'ampi!

Hampi was one of my favorite stops in South India. The landscape was unlike anything I had ever seen, with it's rice patty fields, huge boulders, and ancient ruins. My article for the travel website described the city of Hampi as well as the tortuous ride there, so for the sake of efficiency, I have inserted the link.

http://www.thisboundlessworld.com/crazy-love-surviving-the-roads-to-hampi-india

15 minutes

Place: Mumbai, India

I always thought I was indifferent to the idea of fame. Glamor, stardom, Hollywood never held much appeal. Or so I thought, until we found ourselves riding an 18 hour bus to Mumbai for the chance to appear in Bollywood.
Bollywood, Mumbai's movie filming center, produces more films than Hollywood each year, and has become famous for it's dancing and singing, elaborate costumes, and lack of any physical touch between male and female actors. Also, ironically, they prefer to have Westerners as extras to make their films seem more like, well, Hollywood.
Colaba is the pretty, historic part of Mumbai that has drawn in tourists for many years. Even the terrorist attacks in 2008 has not stopped the flow of people staying at the 5-Star Taj Mahal hotel or eating at Leopold's Cafe (where you can still see bullet holes in the walls), and it is where the movie producers scout white people to be extras. Knowing this, we found a hotel room and within a few minutes were approached by a man asking us to be extras in an ad for an Indian diamond company the next day.
At 6 am the following morning, we, as well as 10 other extras boarded a 3 hour bus ride to an abandoned Arabian style house being used for our photo shoot. They ushered us into one of the rooms, shooed the boys away and the wardrobe lady handed each of the females an elaborate prom dress with tacky plastic jewelry. Then we were rushed to hair and makeup. After the first makeup artist caked our faces with orange foundation and several layers of powder, I was placed in front of the second makeup artist. He rouged up my cheeks several times, then stood with his eyeshadow pallet open in his palm. There was a total of four colors: neon green, sparkly green, royal blue, and baby blue. He glanced at me, then at the pallet, then back at me, then at the pallet. He glanced at me one more time, then chose....bright blue. After encircling my eyes and eyelid up to my brows with blue eyeshadow, he nodded in approval and sent me, sans mascara and looking like a freaky baby doll, to get my hair done.

Jen and Megan were already there. Jen's hair was slick straight, while they had given Megan Bo-beep type ringlets with a teased Pompadour in the front. They threw my hair up in rollers before pinning it in a pile on top of my head. Not exactly sure what look they were going for in this shoot, the three of us together looked like we were from 3 separate centuries: Jen was modern and stylish, Megan from the 1920's with flapper type hair, and myself, like an 18th century grandmother. The wardrobe lady adjusted my gold plastic jewelry with large pink stones around my neck, inserted rubber breast enhancers into the bust line of the maroon prom dress, gave me a pair of silver shoes and nodded in approval and sent me to join the other extras, all dressed similar to myself.


The set, unlike the extras, was beautiful and color coordinated. With bleach white columns, sheer hanging curtains and fake renaissance paintings. The main model was a gorgeous brunette from Brazil. The shooting began and lasted about ten hours, with breaks for Chi tea and lunch. I attempted several types to flatten the huge curl of hair on the side of my face, or wipe away some of the blue eyeshadow, but each time the makeup lady would run over, fluff up the curl and solidify it in hairspray. Then apply an extra layer of foundation.

My look reached it's peak when they called me in for a wardrobe switch halfway through the shoot. They handed me a huge polyester skirt, bright green, with a oriental type frock and huge dangley earrings. I went back to the set, where they put me front and center, and handed me a matching fake green cocktail as a prop.
"Well, that outfit matches your hairstyle at least" the other extras tried to be uplifting. Glancing in the mirror, I knew they were right. I was like a flesh and blood version of the evil stepmother from the Cinderella cartoon. This definitely ensured that I would never have more than 15 minutes of fame. They let me leave the set early, as I was laughing so hard I cried off all my makeup and was ruining each picture and annoying the photographer.
After a 16 hour day, we were paid our promised 500 rupees ($11), which made up the first income I've earned in the past two months. They said the ad would come out in a few weeks on the internet, Indian magazines, and possibly even billboards. We celebrated with the other extras that night at Leopold's Cafe, since we could officially call ourselves international models.

Are you the missing girl?

Traveling is bound to have it's mishaps. We (or mostly, I) encountered the first one on the train from Kannur to South Goa. As the train rambled from stop to stop, we were not exactly sure when we would be reaching ours, so we took turns running to the train door and hanging our heads out of the window each time to read the sign. It was my turn to check, I saw the sign for our stop and yelled back to the girls that we had arrived. As I was skwirming my way back to seat to grab my backpack I heard Megan yell, "I got your purse Nikki!"
"Thanks!" I called from the crowd of people trying to get off. By the time I got my backpack and fought my way to the door, the train had started to move. I saw Jen and Megan make a flying leap for it. And right when I was about to jump a herd of train attendees blocked the way.
"No no, too fast. Break your leg."
The train didn't seem to be moving that fast to me, so i tried to push past them but with no success. I didn't think much of it at first, but as the train picked up speed and began to whiz away, the gravity of the situation began to sink in. I had missed the stop. I was on a train, while my two friends were not. And I had no money, no identification, no passport, no ATM card, no phone. Nothing. I started to hyperventalate as I explained to the crowd forming around me the situation.
"My friends are there! I have to get off!"
"It's ok, no worry," the train attendent replyed, "you get off next stop and go back."
"I can't, my friends have my money! And I need to tell them!"
"You have mobile phone?"
"No"
"Your friends have mobile phone."
"Yes, but I don't know the number." We had bought a communal phone for emergency purposes. Unfortunetly I never memorized the number.
"Why you don't know number!" The attedent was now beginning to realize the gravity of the situation as well.
"Can you call the station to find them??" A million thoughts went through my head. I would have no way to find Jen and Megan. I would have no money to use the internet to email them. I would have to sleep at the train station then wander the streets of Goa looking for them. There's a million guest houses there, they could be at any one. What if they got on the train to find me and we passed each other. What if we never found each other and I was stranded in India forever, with no money and no passport. I could call my mom to wire me money. But I had no money to pay for the phone call. I would have to beg. And starve. Good God.
But as I sat worrying, I wasn't aware that the entire train was coming to my rescue. A man handed me a phone with a grunt.
"Hello?" I was relieved to hear Jen's voice on the other line. They had found them. Another man handed me a free return ticket. A little old Indian lady gave my 100 rupees to buy some dinner at the station.
When I arrived at the station, I was met by four police men.
"Are you the missing girl?" They seemed to know I was coming. I knodded embarrassed. They escorted me to the VIP air condidtioned waiting room and told me they would come get me when my return train arrived. Two of them guarded the door.
Two hours later after my train arrived at the station, I was escorted onto the on board. They woudln't allow me to sit near the door, afraid I would take a flying leap while it was moving again, and woke up a man with his sleeping baby and made him forfit his seat for me.
The police men asked three other men on the train to make sure I got off at the right stop this time.
At midnight I finally got back to the correct station where Jen and Megan were waiting, their feet scarred and bloody from their flying leaps off the moving train. We laughed about the situation and I have come to a new appreciation for the Indian people. And we came up with contingency plans incase this was to happen again which should prevent it being such an ordeal the next time. Megan would not take my purse, and I would memorize the mobile number.

Magic Man Come to Your Room Tonight

The crawl up the Indian coastline has been quick and tiresome. Just how I like it. I'm even more convinced now that Jen and Megan our my travel soulmates as they are some of the only people who prefer to maintain the same fast and exhaustive pace that I do. It happens every time I travel, there's so much to see and do I can't sit still, and would go crazy lounging on a beach for a month straight (like the lazy Australian we met in Varkala beach). So we've been doing a steady two days, one night in most locations up the coast of India. We flew into south Kerala and stopped at the beautiful cliff beach of Varkala and left the next day for Alappuzha, which Megan dubbed Alappalouza, since that's so much more fun to say. We planned on sailing through the backwaters of Kerala there, however, after an exhaustive two hours of haggling and touring a million houseboats, we could not find one that was affordable. So we took some pictures, cut our losses and went back to drink ice cream coffee and Kream Korner restaurant.

Needless to say, eating has become a big part of this trip, as with our everyday life in general. Some people come to India to do drug tours, or try various forms of religion, but we find food much more satisfying. And with less side effects. "The Delhi Belly" is the nickname the backpackers have for the nasty traveler diarrhea that seems inevitable in India. But with paneer tikka masala, naan bread, chaphati, alu gobi, and all the chi tea you can drink, we've given the Delhi Belly a new definition.



After several vists to Kream Korner. we left Alappalouza and went to Cochi, a quaint dutch colony that host the only chinese fishing nets in India, some of which are over 800 years old. We spent some time soaking up some local culture (and cuisine, of course) by testing local restaurants and attending a traditional Kathakali play (an Indian kind of opera, but with more makeup) We also made some fun new friends and got our fill of the beautiful backwaters of Kerala through a cheaper boat tour that included canoeing through the lush, jungle type vegetation of the area. As well as a random stop to see a cement factory and eat lunch off a banana leaf.
After Cochi, we began the long stretch up to Goa, with a stop at Kannur beach to break up the journey. After a hellish 6 hour train ride beginning at 6:30 am, we piled into the back of a tuk-tuk as he drove around lost for 45 minutes trying to find our hotel, as we almost past out from hunger and heat exhaustion in the back seat.




Kannur redeemed itself later that night by having a fabulous restaurant with a waiter who spoke English. He pointed us in the direction of a local theater that showed Bollywood films. None of the movies were in English or had subtitles, but we decided to check it out anyway (we were planning on being Bollywood stars later in the trip anyway) A nice young man showed us where to by the tickets, and also, to our surprise, bought one himself and decided to join us.
If Indian theater etiquette was every practiced in the states, there would be a riot with a severe beating. Indians chatting on their cell phones, loudly too, in order to be heard over the sound of the music. Some people puffed away on cigarettes, and the entire theater hooted and hollered at any part that they found funny or during the fight scenes. We were able to get the gist of the movie, thanks to the random English lines that were mixed in with the Hindi.
"The mission is off!" and "the mission is not off!" and "30 times more dangerous!"
According to our new movie theater pal, the movie was not a good one. "No singing, no dancing, very bad. Very bad movie."
After the movie he offered to give us a lift home in his car. We piled in, only to have him pull over after a few minutes and turn on the light. "I magic man." He said. "Magic man come to your room tonight."
"Oh, that's ok, we're good." Not sure how the Magic man was planning to get to our room.
"No, magic, look." He pulled out a coin and attempted to make it disappear several times by rubbing it on his forearm, only to have it fall out onto the seat.
"Yea, it's ok, we'll just go home."
He dropped us off at the hotel and followed us in. We let him use the bathroom before trying to tell him we were going to bed.
"No, I stay, magic!"
"No, you can't stay, we're married!" Jen announced, and we all flashed our pseudo wedding bans we had donned for India to keep the men away.
"No! No! for Magic!!" We finally realized that our magic man wanted to perform a magic show in our room, that was the reason for following us in. We still had to decline, however, as the little magic show preview had not been too impressive.

I ran into the Magic Man while out for a walk the next day and at the beach that night, and both times he attempted to show us his magic one more time. Our response was also to disappear. Magically. Maybe he did have some talent after all.

Fraud in the Ancient Triangle

After Sigiriya, Jen, Megan, and I officially had beef with the World Heritage Association. However, our visit to the ruins of Polonnaruwa left us with a satisfying revenge.
No sooner had we showered off the sweat of our three hour bus ride than we were approached by a balding business man on the deck of our hotel. We were enjoying a pot of black tea and small talk before he got to the real point of his introduction.

"Ok, you want to see the ruins yes?" he lowered his voice, which was how I knew he had gotten to the point. He glanced over both shoulders before continuing.
"Ok, you go to gate, they charge you 3,000 rupees ($25) and for tuk-tuk driver it is extra 500 ($5). You come with me I only charge you $20 for ticket and tuk-tuk."

We had previously heard rumors of these kinds of deals from other travelers, so, excited to save a whole $10 each, we agreed to be ready in one hour.
Before the tuk-tuk driver even arrived, we had already been introduced to a whole other group of somewhat shady people: the chubby hotel cook who loved coconut rum, the owner who came back and forth from the bus station dropping of tourist like postal packages, and a waiter, who spoke no English but his eyes said everything we would ever want to know.
When our balding business man returned with the tuk-tuk, he said hello, then began yelling into our room as we grabbed our cameras and purses.
"Hurry, now, now, now" he made big windmills with one arm to usher us out the door. "The guard goes home at 2 pm, you must get there before that."
Uh, ok, we thought and pulled into the rickshaw as he waved us off. After a short drive down the main highway, our silent but steady driver suddenly jerked off the main road and began offroading down a dirt path filled with potholes and overhanging tree branches. A while later, we burst through a hedge of bushes and came out on what appeared to be the main road again. He screeched to a stop and pointed us toward a clearing.
"Go there, then come back here" he handed us three already torn tickets.
"Uh, ok." Our standard response to this whole procedure. We meandered through the trees and monkeys admiring the large Buddhas carved from stone before coming out on the other side.
"Hello my friends!!" Our balding businessman had reappeared and coming towards us with open arms. "How you like the Buddhas?"
Before we could answer, he reached us and immediately began in a low whisper again. "Ok, you can't go straight through there they ask for tickets, you must go this way through the trees, more ruins, but don't go straight, go through trees, more ruins, then driver meet you at other side." His big white eyes made contact to ensure we understood him. "Ok?"

It was in that moment that I realize what exactly was going on. It was a scam large enough to waken the sleeping auditor within me. The balding business man and several staff at the site were in coercion, bringing in tourists for a lessor price, and no doubt, splitting the profits. We learned later from another traveler that if you already had bought legit tickets, they would drive you around the ruins for free if you gave them your ticket stubs in the end. Hmmm, my auditor brainwaves began bleeping again. This place had a definite weakness in internal controls. I knew exactly what kind of substantive testing could catch the fraud. And now, instead of being part of the solution as I was in my past career, I was part of the problem. How disappointed my former firm partner would be with me. I wondered if this could get my license revoked.
I started laughing in a way that only a former (or current) auditor could laugh. People are smart. They see loopholes where they have something to gain. I was somewhat comforted that at least the money coming from the fraudulent activity was being used to meet the basic needs of an extremely impoverished society...instead of a superintendent's weekend in Miami with his mistress.
We laughed our way through the rest of the breathtaking ruins of Polonnaruwa, our balding business man reappearing suddenly around every turn to protect his investment. He also showed up later at the ATM and internet cafe, probably making sure we weren't leaking information to the wrong people.
I asked him later that night whether he was afraid of getting in trouble. He looked very concerned at this question. "No" a pause "No. You see, I have friends." He pulled out his cell phone and showed me the desktop picture of himself and three men in suits.
"Who are they?"
"That's the president!" He said proudly. "So everything ok." He burst into a loud laugh shaking his head. "In trouble?! Ha!"
Knows the president, huh? Now I see how the scam had been functioning so well: Management override.

Sri Lankan Hillbillies

Place: Sigiriya, Sri Lanka


The remains of the wonders of the Sri Lankan past are located fairly close together in a convenient triangle layout in the center of the island (no doubt the ancient builders were thinking of future tourism) and they were our last major stops in Sri Lanka. We began in the lower right angle of the triangle in Sigiriya, where the Sigiriya Rock Fortress is located. This rock, known also as the 8th wonder of the world, is located just round the corner from the town of Sigiriya, which consisted of a convenience store on a dirt road. And two hotels. The town was dry and crispy, and had an atmosphere that gave the impression that something was not quite right. I couldn't say why it felt that way, it was hard to put my finger on what exactly was askew. Perhaps it was the clusters of young men constantly on their cell phones for short periods of time. Or the shirtless man with the gold chain serving us our dinner, also on his cell phone. Or that funny little sideways head nod all the men seem to do in response to whatever you say to them.
"Yea, ok" head bob to the right.
"So this meal is vegetarian? No meat?"
"Yea, ok" head bob to the left.
"Does the bus stop here?"
"Yea, ok" head bob to both sides.
One even told us tales, while chomping on a piece of grass, of wild herds of white elephants that storm the village at night in search of food. Despite the fact that elephants are herbivores and there are plants all around. Hmm, perhaps the elephants are taking after the local populations in their slightly hick mannerisms and IQ level. Seems we had found the hillbillies of Sri Lanka.

This is quite possibly the reason why the World Heritage Site Association, doubting the Sri Lanka public's ability, appears to have seized all the places worth visiting in Sri Lanka as their own, and are charging exorbitant fees to enter. The local price for a room in Sri Lanka, $12-20 a night, a meal $3-4. To see any of the World Heritage sites...$30. This makes it literally impossible for any locals or girls backpacking on a budget to see any of the sites at all. Fuming with anger and shaking our fists at the World Heritage Association, we walked around the base of Sigiriya Rock trying to find a weakness in their heavily guarded site so we could sneak in. They covered their bases though, with a swampy moat filled with crocodiles (or so the sign said), buzzing wasps nests, and a heard of aggressive "help men" who try and give you a tour for $18. On top of a ticket counter and guards.
I had no other choice but to bite the bullet and pay the entrance. I crossed over the crocodiles, beat my way through the wasps and "help men" and finally came to the base of the majestic fortress. The rock juts straight out of the flat landscape like the thumb of a buried giant. A straight dirt path leads you to the base of the rock. On both sides of the pathway are perfectly geometrical low brick walls, the bricks crumbling and black with age, filled with bright green grass, the remains of what was the castle gardens. Herds of cows munch on either side and occasionally a monkey swings by. Climbing up the rock face, you pass long stone mirrored walls and erotic frescoes. Half way up is the Lion Staircase with two large lion paws carved in stone that protect both sides of the marble stairs leading to the summit. They say that originally it was a complete lion statue and you enter through the mouth of the lion. Today all that remains are the paws and a few marble steps. The World Heritage replaced the marble stairway with a rickety iron staircase glued to the side of the rock with cement, where visitors clutch for dear life and try not to look down as the stairs wobble with the wind. Good to see the entrance fee is going to good use.

The summit consists of gorgeous layers of crumbling brick walls and staircases that overlook the treetops of the jungle, the base of what must have been a breathtaking community. It is hard not to sit and wonder what the place must have looked like in all it's glory, a huge palace reaching up over the curvy stone base of the rock. To wake up every morning, looking down on the lush vegetation, to pass through the Lion's mouth on your way to town, swim in the rooftop pool, and not realizing that hundreds of years later people from around the world would come to see the remains of what was your home.