For Liz

Liz, remember how when we were talking about some strange food I had never had and you were trying to explain to me what it tasted like? And that your absurd frame of reference and blase assumptions about my worldliness when describing the taste to me ("You know, it tastes just like water buffalo milk.") made me laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh until I almost peed?

Well, Liz, after 2 weeks of water buffalo milk, I know exactly what it tastes like. And also the curd. And the cheese. And the G-d knows what else.

Up the Mountain

The other day started out...bad. I woke up to find out 1) nearly the whole town was on a hunger strike at the temple, protesting China's control of Tibet and thus there was no food or shopping to be found unless you climbed an hour up the mountain; 2) the water in my cottage was out and I couldn't take a shower or flush my toilet; 3) one of my 3 shirts, and the only long-sleeved shirt I had, was stolen from where it was hanging to dry so I was forced to don a wet t-shirt; 4) I was getting the beginning of a cold and a wheeze from living in my very moldy musty damp cottage; and 5) I used my last sliver of western toilet paper. I was pretty grumpy.

But it ended up...phenom. I climbed Triund, a mountain of approximately 2900 feet with my Polish friends. The hike up took about 4-5 hours. The trail at first was very confusing and the mountain shepherds and others we met on the way would point us in any old direction when we asked where the trail was. After a while the trail became clearer but the view came and went with the passing clouds. A group of three dogs followed us all the way from town to the top of the mountain. Halfway up we met a shepherd from the Kullu valley (identifiable by his cool hat) who was very angry about the dogs. In a garbled mix he told us that the dogs had killed his sheep the day before. There were 3 chai stalls on the way up the mountain where we would stop and enjoy the view and occasionally run across other climbers. At the top, we were hit by the moonsoon and sat for 2 hours with Amil, the many who owned the place. He lives 8 months out of the year on the mountain top, tending to his store, while in the winter months he lives with his family in a village a few hours walk away. Every week or so he or one of his cousins go to town with a few horses to bring supplies like tea, flour to make chapati, bottled drinks, and other goodies up to the mountain. On top we also met some Indian tourists and huddled with them in the cold under Amil's blankets in his small stall, drinking chai and chatting about Hindu gods, the mountain people of the area, and politics. It is a rumored that a small band of approximately 1000 people of Scottish descent live in the mountains. They keep to themselves, wear tribal dress with kilts, and are very wealthy, with over 500 sheep. They are very reclusive and when seen don't allow any snaps. It is also rumored that with a day's walk there are ruins of an ancient Greek encampment. It was very cold and wet and half of the climb was on slippery large rocks and while we wanted to climb higher to the glaciers, we decided to head back down. It is possible to stay the night on a small shack up on the mountain but we passed on that opportunity and opted to walk back down in the rain. In a few minutes it cleared and the view was just unbelievable. We could see glaciers!!

This community here is fascinating. The city is filled primarily with Tibetan refugees and their families, Tibetan monks, Kashmiris who run many of the stores, and fewer Indians from here and surrounding areas. There are many domestic tourists here, right now mostly Punjabis. The Punjabis annoy me because the men stare at me a lot and always ask "ek snap?" ("one photograph?") They always want to take my picture. If you let someone take a picture you won't escape, they will keep clicking and clicking. I made this mistake at the Golden Temple in Punjab where an entire extended Sikh family was posing with me and putting their babies in their arms. That's one thing, but the men on holiday is another.

The past few days I stayed in town but yesterday I moved up the mountain to a much nicer and much cheaper room ($2.25/night) higher in the mountains. This is the area primarily populated by a few local Indians who run the guesthouses and also are shepherds or if the woman runs the guesthouse, the man is a shepherd higher up the mountain, Israelis, and assorted Europeans. Many of these foreigners have lived here for months or years and several have overstayed their visas. It feels a lot safer and quieter than the town. My view from my room is unbelievable and I have the worst room in the place, with no private bathroom. I still think it's nice and really the only downside is that the window to the shared squat toilet is on a hill, so the children playing in the fields can come up to the window and laugh at you when you squat to pee as they did to me yesterday. "Jao!"

My Polish friends left for Manali and then to Leh in Ladakh on the second highest road in the world. I was very tempted to go with them but the road frequently washes out and there really is no telling how long the journey could take, from here a minimum of 24 hours driving (10 hours bus and 14 hours shared Jeep; or 10 hours + 28 hours on a bus) and sometimes the entire road washes out and there is no way back. There are twice weekly flights from Leh to Delhi but they are expensive and unreliable. The road itself is only open a few months of the year. SO TEMPTING! But y'all might never see me again if I went.

Last night I attended a great party with a very international crowd and this morning I woke to eat Tibetan Tsangpa porridge and shortly I will try to navigate the Indian postal service, will eat some momos (Tibetan dumplings), and will try to figure out where to go next. I'll leave tonight or tomorrow, for somewhere. Maybe Gangotri, the source of the Ganga.

Amritsar and Dharamsala

The overnight train to Amritsar was nice and I slept well. I met a very nice woman named Gita on the train who was marveling at my clothes as I simultaneously marveled at her gorgeous chiffon sari. She was a very beautiful woman of 50 years old with two children. She showed me 3 of her "snaps" (photographs) of herself, a black and white school picture at age 16, another black and white portrait at 21 taken on her wedding day (bejewelled with gold), and finally, one color snap taken when she was 24 while visiting the Golden Temple. She was descending some stairs and holding her 9 month old baby girl in her arms when a tourist approached her and asked if he could take her snap. She agreed and he sent her the photograph. As I met her, at 50, Gita is a very regal, poised, and beautiful woman. But at 24 she could have been on the cover of any magazine around the world. In the picture, her delicate floral pink and white silk shawl is draped over her head, highlighting her powerful but beguiling onyx eyes. She was like Cleopatra, reincarnated. Stunning.

We arrived in Amitsar 7:30 a.m. and my travel companions took the first rickshaw driver that approached us. Doh! Personally I prefer to bargain until I'm blue in the face (unless its in the middle of a monsoon). Turns out he was a very nice guy and drove us around for the next day and a half all around the city and helped us sort out some issues with the trains for "a donation." Amritsar is a completely different place from Uttaranchal and I was grateful to have my shawl to cover my head.

We tried several guest houses until we found one that was relatively decent and after showering we headed off to the Golden Temple. We toured the temple itself in midday, in the searing heat and sun. I am going to forego most of my description of the place, only to tell you all that it is the most important of all Sikh temples, its gold (duh), and then I will let you google it yourself to see what it is like (or better yet, come for a visit.) All I will say is that maybe it was the heat, my chronic dehydration, my lack of eating for like 20 hours, the press of the pilgrims and visitors, the continuous and enchanting singing and praying coming from each direction, the giant feather duster action, the piercing sparkle of the gold, or the many Indians who wanted to take their picture with me (?!), but it was a very moving experience. It's a freaking TEMPLE MADE OF GOLD SURRONDED BY A LAKE!! HOLY CRAP! It's just incredible.

In late afternoon we set off to watch the nightly show at the Indian-Pakistan border. I had heard about this strange event but nothing could prepare me for the total absurdity of it all. Stands are erected on both sides Wagsu border. On the Indian side, the show is preceded by raucous Bollywood-style dancing in the streets. On the Pakistan side, the men sit on one side and the woman on the other, and there was no dancing. The show itself consists of strange military manuevers from the soldiers on both sides. The soldiers wear fans on their heads and do some very strange high-kicks as they march back and forth alongside the border gate. It was one of the top 3 strangest shows I have ever watched. And that is saying something. I will be sure to post pictures of it.

The next day we took a 2 hour train and then a four hour taxi up the side of the mountains to McLeod Ganj, an adjacent town to Dharamsala and home to Dalai Lama and the Tibetan government in exile. Also home to many new age hippies, Buddhists, and yoga enthusiasts, mostly from Europe and Israel (although Richard Gere hangs out here a lot.) I found a very moldy room to rent, had a great dinner of Tibetan long noodles, caught a concert of classical Tibetan music, and fell fast asleep. The chill in the air is a welcome relief to the searing heat of Amritsar.

This morning I got up early at 6 and walked for about 2 hours down to the Tibetan housing compounds and to the Tsangpa monastery. And I mean down the steep side of a mountain. I watched the monks, school children, and other Tibetans make their way up the mountain towards town. The views were stunning over the Himalayas, with Tibetan prayer flags fluttering in the early morning breeze. I then visited Bhagsu, the waterfall, where again people wanted to take pictures of me. I hightailed it out of there after I followed a goat up a small path and ate some momos and did some shopping.

After tomorrow's trek to a temple and lake, I have no idea where I'm going to next...I'm still waiting for inspiration.

A Monsoon Adventure

Ok, it's been a couple of days, I apologize. So there is much to catch up on! I am currently in the mountains in Dharamsala, in the state of Himachal Pradesh, having arrived this morning after a long long journey from Amritsar in the Punjab.

The night before I left Rishikesh, 3 (one suave, two hippie-dippie) Italians showed up at our guesthouse. They were obviously old friends of the owner and had been there many times as they were growing basil in the garden. One of the men had a storage room to himself filled with his things. Within an hour of their much ballihooed arrival, several young and nicely dressed Indian guys on motorbikes or mopeds showed up to greet them and "make things happen." I don't know all the details but for each enquiry they had, about overstayed visas, private drivers, and other things I'd rather not know about (but am still curious) they were told, "It's India, anything's possible." They were all living in India for several years in that region. The day I left, a white man wearing swami like clothing arrived and several of the tenants quickly and excitedly went into the prayer room with him. He told them, "I am only staying one night," I suppose so they wouldn't get too excited. What a motley crowd.

I now need to apologize to Amy Jo, as I promised her no mopeds. I'm afraid I did take a moped while in Rishikesh but it was SO worth it....up a mountain to see water falls and caves and beautiful forests. The spring and glacier water (tributaries to the Ganga) was clearer than any I have ever seen. I also saw a random sadhu sitting in a cave on the footpath up the mountain.

But despite all this fun, I knew it was time to leave Rishikesh. So the day before my departure I went to the train station to buy a ticket. Through a garbled mixture of Hindi and English I was unable to buy a ticket to Varanasi and instead got an overnight train from Hardiwar (30 kms away on a ridiculously bad road) to Amritsar. The next day when I was preparing to leave realized, OH SHIT! I have lost my ticket. (I have no idea how this happened and spent at least an hour pondering whether some force larger than me --or a thief--was trying to get me to stay in Rishikesh.) I was told by the locals, "You should still be able to go on your journey." Hmmm. So I decided to leave early for the trip...giving myself about 5 hours to make it 30km on the bus to Hardiwar and recover my seat on a train for which I had no ticket. I know, it sounds overly cautious (turns out it was not). As I was preparing to depart...MONSOON. I'm not talking rain, but MONSOON. The thought of taking a bus that would likely get stuck on a broken-up asphalt (and sometimes mud) road jammed with cars very nearly convinced me to forget about leaving and just stay afterall. But a flash of inspiration took me. I said goodbye, opened my umbrella, rolled up my pants, put on my flip flops and waded through a foot of water just to get to the guest house exit. I felt insane. I was soaked in a minute. I caught a rickshaw instead of a bus a few blocks away (for a good price as no one in their right mind was going anywhere in that rain) and it took us 2 bumpy hours to go 30 kms. It was...wet.

[Just to insert here a note about a few blisters on my right foot that in the cow-shit infested monsoon mud puddles had become....a little um, disgusting. After a dry 2 days in Amritsar and here, I'm already better though.]

When I arrived at the train station, no one appeared to be working there, and in true Indian fashion, no one (except me) felt any urgency about anything. Hundreds of people were sleeping and sitting around, all of them of course staring at me, the soaking wet white girl. In the end, to successfully recover my ticket, I had to go to 3 railway police stations--all of them several blocks away in the rain and separated by large ocean-esque puddles, threaten the police with making a report of a stolen ticket (but nicely, with a head-bobble), and stand in a very long line in which all the men tried to cut in front of me (without success). I did this all without giving over a single extra ruppee for a bribe (a major accomplishment!) I also had to write the following statement that was stamped and initialed and scrutinized by many men:


To the Sogrp Hardiwar:
Subject: Loss of Journey Ticket
Sir, kindly inform to you my journey ticket train number 4631 Hardiwar to Amritsar date 26.08.08. Please do the necessary action.

Hilarious. After this absurd rigmarole, I had just enough time to eat some dhal, chapati, and some spicy thing and hop on the right train. I met a nice couple from Poland on the train, Gregory and Agnes. As we had the same plan, going to Amritsar and then Dharamsala, we decided to travel together.

Tomorrow I'll give more info on Amritsar and the Himalayas. For now I am off to eat Tibetan noodles.

What a Motley Crowd

I absolutely love this city, which is composed of at least 3 or 4 separate cities or towns near each other. Because it is on a pilgrimage route and it is during the high season for pilgrims, it is very crowded, and there are tons of markets everywhere. The entire city is vegetarian, including the dogs and cats...I think the entire pilgrim route is veg. I love this because I can walk to any street vendor and say something, anything, and when asked a question, I just do a little head bobble, and I get something ridiculously delicious. I am drinking tons of chai. Finding a cold drink is a luxury--Fanta, water, or Coca cola--in the afternoon it is such a treat (and expensive, like 15-50 cents). In the whole city you cannot buy alcohol. I am dying for a cold beer. Simply dying.

Yesterday the rain stopped and it felt to be 100 degrees and so humid that crossing the road felt like swimming. In the mid-afternoon (like everyone here who can afford it who is not working in a store front or on pilgrimage) I slept for several hours in my room, cooled by my fan. (No air con which I am actually liking.) The heat lends a different feeling to this place, a place completely out of time and the outside world.

Yesterday was Krishna's birthday (Krishna is now 5,200 and some years old and his birthday this year marks the beginning of a new age with many changes to come), many people were fasting. At night I sat on the rooftop of our cottages (there are multiple rooftops and endless windings stairs up and down everywehre in the guesthouseand) and watched everyone walking to temple and listened to the songs praising Krishna coming from every direction. The women wore their best saris, many with gold or silver threads that glistened in the night. During the day there are few women outside of their homes, except for the Indian tourists and pilgrims. The women seem to work all the time washing and hanging clothes. Or they are accompanied by their families buying wedding jewelry.

In the mornings I do yoga on the rooftop. Our teacher has us doing head stands which is a little crazy when you are on a 3rd story roof. At night we drink chai, watch live news about bombings, bus accidents, Bollywood stars or live Hindu festivals, and listen to tabla music played by a very devout Hindu and sometimes accompanied by a strange style of guitar playing by our baba (sadhu). He is a real character. Not to freak anyone out but this place could be considered a little cultish in the U.S. (Don't worry I am not renouncing anything or giving any money to them beyond what is expected!) It is actually like an ashram but more relaxed (no rules) and filled with a very motley and international crew: the Japanese baba, the Japanese manager or worker (turns out she is no relation to the baba but coincidentally happens to live here, more on this later), and a very strange and very thin Russian woman about my age, and 3-4 devout Indian men, including the owner, the tabla player, and the yoga teacher, and the cook/gate-keeper/gardener/housekeeper. The place was founded in 1961 by a very eccentric Swiss woman whose picture now rests in a place of honor. The current owner, Pinky, calls himself Swami something or other in the guidebook. I think that this is for marketing purposes but I'm not sure. He was once a baba himself and lived in a cave but now he drives a nice motorcycle, smokes hash, and prays.

So an update, despite what I said the other day, the Japanese woman manager is not related to or a girlfriend of the Japanese baba. I think she found that having him there is a convenient cover story. She has very feminist sensibilities that she shares with the men (they are more receptive to these ideas than I would have thought) and walks around inside the gated area wearing tank tops which is nice (so I can too.) When she leaves she covers with kurtas or saris. She prays and talks with the men about religion and fasts with them but she does not believe in all of the Hindu beliefs. Sometimes I wonder if she is a lesbian and others I think she is a girlfriend of the owner. It is all very strange and yesterday I found myself imagining that these people are all part of some elaborate scam. (Again, don't worry they are extremely devout Hindus.)

One thing interesting is that I am never told "no" to my questions. Many questions simply elicit a head bobble. There are many people here who do not speak English but most of the larger shop owners do. But I feel very comfortable and safe here, I can walk anywhere and while I get looked at, people are very helpful and nice. They aren't pushy either and let me bargain. Yesterday morning I walked with one of the other male tourists staying at the guest house when I stopped to buy a huge bottle of water. I had bought one previously for R20 but when we walked up to the stand, I was told R30. I told her that I could get for R20, she did a head bobble, and I was so thirsty I told her I'd buy it. I didn't have the right change, so my friend, the guy, paid for it. When the woman at the counter saw my friend turn and start walking away so he couldn't see, she gave me the R10 back.

I considered continuing my pilgrimage north which would entail untold hours of bus rides into country where there are no trains but decided against it to hit a bigger tourist destination on the rail line. I am leaving my French travelling companions behind. One of them is very sick with a bacterial infection and after being plied with homeopathic and other remedies by the Japanese manager, finally accepted my Cipro. If he doesn't improve in a day, he will fly back to France and cut his trip short. The other plans to stay here and try to sort out this madness. I planned to leave to Varanassi tomorrow, the city you have all seen on t.v. as the place Hindus go to die. Cheery, eh? So today I went to the train station to buy a ticket. But I was told by the ticket agent, "It is not possible." Actually the 20 hour air-conditioned express trains were booked for a few days and even the reserved second class tickets were booked. So instead I'll take the bus to Hardiwar and then train overnight to Amritsar, in the Punjab. Amritsar is home to a golden temple, the largest Sikh temple in all of India.

The fun continues...from Hindu to Sikh.

Bathing in the Ganga

Namaste.

I have so much to tell.

First though, I need to award India points, redeemable for good karma.

+++++++India Points+++++++++++++++++
+To Jaime Lynne for her towel that keeps me dry for about 2 minutes after my bucket shower until the humidity hits again.
+To Liz for telling me how to use the calculator to bargain.
+To me for bringing neosporin to tend to the cut on my foot that is constantly coming into contact with cow shit mud puddles and water from the Ganga (Ganges).
+To Arlen telling me not to overprepare
+ To me for bringing the umbrella even after I thought the rains here were over. They are definately not over.

Hi all, I took a steamingly hot and crowded train from Delhi to Hardiwar in Uttaranchal and spent the night in the Prem Nagal (sp?) ashram. After 15 minutes of paranoia about bedbugs (what you might expect at $1/night and with a few suspicious spots on the wall near the bed), I fell into a deep sleep. I woke up with no bites! Wow! Then I used my first Indian toilet and bucket shower. And FYI, at the sake of too much information, it wasn't bad at all.

I then walked to Rishikesh, 24 km up the mountain. The taxi and bus drivers thought we were crazy walking because most people take some kind of car. But it was a pilgrimage. We walked through a national park in which there are wild elephants. All we saw was monkeys though. Rishikesh is a very holy city on the Ganga where the Beatles came back in the dark ages. I love it, it's purely vegetarian and in the neighborhood where I am staying there are very few tourists.

Rishikesh has ghats (steps) down to the river where people come to bathe in the river. Yesterday early morning around 6 a.m. there were hundreds of sadhus (holy men) bathing before other Indian tourists on pilgrimage came. Up the road and into the mountains from here are many temples. Well there are a lot of temples in town too.

I really like where I am staying. It's not an ashram but very close as there are some people staying here long term and there is a sadhu who lives there. He is Japanese and sits all day wearing a cloth diaper. Last night we had a music session with a great tabla player. Today at sunrise on the roof of my guest house, I had a yoga lesson. It was nice but it got pretty acrobatic. After yoga I washed my salwar kameez (Punjab suit) that I purchased in Delhi. It's a beautiful dark indigo blue and also bright turquoise blue with white dots. It took me over 10 times to rinse it out to get most of the dyes out of it. And then my hands turned blue. Then I hung it up on the rooftop and watched all the other women in the big houses nearby hanging up their saris and salwar kameeze. It was a fantastic view to look out at the Himalayans and see dots and dots of bright saris on the horizon. Around here the main pursuits seem to be doing laundry, praying, and going to temples. The owner of my guest house said, "When in east, live eastern way. When in west, live western way." So far, so good.

Funny thing about the sadhu at my guest house. He is a fake baba, not like those that dwell in the mountains east of Laksmanjula. (Or this is what I have gathered.) But I don't care because I think he's hilarious. I asked him about making bonsai from Indian trees but he told me he has renouned the ways of Japan. His story is that he left Japan at 14 and has travled to Angkor Wat and other places to pray and do whatever it is that sadhus do. He is also not interested in sushi any longer. Chopsticks? No! Must eat with hands! A Japanese woman is the manager of the place and I have no idea what her story is. More on that laterz.

Today, bathing in Ganga (ok, just my feet). Also maybe a temple north east of town. And? More chai.

Tomorrow? I have no idea.

Delhi, Part 1 the First, or How I Didn't Get Scammed

Hi from Delhi!

So my flight was uneventful if uncomfortable and my landing was fine. I felt like a celebrity when my driver was waiting for me at airport when I landed at 11:00 p.m., a nice luxury.

My hotel was decent and of my four showers in 2 days I actually got hot water with one of them! WOW!

Yesterday I had a full day to explore hot, hectic, and teeming Delhi. My thought was that I would first buy a train ticket, maybe book a tour of the city for the following day, and look at a few markets and shops. Well, it's going to be hard to give you an idea about what actually happened yesterday but I could sum it up and tell you that I DO NOT want a tour of this city and I am leaving ASAP (today).

I encountered dozens (or more) enterprising capitalist types trying to entice me with "touts", or scams and many of my tuk tuk drivers (auto rickshaws) diverted me to "state emporiums" or supposedly state-run shops where I could buy myself a nice Punjabi suit for only $100 (and where they would get a nice commission.) I was also taken to multiple tourism centers where I was told all the trains were booked and I simply must rent a car, blah blah.

The story and how it played out is actually kind of funny but it is hard to convey here--the intensely capitalistic and lecherous behavior of many of these people is out of sight. (The nicest people were the women and children in the rundown areas I explored.) One young man, nicely dressed, was walking near me in a market and said, "You look like an Indian." UM, HELLO! I am of Scandanavian descent, it doesn't get much whiter. I told him, "Jao!" (Go away) as I was already so fed up with the touts. He said, "I mean by that of course, you have what we call the Indian high style. Oh, right. Long story short he concocted a fairly convincing story, oh, he was going that direction also, to meet his girlfriend, why don't we split the tuk tuk. Turns out he also was working for commision and his advice was NOT GOOD.

I was told later by a French guy that if that is all that I was told by a man I should consider myself flattered. Flattered also that someone grabbed my ass at the railway station. Jao! NOT.

So to sum up yesterday I was able to buy a train ticket for later tody for only R100-about $2-- to Hardiwar. I did notpurchse the $1500 private car tour of Rajasthan, don't worry. Once in Hardiwar I trek (ok that sounds fancy, I will walk) to Rishikesh, a very holy city. (Is there any city in this country that is not holy I wonder?)

What lies next for Sandi Satvi in Rishikesh? Yoga? Diarrhea? Both?

It's Finally Here...I'm Leaving

Today I depart Houston for Delhi. It is so surreal I can hardly believe it. It seems that it was just a month ago (it was) when I decided, to the confusion and surprise of many, that I wanted to go to India. For a while there, I didn't think it was possible, that it was some sort of idle fantasy. Then I really started having my doubts when I attempted to get an Indian visa.

Surprisingly, it wasn't the bureaucratic delays, paperwork, or the interference of the Department of Homeland Security that interfered with the visa process. It was some weird confluence of astrological events, or perhaps my karma. You see, for some reason I had a hell of a time getting the 2 passport pictures needed for an Indian visa application.

I set off to my local Target for the pictures and waited about 10 minutes for my turn only to find out they were out of the picture paper. When would they get a new shipment? Two weeks. No problem, I left for a few other errands and made sure to detour into a small private delivery service whose window flashed "PASSPORT PICS." Super, so again I waited for several minutes, to find out, "Sorry, our camera is broken." At this point I'm pretty grumpy but try to roll with the punches and drop in at a photography studio in a JC PENNEY. Another 10 minutes of my life down the tube while the photographer confirms what I suspected--there are just too many blond, blue-eyed, pastel-wearing toddlers around for him to find time for me today. Come back tomorrow? ARGH! At this point I would normally be pretty ticked off, having wasted more minutes and miles than 2 wallet-sized pictures should ever require. But it occurs to me....I want to go to India, land of 1.1 billion people, notorious for its bureaucratic hurdles, long lines, and erratic pace of life. I decide this is just practice for the real thing, take a calming breath, and drive to a Walgreens back on the other side of town. And....I'm in luck! Well, sort of, since it was about the most ghetto picture-taking operation I've ever seen, with me standing in the middle of a busy aisle under the harsh drugstore lights with an impromptu white placard held up behind my head. But mission accomplished, I got my pictures.

Compared to all that, the actual visa application process was a breeze.

At the end of the day, so what if my visa pictures makes me look like a strung-out serial killer, at least I'm going to India!