping my car but always being there to listen to all my random boy stories; Carolyn for watching my plants and being a shoulder to lean on; my parents for supporting me even when they think I'm crazy (which, I think is a majority of the time); Maria for encouraging me not to get a real job and to travel more; Jeffy Peeps for being my favorite Peoples; Joe for sending me Newsweeks and Economists in the mail; Nanu for telling me that no one would judge me if I decided I hated India and decided to go home early; Phil for hooking us up with Pemba Sherpa in Nepal; and for everyone that sent me a message while I was gone, that I've seen since I've gotten back over coffee, whiskeys, lunches or beers; who read my blog and (hopefully) enjoyed it; it's been amazing for me to have you all along for the ride the last year with me, through the ups and downs, the rik-shaws and the cows, the dance parties and the sunrises.

I come back to the statement again; with all this love I'm getting, is it true that you don't really get it, but give it?

And then, January 8th marked one year since I departed Denver and flew to Mumbai, unsure of what life held for me but extremely excited, apprehensive, and happy. Now I find myself a few days into the new year, feeling similar, but for so many different reasons. My home is again in Denver, though I haven't had my own "home" yet, as I have been so lucky to have friends like Todd, Emily, Angelique, and Patti that have let me lean on them and literally put a roof over my head. For their graciousness, I am ever grateful. I've reconnected with old friends and met new ones, and set down temporary roots with a new job. My wanderlust hasn't waned, but for right now, I am trying to keep it in check (though trips to South Dakota, Minneapolis, Iowa, and soon Phoenix worked themselves into my itinerary quickly in the nearly five months since I've been back).

When I was in India, my friend Jim and I in Denver wrote snail mail letters back and forth (which were a guarantee to wipe out any inkling of homesickness each time I got one). In one of those letters in February, I remember writing him about how happy I was at that moment, being in India, floundering but exploring, pushing my boundaries, encompassed by novelty and sensory overload and cows and garbage and color. I'm pretty sure the next day I was probably cursing India and all its headaches and shortcomings and lack of infrastructure. But at that moment, as I wrote to my good buddy, my perspective wasn't tainted. It was filled with love of my situation, my experience, my adventure. I was letting the love in, and giving it back.

The journey I set out on last year may have come full circle, as a new one is just beginning. And for that I am extraordinarily grateful. Because of all the things I learned, one of the most important was to not be afraid to give love. I've learned that if you do give it, you may find yourself lucky enough to get it, too. And I hope, out of all the books I've read over the years, I carry that message I came across in Shantaram with me in all my adventures yet to come.

Back to Amsterdam

AMSTERDAM July 4th - July 7th, 2009

It'd been 10.5 years since I'd been in Amsterdam.

My first visit, in January 1999, was three short days on the beginning of a three week tour of major art-stops in Europe. Touring with a group from college, we spent the brief few days hitting the tourist haunts and the nights dancing before our quick departure. I was excited to return, older, (hopefully) much wiser, and curious about the city I had been to long ago, heard so much about, but hadn't spent quality time.

We easily navigated from the train station to our hotel, which was in a great location near a beautiful canal (though it isn't hard to be near a canal here, admittedly). Patti and I wasted no time in grabbing a drink while Reed wanted some down time, and found a great outdoor haunt for whiskey and people watching. It was hot, and the pub had a baby pool one could wade in if so inclined.

Street view of Amsterdam.

Amsterdam is a city mostly at or slightly below sea level, and small land-wise, so most people get around on bicycles, which was evident immediately. After hanging for a bit, I decided to head out to find a gig that promised bluegrass/rock/punk/metal/folk/accordion tunes, which to me sounded like a perfect blend. Navigating the tram alone, I missed my stop and hoofed it back to the area I was looking for, only to finally reach the destination, knock on the decrepit looking door, and be told by a man playing up to Amesterdam cliches that the gig had moved, literally, near the stop I had accidentally got off on. I shrugged and began my walk back when I passed a very small, cute bar that could have passed for a simple but charming cafe. A man in his 60s started chatting me up, and before I knew it I was sitting with a few other Dutch men, spending the 4th of July in the company of a delightful entourage.

Soon I abandoned my plans to find the ecclectic gig, and settled in to bourbon and gingers, great conversation, and taking over the jukebox with my newfound Dutch friends. Turns out the owner was selling the bar in a few days, and it was a kind of last hurrah with him and some of his friends and neighbors.

My Dutch 4th of July buddies

I also learned what "large bike" or rather "bike that really is a huge wheel barrow"means in Dutch: "Bakfeets". A photo below:

Around 3 a.m. I headed back to my hotel, in a pricy but safe cab, having had an enjoyable evening with new friends who I likely would never see again but was so glad I had met.

The next morning Patti and I headed to the Museum of Bags and Purses which featured not only famous styles of purses and bags over the last 500 years, but bags from the likes of Madonna and Hillary Clinton and purses from all over the world. Admittedly a girly activity, I loved visiting it.

I swear I had a purse like this in 6th grade!

Who doesn't want a diamond Diet Coke purse? Really?

Found Hooch Street!

I spent the afternoon in the large Vondelpark in central Amsterdam, reading, writing, and listening to live music. Sitting there on a beautiful Sunday afternoon, it reminded me a lot of bein back in Denver. I also befriended Ghengis, quite the large pooch.

This dog was awesome!

Texas musician playing in Vondelpark in Amsterdam.

That evening we had a delicious dinner at an Indonesian restaurant, then headed out on a Canal Tour of the city, sailing in and out of the cities storied canals, while taking in the famous, and infamous, landmarks of the city.

Sporting some rad hats

Like glass.

Can't quite recall how I captured this.

Finally the next day we rented bicycles and Patti and I headed up first to a floating flower market and then to a huge weekend market packed with people and goods ranging from books to purses to antiques to clothes to fresh-squeezed orange juice. We then met up with the sleeping-in Reed, and took in another market nearby our hotel while sampling some delicious Dutch ice cream. Eventually we made it over to the Heineken Brewery, and enjoyed a delightful tour with not one but two complimentary brews.

Sooo touristy, I love it!

Pretty brewery stained glass windows.

That's right, put 'em up.

After the tour we continued on throughout the city on our bikes, but after some time we realized we were lost and Patti took an unfortunate tumble from her bike. There were police actually nearby who helped, and she was able to get up, brush off, and continue on as we finally found our way back. We took it easy the rest of the night, and I stayed up into the late hours doing much needed laundry in the creepy hotel basement laundromat.

On our last morning when Reed and I went to return our bikes it was pouring rain. We had been blessed up to that point to have had beautiful weather, so one morning of getting soaked seemed a small price to pay (though I did try in vain to blow dry my jeans before leaving for the airport).

It had been a fun adventure with Patti and Reed, but I was now excited to leave The Netherlands and have a few days of somewhat solo travel in London--another place I had not been for 10 1/2 years.

Dublin does not disappoint

Dublin, June 29th - July 2nd, 2009

Ireland.

A destination I had looked forward to for at least a year and a half. Initially, I had planned to celebrate my 30th birthday here, in the land famous for the whiskey I love and the red-bearded men I fancy. Instead, I found myself there two weeks after my birthday, meeting my friend Patti from Denver and her son Reed.

I made it to Dublin with relative ease in the afternoon, navigating from the airport to the bus to the hotel smoothly, but having just missed Patti and Reed due to a late flight. Undeterred, I attempted to walk to meet them at the restaurant they were at, but instead, feeling a bit lost, hailed a friendly van-taxi driven by a delightful man. In a few minutes I found them, and after an unsuccessful venture to the Guiness Storehouse, which was closed for the afternoon, young Reed decided to go back to the hotel while Patti and I caught up over a few beers.

Senor with our first brews in Dublin.

It wasn't long before our wandering landed us to the unmistakenly touristy yet enjoyable Quay's Pub with live music played by a duo consisting of some kind of flutist and guitarist, and where my Magic Greek hat seemed to pinpoint me as the Lady Most Likely to be Willing to Dance with the Old Men. Never shying away from an opportunity to dance with old men before, I quickly obliged.

Delightful Irish jig players.

We soon continued on, first landing in a bar/club called Noo Bar that was having a free BBQ and met two brothers who owned a small pub in the area called O'Donoghue's and again we shifted there. We hung for an hour or so, with them telling us to look them up the next day, and knowing well we wouldn't. Dublin in a few hours time had already shown promised charm.

After getting some needed sustenance the next morning:

we headed again to the Guiness Storehouse, which is one of the best beer tours I've been done, which I think to that point in my life consisted of four. It was self-guided, there was an indoor waterfall, and best of all you sip your cold brew at the end of the tour in a window-filled room overlooking the city. It also doesn't hurt to have your beer toppeed off with a foamy four-leaf clover.

Hops on the tour.

The three of us, very contented.

Oh Guinness! You great brew.

This was pretty sweet.

I've been a long fan of the Guiness advertising campaigns, and was most impressed with the display they had of all the marketing tactics over the years that impress on so many of our minds that, yes indeed, life is better with a Guiness.

Later that afternoon, Patti had arranged a short bus tour out of the city where we toured Maldive Castle and admired its beautiful grounds, and had delicious coffee and dessert in the grass. We also drove to one of the richest smaller towns outside of Dublin, Howth, and even got a view of islands? in Dublin Bay where Bono and S'nead o'Connor have residences. This small taste outside of the city was enough for me to envision a trip where I returned, car rented, three weeks of open road before me, and nothing but Ireland to explore.

On the grounds of Maldive castle.

Coffee and castles, in my element.

View of where Bono lives, way over Yonder. I decided not to call on him this time around.

After an early dinner of fish n chips, that night Patti and I attempted to see some live music, and went to a Lonely Planet recommended pub, Hughes Bar, that did indeed have music, but it was more a private practice session, and the bar was so bloody hot that after one pint we were ready to head back in for the night.

The next day I made it to the Jameson distillery though, where I earned my diploma in Jameson tasting. Plus, you know it's going to be an interesting day once you've had your first cocktail before 11. I met Reed and Patti at Wagamama for lunch, and wondered why there isn't one in Denver. We then proceeded to tour the Book of Kells on the beautiful and famed Trinity College campus (but sorry, no photos inside).

Who says I wasn't studying important things in Dublin?

Our final night in Dublin we had a delicious dinner at a tapas place, and an interesting interaction with a passerby who asked if he could have some of our food (we were sitting at an outdoor table), and before we could react, stole food off our plate and ran. The owner spotted this, and brought us some food to replace what was snatched. We wrapped up the night in Temple Bar area again, but this time were not too into the bar, and after watching our favorite street musicians for the third time in three days, turned in.

Think bluegrass/funk/rock/fun.

I'd seen plenty of Dublin in a few days, and my short time there did make me realize I will return to Ireland when I have more time and a chance to get beyond the city limits. I was ready to move on to The Netherlands where I knew the people would be tall and I hadn't been in over 10 years.

Part of the beauty just outside of Dublin.

No worries, if you don't come back to Ireland, he'll cut you.

Beer for Breakfast and other misadventures

May 1st-May 8th, 2009--Mumbai and Aurangabad, Maharashtra, India

My second visitor in India arrived on May 1^st. Randy is a friend from Denver, married to my very good friend Annie, and they are foster parents to my blue Ford Focus while I am away. Seeing he had work in Malaysia, he decided to pop over to India for a week.

Randy's visit started with some drama even before I fetched him from the airport, as I took a Rik there, and despite the fact Sunitha told the driver in Hindi I wanted to go to the International airport, I was dropped at the Domestic terminal, and before I noticed, I had paid, and my driver was gone. I hailed another ride, and a few minutes into the ride, he said he wanted 500 rupees (for what should be a 30 or so rupee ride). So I get out, angrily, with my pack with me because I had not checked into the hotel yet. Soon another driver offered to take me to the International Airport for 300 rupees, than 200, than 100, until finally a young driver named Sanil agreed to take me there with the meter running, and laughing, practiced his English on me by saying “I am sexy, NO?!?!” and despite the fact I told him three times my name was Leah, he was sure my name was Priya, and that Sanil and Priya are a perfect Bollywood match, and he not-so-debonairly tried to get me to give him a kiss before I left the Rik. Unfortunately, he failed in his quest, but he did succeed in temporarily improving my mood from the sour state it was in 10 minutes prior and I gave him a low-five for his efforts.

I found Randy, and we made our way to Sea View Hotel on Juhu Beach, my home away from home, away from home when I have guests in Mumbai. We started out the next morning with beer for breakfast, which is never a bad choice, and made our way up north to the National Park in town, where we saw some lions and tigers on a short bus safari, but being that it was so hot, we soon headed back for pizza and beer, a bit of shopping, and then a short tour through the Hare Krishna temple. Randy had bought some Johnny Walker Red earlier, and the security person was concerned he was bringing in water. When Randy explained it was “whiskey, not water” suddenly it was OK and he could bring it in. That's my kind of temple.

The next day we did the slum tour of Dharvi like I did when Jessie came, and Randy enjoyed it quite a bit as he was familiar with some of the work that was being done there. To get out of the heat, we headed downtown to lunch at the famed Leopold's and hit up both the National Gallery of Art and the Jehinger Gallery which had a sculpture exhibit, featuring a herd of hippopotami! Obviously, I loved it.

That night we departed Mumbai and headed to a bus station to catch an overnight bus to the city of Aurangabad. The ride was one of the few times I have been cold in India as the AC was pumping, and I neglected to bring long sleeves. After about 8 hours, we arrived.

I had wanted to visit Aurangabad because of the famed Ellora and Ajanta caves, full of Hindu, Buddhist and Jain carvings and sculptures. We headed to the Ellora Caves (about30 kilometers from town) and also to Fort Daulatabad another young tourist named Lim from South Korea.

To the top of Fort Daulatabad turned out to be a good, short hike and though it was hot, it was not a bad precursor for trekking in Nepal I would be doing in a few weeks.

View from Fort Daulatabad

The Ellora caves were very impressive, and being that it was so hot, we saw most of the 34 caves, but skipped a few of the Buddhist caves at the end. The most striking part of the Ellora caves was the Kailasa Temple, which is dedicated to the Lord Shiva and carved from the rock over 150 years by over 7,000 workers—an interesting fact from Lonely Planet is that the Kailasa covers twice the are of the Parthenon in Athens and is 1 ½ times as high.

Lim Stretches as I unknowingly to him take a snap

Kaisala Temple Views

Following the caves we headed back to the hotel for some much needed rest, and that night ran into Lim again and headed off to have thali (link here) at a veg restaurant and some drinks, which later lead to consumption of most of the Johnny Walker Red. Being that it was so hot, we decided to skip traveling to the Ajanta Caves the next day, and instead sorted out our train tickets for the night and visited a weaving center in Aurangabad known for its detailed workmanship; a saree can take a year to make, many other items weeks and months.

Our trip back to Mumbai dropped us off downtown in the Colaba area the next day, and we soldiered on through the heat, checking into our hotel and then making our way over to the Thieves Bazaar (known for antiques) but also into a huge bazaar with lots of food and a butcher area—warning for those who may have weak stomachs—but we not only saw an alley full of garlic (one of my favorite spots ever, as many know, you can never have enough garlic) we also came across some severed goat's heads (aka mutton).

Gross, I know

We next made it over to the Haji Ali Mosque, which at high tide is inaccessible, whether you are coming or going. A small mosque, with many less fortunate lined along its path with various physical deformities, it is a powerful place regardless of your impression. Also, there are vendors selling ice cream bars for 5 rupees (roughly 10 cents U.S.). We were tempted to buy the entire box.

View at Haji Ali (note Randy wiping the sweat off his brow in the bottom left corner)

After a bit more shopping and bargaining and one last beer, we navigated from downtown up north to get Randy to the airport. Like so many times in Mumbai, it was an eventful excursion as our cabbie had said he knew how to get to Juhu but we got annoyingly lost for quite some time. As I was tired and hot, I was rather unhappy (to put it mildly) with our driver and it was as we finally got a Rik on the last stretch before reaching the airport that Randy said to me that I would know when I got back from Nepal if I would return to India past July. As much as I love being here most of the time, I had to admit that the trials and tribulations of just getting around—not to mention the heat, humidity, traffic and pollution—were wearing on my nerves, and I was not feeling like myself. It was time to get out of Dodge. Luckily, I would have that opportunity in less than a week.