tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22223107703752888592024-02-18T18:02:55.455-08:00The triumphs, turmoil and sheer drama of being twenty-somethingish.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger45125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222310770375288859.post-43187150004203841822014-10-20T21:54:00.001-07:002014-10-20T21:54:07.434-07:00Birthday Memories<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It's two weeks to my birthday and I have to be honest, I've been excited since September started. I think it's cos August is not an "ember" month. But when September rolls by, I know it's on! This is the finish line. This is when my birthday is going to roll around the corner and for that one day I am going to be queen of the world. A friend of mine pointed that by doing this I am essentially excited about my birthday for 25% of the year. I am totally fine with that. I'm not completely stupid. I do know that thousands of people are probably queen or king of the world for that day, but that's something I don't need to think about.<br />
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I know it's kind of vain and attention-seeking to be so excited about a birthday. I think it all started back in school. Since I started kindergarten, birthdays were a big deal in school. We were allowed to wear "color dress" which was essentially not the school uniform. All 500 people in school knew that day was my day. You walk around and everyone wishes you. The whole school assembly sings for you. One of my big fears was that some other kids will have their birthday on my day and I'll have to share it. Actually there were these twins who had their birthday on the day before mine. The rule was that if any birthday was on the weekend, they could do it the day after or the day before. I did not like those days when 3 of us would stand in the assembly together. Especially if they were the ones hijacking my day. I think the amount of attention that we got in school for birthdays just went to my head. I remember so many birthdays as a kid that I would cry at night that my day was ending and it wouldn't be that amazing for a whole year. I was a dumb kid.<br />
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My parents never overly spoiled me for my birthday. We had our ritual trip to the toy store where I could pick any one toy within budget. The budget was always flexible at their end but I remember that even when I was young, all I would focus would be on the price tag to make sure that I don't go over budget. We would get a cake and sometimes I would have a birthday party, but I somehow don't remember much of those parties. I think I was very young. I just remember lots of presents. I actually don't remember a lot of the good presents. I remember once someone gave me plastic coasters when I was barely 8. I think that was the worst present.<br />
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The highlight of my birthday years and till date my best birthday was my 16th birthday. My sister threw a surprise party for me. All my friends were there. My mom made amazing food. But the best part was that it was the first (and I think last) time that she managed to stay quiet till the surprise. We are terrible at giving each other presents. We always get too excited and blurt it out. Another amazing birthday highlight was my 18th birthday. I was dating this guy I was crazy about and I fully expected some big gesture at midnight. When nothing happened, I was totally crushed and went to bed. The next day I logged into Orkut (the Facebook of the time) and his status message said, "If god made the world in one day, he made mine today. Happy Birthday". Man. I was almost in tears. Just that status message seemed enough to make my whole day. I can't remember anything that happened after that.<br />
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One of the good birthdays was my first birthday at Purdue (I was 23). I was kinda glum cos I didn't have any friends who knew it was my birthday and I was still in that phase where I thought it would be rude to mention it to them (I've definitely outgrown that since). I was on the phone with my sister and I was talking to her about something dumb when suddenly the door opens and there she was. She drove down to surprise me, rounded my meager friends and we went out for dinner. That was super special.<br />
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My birthday in Singapore when I turned 27 was the stuff of legends. I planned a trip to Kuala Lumpur and 33 of my friends could make it. I know it was more about KL than it was about my birthday but I didn't care. It was my birthday trip and we were taking the party bus to KL. We spent the whole day sightseeing. swimming in the hot tub, eating at local restaurants. We had one of the most epic parties ever and they surprised me with a cake that I didn't expect at all. Kathy made this memory book and had everyone sign it with messages for me. I think it's one of my most prized possessions ever. I think I have memorized every page of that book. We then went to the club, got smashed, ran all over the hotel. My god that night was awesome. I think that birthday has pretty ruined all future birthdays for me because I doubt anything can top that. I'm kidding. It's not a competition I know. And if all birthdays were that awesome, then it wouldn't be awesome anymore.<br />
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I've had some sucky birthdays too. There have been times at Purdue when noone knew it was my birthday. My sister gave me this awesome idea. I signed up on all the restaurant websites that give free meals on your birthday and I would go and eat at as many as I could. It was awesome because the whole week I had something to look forward to. I even got a $30 voucher for Benihana through this effort. It did suck though. And as empty and meaningless as it might be, sometimes those stream of Facebook messages from people who barely knew you but were just wishing you cos Facebook reminded them, would be the best part of the day. I have often thought about removing my birthday from Facebook because that way only the people who actually knew my birthday would wish me. But then I'm like, fuck that! I'd rather have a hundred wishes and make myself feel good. Also, it would really really suck if close friends didn't wish me. At least this is a safety net.<br />
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I'm thinking about this birthday and to be honest, I am just wishing and praying that I deal with any disappointment with grace. I know I can be a brat sometimes. I told Valentyn that I don't want anything for my birthday. And I know that it means that he won't get me anything. And since I am the one who chose that, I really really hope that I don't get disappointed on the day when something I asked for actually happens. It's been pretty great so far cos my parents gave me this really awesome bag which I can't wait to use at my new job. I also got a whole box of Lush stuff from Rob. So presents wise, I think I'm pretty set. I'm slightly disappointed cos I thought we'll have a big night out on Saturday (my birthday is on Monday) but Valentyn has plans for that night that I can't be a part of (no tickets :( ). To be honest, I don't think I would enjoy a Rugby game in the cold anyway. My parents want to do something special with me but I just don't know what to do logistically. We'll see. I am driving down to D.C. with my labmates so I might try to see if they want to have a drink once we get there. Maybe. I dunno. I don't know most of them. I'll figure something out. If nothing happens, I'll treat myself to an amazing meal and I dunno, go on a run, jump into a freezing cold lake, do anything I've never done before. Birthdays are amazing. I can't wait!!<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222310770375288859.post-9150485220612805312013-12-06T13:32:00.000-08:002013-12-06T13:33:14.872-08:00How dreams come true<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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'Twas a dreadful cold thanksgiving night, </div>
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She felt ill, no strength nor might,</div>
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All she wanted was to lay in her bed,</div>
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"We'll drag you out!", her comrades said.</div>
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<br /></div>
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She trudged along to the party place,</div>
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Her eyes fell on his perfect face,</div>
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"I have no chance" she was so sure</div>
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No inkling she had, what the night had store.</div>
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<br /></div>
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They drank, made merry, he in her thoughts,</div>
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But no boys for her, with danger it's fraught.</div>
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The night wore on, they were alone</div>
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An unexpected moment and her luck shone.</div>
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<br /></div>
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He was so close, close enough to touch</div>
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But she was scared of risking too much,</div>
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Bated breath, praying courage to find</div>
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She threw caution aside, and did her mind.</div>
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<br /></div>
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They spent the night with kisses and talks</div>
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Morning came, "it's the end", she thought,</div>
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"That was amazing but he'll never call"</div>
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She had no hopes, no hopes at all.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Then her world shook, through Facebook chat</div>
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He asked her out, the earth seemed flat</div>
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They met and talked, the world shut out</div>
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The kinda date she'd heard tales about.</div>
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<br /></div>
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And that is how the dream began</div>
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The impossible dream of meeting her man</div>
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Who made her happier than she ever knew</div>
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Each moment with him, time vanished not flew.</div>
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<br /></div>
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She's smiles pondering, her life aglow</div>
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Wants him to know, she'll miss him so</div>
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She'll miss the hugs, kisses, his touch</div>
Cos she found her love whom she loves so much. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222310770375288859.post-46976934854033388522013-12-05T02:05:00.003-08:002013-12-05T02:05:41.613-08:00Month in Mexico: Part 8<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It's funny how the only way my blog pushes ahead is when I have other more important yet more mundane tasks that I want to avoid. Anyway, it's been 6 months since Mexico and the story needs finishing.<br />
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After the calm and serene perfection of Holbox, the next plan on our agenda was to hit up Cancun for some insane partying. There is this chain of clubs (worldwide I think) called Coco-Bongo. Coco-Bongo is basically Vegas show meets night club. They have many many levels packed with people and a center stage. I have no idea why Clare and I decided that we need to go dance on the bar right in the center of the stage. It was amazing, bright, crazy intoxicating. It was a flat rate (and a very exorbitant one at 100 bucks) for the whole experience so we probably drank our body weight in vodka cran. One of the most embarrassing moments of my life happened on that bar :( I was crazily dancing on the bar of this club filled with thousands of people where I conveniently happened to be standing on an air vent in my itsy bitsy dress. You can see how the rest of the story goes. I was SOOOOOO mortified. But thankfully that mortification lasted 2 mins before the next song played and I went back to dancing like crazy. But like all clubs, it was a mixture of amazing fun intermingled with feelings of "what the fuck am I doing here". The packed crowds, the mile long line to the bathroom and the general high levels of drunk obnoxiousness. All the usual fun club stuff.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOYV3KB36j1AZ6MSXgTEmOM1k5t50vCFLGJ89JcyKzn-m6jRzZ2IWbpGpHq50nxE_jyFz7moz4A9A9o_Ccg-VhtHd4O6X_ORi2gdE30qzYxBrKXg2U2BXDOm8OnJaVS4BYC1eb00kURq_A/s1600/IMG_6284.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOYV3KB36j1AZ6MSXgTEmOM1k5t50vCFLGJ89JcyKzn-m6jRzZ2IWbpGpHq50nxE_jyFz7moz4A9A9o_Ccg-VhtHd4O6X_ORi2gdE30qzYxBrKXg2U2BXDOm8OnJaVS4BYC1eb00kURq_A/s320/IMG_6284.JPG" width="320" /></a>The next day after Cancun, we headed to this island called Isla Mujeres. It was a 30 minute ferry ride from Cancun. On the ferry there, Ben and Marek were doing their usual thing, strumming on the guitar and this older Mexican gentleman just comes and joins them. They didn't have a common language and they alternated between them showing him some of their music and him showing them his. It was one of those magical moments that make travel what it is. Isla Mujeres was much nicer than I expected. I had heard so much about how touristy it was but I think it was a bearable level of touristy. Kinda like Singapore again. You can accept the touristy side and have an amazing time. The best part was that the hostel was on the beach. and by this I mean that the beach was part of the hostel. They had a dance floor and a bar on the beach with tables scattered on the sand. So perfect. The water was very rocky but I still went swimming a few times. We spent most of our time in Isla Mujeres just exploring the island. We rented a golf cart and drove everywhere. Went to some very beautiful but very touristy beaches, walked around the city, ate tons of amazing food and then came back to have drinks at the beach each night. One especially memorable moment was all of us lying on the beach and Ben and Marek playing their newest song for us. The sun was setting, the music was making everything even more beautiful and all I could think of was how lucky I was to have experienced this moment. <br />
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Isla Mujeres was also kind of sad for me cos this is where I had to say goodbye to Clare and Anto. This is the terrible side of traveling. I am the worst at saying goodbyes. I think I almost cried when Clare left. I always thought that getting unreasonably attached to people is something I would get over when I get older. But it has never gotten easier. I still cry every time I leave mummy papa at home, every time I leave behind friends, even if they were in my life for a few days. The next day we headed back to Cancun to head back and my heart was so broken. Clare leaving was hard enough but I was so hung up over Ben that I didn't sleep a wink when him and Marek were leaving. The biggest heart breaker was leaving Mexico. I feel this closeness to the place like this is where life comes to heal. Everything gets better in the midst of amazing spirit, food, culture, people. Maybe it would be the same for any other vacation place. I dunno. I felt like this one of the best months of my life. Each day felt like one of the most beautiful days life had to offer. Maybe it wasn't the place by itself. The place mixed with the people I met probably made it the magical journey that it was. <br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222310770375288859.post-42948183317679044292013-09-07T20:33:00.000-07:002013-12-05T02:16:18.034-08:00Month in Mexico: Part 7<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I just went from being freakishly excited to kinda bummed. I thought I had a great rapport with Al. Al was the world exploring motorcyclist from Canada. I met him at the hostel in Oaxaca (Part 4). He was our roommate. I hooked him up with a couchsurfing reference cos I thought he was awesome. I also fixed the issue with his blog when it bugged out on him. And he acted like he was sooooo grateful. We've even emailed each other 2-3 times. Well, I just read his blog about the trip and apparently his roommate "Shindy" from India was busy chasing boys :( And that is EVERYTHING he had to say about meeting us. Jeez. I'm trying hard to think about what brought that on and I can't come up with anything. I did all the exploring by myself. I just spoke to Ben, Marek and Gary in a group. Oh well, can't please everyone.<br />
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The reason I was so mad excited is cos in a week I'm gonna be setting out on the road trip of my life. NYC to San Fran. The whole ride is through the forests and mountains. 12 days of wilderness. I know that right in this moment, I am living the best time of my life. I feel almost overwhelmed by how amazing life is right now. I feel like I don't deserve to be this insanely happy. If I wasn't hanging out with my sis right now, I don't think be able to handle this much joy. But she always makes me feel like I deserve to be spoiled beyond belief. She has spoiled me all my life. Rob would always complain about how Mansha and my parents keep me shrouded from the harsh realities of life.<br />
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Anywayyy, I know this blog was supposed to be about Mexico!! Soo... I know how I always exaggerate and use superlative adjectives for everything but Isla Holbox is IT. It's the place of my fantasies. It's the place I wanna bring my sister, my bro, my parents, my future husband. Especially my future husband. It's such a romantic place in the right way. I have never fantasized about the palatial resorts in the Maldives or Bora bora. Instead, I want a real paradise like Holbox. So, after a 3 hour bus ride from Cancun and a 30 min ferry ride, we reached Holbox. The hostel was simply perfect and though they didn't serve breakfast, the kick-ass location, clean A/C rooms, and awesome kitchen more than made up for it. The hostel was right by the beach too! I stayed in Holbox for 3-4 days and what's funny is that I was just supposed to stay one night. I'll start at the beginning though. I don't remember specifically what we did in Holbox each day but I'll just go activity wise. To give you an overview about Holbox, it's an island with a tiny town with more locals than tourists. The water is the PERFECT color and everything looks pretty but not touristy. Everyone uses golf carts to get around but the town part is barely 7-8 blocks across so you can walk everywhere. As soon as we landed at Holbox, we met Anto. He's another Aussie and he became our trip buddy for the next week. He is one badass traveler who works as an exercise physiologist when he isn't conquering the world. He also makes me feel extremely unfit every time I hang out around him.<br />
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My first night in Holbox was already a big dream come true. Just a month or so ago, I had posted a pic of bio-luminescent plankton on Reddit. Never in my million years did I imagine that I would be swimming in it soon after. What it is is basically small dots of plankton that glow when you agitate the water. Depending on the moonlight and the amount of plankton in the water and how still the water is, it can look bloody amazing. When you shake the water, it looks like tiny diamonds glittering in the water (plankton pics from Google).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimcMhZUSiATrvoKi_6afkG3qr5DopTtu7OLEIhhAN4J0tf9i3fizr_ztxVe18qgBbOw9PYIKJ0EuAUKbIT7LfNDDhQZpKpO9cXD3cMVRJwyQBn0dsYe0KZ3Jo2H_OHwaFuzPNvmIF7veQw/s500/plankton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimcMhZUSiATrvoKi_6afkG3qr5DopTtu7OLEIhhAN4J0tf9i3fizr_ztxVe18qgBbOw9PYIKJ0EuAUKbIT7LfNDDhQZpKpO9cXD3cMVRJwyQBn0dsYe0KZ3Jo2H_OHwaFuzPNvmIF7veQw/s320/plankton.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is close to what it looked like</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrIviQcv7Wlhl7ttb1OGm-7aB6NSmCYqGPKILlVRf2SVox5vb8784QElEULYhzjlNnFrm1Z2IZVA4KLpR3GOITR6h8a-wyzNgMAK-mH4D068EFAYND_3DdQ5BDJzcNghHxRaqa4BySTd-p/s500/plankton_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrIviQcv7Wlhl7ttb1OGm-7aB6NSmCYqGPKILlVRf2SVox5vb8784QElEULYhzjlNnFrm1Z2IZVA4KLpR3GOITR6h8a-wyzNgMAK-mH4D068EFAYND_3DdQ5BDJzcNghHxRaqa4BySTd-p/s320/plankton_2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Best case scenario of what luminescent plankton can look like </td></tr>
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The next awesome thing we did in Holbox was this tour that consisted of three islands. The first island was called Punta Mosquito. Holbox was mosquito hell. I had to toss out my insect repellent at the security check so the first night in Holbox was spent in misery. I had huge welts all over my skin. So "Punta Mosquito" didn't sound too appealing. But the boat-guide was a chill guy and he encouraged us to jump in the water and chase after the gorgeous flamingoes. The island has many many packs(?) of flamingoes and everytime we tried to get close to them, all of them flew away in a big wave of pink. The boat ride itself was so much fun cos the guy was going SUPER fast.<br />
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The second island , as far as I can remember, was called Punta Iguana. It was basically a very very swampy tropical island with this bubbling (and freezing cold) spring in the middle. We walked over boardwalks, passing by TONS of iguanas and then jumped into the freezing cold water. They also had this really high wooden structure that you could climb and get completely unobstructed views of the tiny island. The coolest part about this place was that we were on the only ones. I was having a ball imagining that we are on some episode of survivor and civilization has never reached the island. </div>
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I have no idea what the third island was called but it was tinyyy. It was pretty much just this single wooden house kinda structure and that's it. The boat ride was super fun and our captain was a total ladies man. Clare and I went and sat up in the front and it was sooooo awesome to be bumping around the water on super fast speed. </div>
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The next day was the highlight of our stay in Holbox and Mexico in general. So, basically I was supposed to leave Holbox in a day but I figured out a way where I could pay almost a 100 bucks more but still make it to my flight in time. We got unbelievably lucky as against all odds it turned out to be a great day to see the whale sharks. So I decided to stay and I am soooo glad I did. The captain of the boat, Marvin, was a super fun and somewhat too enthusiastic instructor for whale-shark seeing. He also claims that he is Che Guevera's grandson. We drove suppeerrrr fast on his boat and one of the highlights of my boat ride was me standing on the deck of his full-speed boat with Marvin holding on to me. What a crazy crazy rush! I have to admit that I was absolutely terrified of swimming with the whale sharks. These boys were easily over 10 feet long and I kept imagining being knocked out by their tails. Also, Marvin is the kinda instructor who grew up in the water so it was really hard for him to understand that someone wouldn't be comfortable in the water. He pretty much pushed me in the water, kept yelling at me to swim faster and then finally grabbed my waist and just dragged me along with him. However, the minute you see this crazy gigantic majestic creatures under the water, all the fear is simply replaced by deep awe. I got crazy lucky or perhaps unlucky because Marvin pretty much dragged me right to the mouth of the whale shark. He was probably way more confident than me but I was freaking out about being swallowed whole by them. But I dunno how in all that fear, I actually managed to put my hand inside the mouth of the whale shark to take a picture. I thought it would be some super cool sciencey look into the body of the whale shark but unfortunately the underwater camera didn't really have a flash so you can't tell much. The rest of Holbox was just more magical beach.. amazing sea food.. walking around the town for some crazy nightlife fun.. and tons and tons of mosquito repellant. </div>
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I have been completely torn about mentioning some other details here. Details about my crazy crush on Ben. But the whole point of writing this blog is to look back and relive some of the memories, and it's not fair to filter memories on the basis of convenience. Especially if it might be used thousand of years later as an important historical source :P So yeah.. I started to have a huge crush on Ben after the beach night from the last post. It's always a pattern with me and it might even be an unhealthy pattern. I am never into an guy until he shows interest in me. And then I become this crazy obsessed person. It was the same with Ben. My whole stay in Mexico was secretly tortured by liking Ben since that beach night. He seemed to be this really serious intense guy, who seemed super mature for his age and cmon, any guy who can write songs like that automatically becomes super sexy. I also had this whole image about how the rest of our stay in Mexico would be this romantic week of getting to know each other so well before fate pulls us apart. Lol. No such luck. I still have no idea about how Ben saw the rest of the week but it wasn't the same vision as me. In retrospect I almost feel bad for him cos he was stuck with this girl adoring him and following him around while he probably wanted to do his own thing. I have to admit that I did let my feelings for him cloud some of the awesomeness of my last week in Mexico but I managed to keep my sanity thanks to Clare. She would listen to my childish moanings and over analysis about every small Ben related thing and somehow manage to not make me look like a complete psycho. Oh well, I know for a fact that everything happens for a reason. And while it was quite an, er.. inconvenience at the time, I've had plenty of lessons to learn from the whole Ben-isode that's for sure. </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222310770375288859.post-38699977881156967062013-06-27T23:30:00.004-07:002013-06-28T00:20:54.931-07:00Month in Mexico: Part 6<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
AHHHHHH... I did absolutely no work for the past two days except to search for a car. I never wanted a car all these years but the minute Rob left Purdue, I realized how much we used his (I owe you more gas money bud.) Also, someone please tell me that peanut butter is excellent for me cos I just ate 2 giant spoonfuls of it.<br />
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Anyywaayy, I had just come back to Cancun and my plan was to go to this island called Isla Holbox (pronounced hobosh). I bought the ticket to this town called "Chiquilla" from where one takes the ferry to Holbox. Now under normal circumstances, me being super absent-minded and missing buses is almost normal. In this case however, I must have stood erect right next to the guy checking tickets, for some 30 mins. I asked him about the bus diligently at 10 min intervals and he kept pointing to me that it wasn't 1.45 pm as shown on the ticket yet. I then went to him exactly at 1.45 pm and he told me the bus hadn't arrived. I then went back at 1.48 pm dot and somehow he tells me that I missed the bus. I have no freaking clue how this miracle happened. I went back seething to the ticket lady, asking her to gimme a ticket for the next bus, and she said the dreaded word, "manana" which means tomorrow essentially. I was so crazy mad. I am embarrassed to admit that I lost my temper and yelled, "Does no one in this godforsaken bus company speak English?". The minute I said that, I realized how I was acting like the exact same douchebags that I cannot stand. I was in their country, they didn't need to know how to speak English, I should be speaking Spanish. I had no idea what to freakin do and then I remembered that this guy I had met in San Cristobal, Gary, mentioned he was staying in Playa del Carmen (beach town, an hour away from Cancun). So I decided to head out to Playa and chill with Gary instead of fretting in Cancun.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is how it looked pretty much as I stepped out of the hostel</td></tr>
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I dunno who said this to me, but it describes most accurately how I feel about Playa. If Playa had been the first place I visited, I would have loved it. But after Tulum and Zipolite, I was spoiled. It was a typical touristy beach with tonnnnsss of American college kids. The hostel was a block from the beach which was nice but it was a party town going overboard trying to compete with Cancun. The hostel had a rooftop bar with a pool which I thought was pretty nice if you want a crazy night out.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.727272033691406px;">Roof bar at the hostel</td></tr>
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Also, the hostel was surrounded by different bars all playing different music, so you really needed to be in the party spirit to enjoy this place. I started off my stint in Playa by just going to the beach and swimming around. After Zipolite's crazy waters, it was nice to be in the ocean without the very real fear of being swept off. Then Gary and I hit Walmart to see if they had backpacks. I would soon need to reclaim my luggage from the hostel in Cancun and I needed something to put it in. They didn't have backpacks but we did grab some sushi to eat on the hostel roof. The funniest thing happened at the hostel. I bumped into Ben and Marek from San Cristobal. Ben and Marek, early twenties, super chilled out, budding musicians and the coupliest straight guys you'll meet. People around them are always awww-ing at how they talk about each other and finish each other's sentences. I also met another Aussie called Clare when we were trying to figure where the hostel hides the stoves. I remember my first impression of Clare in her geeky glasses was of someone who was all intellectual and serious. (She's gonna be a doctor, so I bet she's still intellectual, but farrrr from serious). I also met Chris and Charlie in our dorm. They were really sweet English siblings. Something about Charlie was so serene and quiet. We all decided to chill together drinking for a "quiet" night out since it was our last night in Playa n all. I remember using all my powers of persuasion to convince Ben and Marek for "just one drink". And then.. we found this club which had unlimited free alcohol for the girls and a foam party. Yep you can guess how the story goes. What's totally surprising to me is that Clare (who was still recovering from a foam party the last night) and Ben and Marek (who I had to totally coerce into coming out) were the ones who actually agreed to stay for the foam party! It was such an awesome blast! The drinks were a joke but there was music and dance and tons of foam. Thankfully Clare was our resident foam party expert and she warned me, but who knew that one gets totaalllyy drenched with the foam. Like mouse in the rain drenched! I also lost my absolute favorite silver quicksilver flip flops in the foam :( After chilling there for a while, Clare had peaced out and Marek was busy flirting with this hot Russian chick, so Ben and I headed back to the hostel. I have absolutely no idea whose idea it was, but the next thing I remember, we were chilling on the beach. The beach was completely empty, conversation obviously seems interesting after alcohol and it was soooo perfect. I also somehow thought that it would be a great idea to swim with my dress on and everything. Actually, it was a great idea, no regrets. This was finally Playa how I wanted it. Quiet still water on a deserted beach. And I'll add the next bit so that I'm not skipping the embarrassing parts. There was a boat in the water and I was all cocky, challenging Ben to race to it. I frantically swam and he casually waded to the boat and reached before me. Once at the boat, he easily got into the boat and it took me some 4 attempts before I gave up. It doesn't sound that bad, but imagine him waiting on the boat and me struggling to get on. Ugh I hate fit people! I don't think he cared but gosh I was soooo embarassed. I remember when I was hanging off the edge of a speed boat a few days later, the biggest reason I was afraid to fall off was that I was sure I wouldn't be able to get back in. Anyway, it was almost sunrise when we decided to head back. I remember thinking it must be some 3 am but it was almost freakin 6 am when we reached the hostel. It was one heck of a perfect night!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.727272033691406px;">The beach was more crowded than this. </td></tr>
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The next day, I was up by 8 am like some crazy person and I was feeling awful that I had been lugging my sneakers all over Mexico without using them a single day. So, I apparently thought that going running hungover with 2 hours of sleep is a great idea. IT'S NOT! I felt like my whole body was stomped upon by elves in those two hours of sleeping. I just walked around the city trying to get in bits of running but it was the worst attempt to run in my whole life. I came back to a huge spread of breakfast at the hostel. They even had marble cake!! But I felt too sick and had to pass on the best breakfast that I had seen in Mexico. And I'm not sure if the stories so far conveyed this, but breakfast served at a hostel was a really big deal to me. Anywhooo, Clare was supposed to start her Spanish classes that morning, and she managed to convince her instructor (while wearing her free drinks wristband) that she had a family problem and she'll start next week. And this is how, Clare, Ben, Marek and me decided to travel together as set off to my original destination, the gorgeous island of Isla Holbox! <br />
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P.S. I have no idea why I don't have a single pic of ANYTHING I did in Playa so I Googled some images that looks closest to Playa as I saw it. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222310770375288859.post-48431767397713293882013-06-25T11:08:00.000-07:002013-06-25T11:49:02.787-07:00Month in Mexico: Part 5<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Sorry about the delay in the next update.. assuming you cared :P It was pretty crazy for a couple of days when I spent a day in Chicago and then came to Ann Arbor to visit my sister. It's been awesome.<br />
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Back to Mexico, we had just set out for Zipolite. We took the scary 12 hour bus ride through the really windy roads and reached the town of Pochutla. Pochutla is the closest civilization to Zipolite. This is where you can find ATMs and where all the supplies in Zipolite are brought from. It's also where all the buses connect to the bigger cities. From here we needed to take a collectivo to Zipolite. The collectivo was one of the extra rattling, open air, wooden benches where I could feel every single one of the million speed breakers right down to my bones. We shared the collectivo with two gentlemen, one of whom spoke to us in perfect English and you could tell that he was so proud of it. And the other just spoke to us with smiles. As we crossed really rustic towns making our way towards Zipolite, I had no idea what to expect. But nothing I had imagined had me ready for how perfect Zipolite was.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hostel folk enjoying the beach</td></tr>
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My first hour in Zipolite kinda sucked cos everything is literally on the beach. So I needed to drag my huge ass suitcase through the sand. I finally gave up and dumped it in a corner, half hoping someone would steal that bag of lead. Jess and I then just walked around to the different hostels, checking out the rooms and trying to come up with the kind of room we agreed on. My main criteria was that either the room have A/C or that it was sea-facing so that it would be cool enough to sleep. This is where it really sucks. Jess said that she wanted to check out the nearby town of Mazunte before finalizing on a room, because she knew of a hostel where she could hang her hammock. I, on the other hand, wanted to stay back in empty Zipolite and enjoy the complete lack of civilization. We said a very shaky goodbye after some 4-5 days of traveling together. It wasn't even a goodbye. I just told her, "So I'll see you by the beach later". It was an empty stretch of some 2 kms of beach. I didn't think there was ANY chance that we wouldn't bump into each other again. Also, I remember us laughing about her last name, so I was sure that I had her on Facebook. Apparently not. So I waved to Jess, without as much a hug, and somehow never saw her again. She had a really complicated Dutch last name that I don't remember and somehow all our talks in the whole week focused on boys, travel, dreams and not ways to keep in touch :(<br />
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Anyway, I found a gorgeous hostel called "Nice place on the beach". I got a HUGE room with two huge beds which was right on the sand. And with some crazy stroke of luck, he gave it to me at half the usual price. It was the closest to the water of ANY hostel rooms in all of Zipolite which you'll see later wasn't necessarily the best thing. There were a few other people at the hostel, but the person I immediately clicked with was Dani (or Danielle). She's a German girl in her early twenties who was at the end of her study abroad semester in Cancun. She spoke both Spanish and English which was a HUGE advantage as always. The cool thing about the hostel in Zipolite was that it wasn't just a place to sleep. Zipolite is a place which has very little to offer in terms of touristy activities, so everyone just chills next to each other, the whole day! There is a bar and restaurant right on the beach and the wholllee day people just sit, read, talk, watch the waves or swim if the water allows it.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_uaEfmYfjfgnovb-qb9LbCORDbLXbtQNW_ciX47dLcoFbKQZQphMz6j9i4uaVMIQn6CBX-2ndk03SPqswPelKP4wpEoAXEKDXyFq4-X_Teg9LbDlVTwhnN5ZNxV9onLXriHADTiEmlIaZ/s1600/P1140882.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_uaEfmYfjfgnovb-qb9LbCORDbLXbtQNW_ciX47dLcoFbKQZQphMz6j9i4uaVMIQn6CBX-2ndk03SPqswPelKP4wpEoAXEKDXyFq4-X_Teg9LbDlVTwhnN5ZNxV9onLXriHADTiEmlIaZ/s320/P1140882.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.727272033691406px;">"A Nice Place on the Beach". You can see my room at the top left.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dani :) (We forgot to take a pic together :( )</td></tr>
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The first day I was there, there was this event where hundreds of baby crocodiles who was born in the breeding program were being released into the wild. So we took a cab and reached this other far off desolate beach. We then took a boat through the swamps to reach this tiny island. The "Crocodile Liberation" event was a big deal so they had free food, drinks, and tons of people. It was cool to see soooo many baby crocodiles at the same time with everyone around me holding one but other than that, I was sure I didn't wanna do this touristy stuff anymore. I was supposed to be in Zipolite for two days but the next 3 and a half days just flew by with me and Dani lying in hammocks, walking in the water, attempting to swim in the really crazy waters, and gorging on yummy food. Ohhh... and most importantly.. the 2 for 1 cocktails. They had these really really chocolately cocktails and Dani and I would share cocktails every night chatting with other people at the bar. One guy we (and with me I mostly mean Dani ;) ) frequently hung out with was David (pronounced as Da-veed) who was a local Mexican guy who was such a charmer. There was also another guy whose name I forgot but he had been a surfer for some 20 years in Zipolite and his surf videos completely blew my mind. He was supposed to give me free surf lessons the next day but the swell was too high and I was still scarred by my dick surf instructor in Santa Cruz (another story).<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boat ride through crocodile, turtles, and iguana infested swamp</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCLPLlS13vamSTECJcRFJHFb34ZUJWZB7ysYtJvqrH5YQ-5cZORjtFlDxn5yK1nq_vc44Hd8N7YptUyKANQJhyABN4yymB4E0Smee9d0R8RNStXxHv6hyAu4Rxd-aSB3oWbxK24N5vGbl5/s1600/P1140840.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCLPLlS13vamSTECJcRFJHFb34ZUJWZB7ysYtJvqrH5YQ-5cZORjtFlDxn5yK1nq_vc44Hd8N7YptUyKANQJhyABN4yymB4E0Smee9d0R8RNStXxHv6hyAu4Rxd-aSB3oWbxK24N5vGbl5/s320/P1140840.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Way back from the island</td></tr>
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The insanest thing during my time in Zipolite was that the tide was higher than most people had ever remember seeing it. Remember how my room was the closest structure in all of Zipolite to the beach? This one night, I was completely freaking out because the water was like 2-3 feet from my window. Also, as more and more of the restaurant furniture kept getting splashed by the waves, people kept shouting and hooting which didn't help my peace of mind as I tried to sleep. I finally stormed out of the room and asked my English bar manager about the chances that I may get drenched by the ocean in my sleep. He assured me that while the water had never been this far before, he can guarantee that it would be nothing like the Indian Ocean Tsunami documentary I recently saw. Another inconvenience of sleeping right by the ocean that nobody bothers to mention is the fact the you hear water swishing violently all through the night. I had to keep getting up to pee all night.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Giant waves almost in the hostel</td></tr>
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Oh yeah, I also forgot to mention that Zipolite was a nude beach. All my life the idea of a nude beach seemed like a big deal. But it was no big deal when I was actually at one. So there were a few girls walking around topless and a few guys walking around naked, but it didn't bother me a teeny bit which was surprising to me. Oh, now if the unbelievably crazy hot group of Israeli guys were walking around naked, I'm not sure how I'd feel about that :P Especially this one guy, he was model hot! He spoke to Daveed in crisp English with just the slightest tinge of a sexy accent. And I do believe that he was the only guy in the world who could pull off speedos. This group was at the hostel all day but it seemed like a big "guy" gang so I didn't wanna upset the dynamics by popping by to say hi. Speaking of guys, on the last day, Dani and I were just doing our usual thing, sitting by the beach, when this hot Mexican guy comes up and hands me a beer. So I smile and take the beer, and every time I look back at him, he smiles. I had no freaking clue what I was supposed to do at this point. You would think by age 27, I'd be able to be all nonchalant about this..nope! I frantically messaged Ciaran who gave me all stupid suggestions and then finally I just decide to go over and join the group. It was a mix of Mexicans and Aussies (big surprise). The guy owned a hostel in Puerto Escondido (which was a beach 2 hours away) and from the looks of it, spent most of his time working out. He was also a surfer and was pretty interesting to talk to. We hung out for a few hours and he kept trying to convince me that I was missing out by not going to Puerto Escondido. If I didn't have a flight from Oaxaca the next day, I may even have gone with the group. Anywwaayy, soon I had to leave and I think I kinda snubbed him in front of his buddies when I turned my cheek to him as he tried to kiss me goodbye :P<br />
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What totally sucked again is that I had to rush from Zipolite cos I wanted to make the last collectivo. Dani was out with Daveed grabbing some food and I had to just grab my luggage and make a run for it without saying goodbye :( What sucks even more is that I missed the last collectivo anyway and had to take a taxi.<br />
The story gets worse. I reached Pochutla around 8 pm and I had to take a bus from Pochutla to Oaxaca at 9 pm. What I didn't know at the time was that the bigger buses took 9 hours but the minivans took 6 hours to reach Oaxaca. Also the minivans were super super terrible for motion sickness on the mountain roads so I spent every minute of those 6 hours feeling like I would hurl. What didn't help is that once I was on the minivan, I saw in Lonely Planet that the road from Zipolite to Oaxaca was considered one of the most dangerous for highway robbers. Especially for minivans and NOBODY should ever take the night bus. Thankfully, I was too sick to give a shit and I just focused on getting through the damn journey. Obviously, the minute I fell alseep, we reached Oaxaca at 3 freaking am. I have always wondered what I would do if I was ever stranded in a city in the middle of the night and here I was finding out. My first step was to take a taxi to the hostel. After ringing on the hostel's bell thrice, I realized that there was gonna be no way for me to get in without waking the whole damn place. By this time I was kinda getting panicky. However, all the stop signs in Mexico said "Alto" so I kept pulling on my cab driver's sleeve and kept chanting "Alto" which thankfully he managed to understand that I didn't want him to leave. I then whipped out my Kindle and painfully typed in Google Translate as he watched me. We finally managed to communicate enough that I told him to take me to the ADO bus station. The night at the ADO was uneventful enough, almost comfortable.<br />
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Th next morning, I head to the hostel which was so warm, so inviting that it totally made up for the shitty night. The hostel caretakers were two youngsters who were just extra extra nice and friendly. I tucked into the best breakfast I had in Mexico. Cereal, eggs, tortilla, fruit and coffee. I took a long luxurious nap and then headed out to explore Oaxaca (pronounced Wa-ha-ka). I thought Oaxaca was a lot like San Cristobal but more real. The "zocalo" or city center here was HUGE. I decided to stick to the 20 peso subway sandwich for lunch. What was kinda cool about the Oaxacan downtown is that you have all these guys just standing by the different stores and handing you shots of different kinds of <i>mezcal, </i>the local alcohol. It was some 1 pm and I was totally into tasting all the different kinds. I thought the flavored creamy ones were great (think Baileys) but the normal spirit tasted like death. Also, I guess doing shots of pure spirit at 1 pm in the day was probably ruining the flavor more. I tasted strawberry, vanilla, chocolate, coffee, pineapple, soooo yum. And I think I may have been tipsy for the rest of the day. I'm not sure. I had been spending my time conveniently ignoring all the churches in Mexico but I finally decided to enter a few churches and check out the architecture. They reminded me a lot of churches that I've seen in India. I didn't like that there were tour groups inside the church, but other than that, it was nice as always to just sit and enjoy the energy that the place has collected over hundreds of years.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">City center</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inside one of the churches</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hostel Courtyard</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhfW6QBwEElYbdEjNIgPwvx5Rr1rZlHFi_TqlZfYjO3YTJTcQG6ap-cdKW_w1sCad1366t6St5Uru3qBb6nKPr6n3LBWrusZxZChi9iFFct0OIItSsMUnq67C4Tyfyji20r_i1x_HMPUVS/s1600/IMAG0642.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhfW6QBwEElYbdEjNIgPwvx5Rr1rZlHFi_TqlZfYjO3YTJTcQG6ap-cdKW_w1sCad1366t6St5Uru3qBb6nKPr6n3LBWrusZxZChi9iFFct0OIItSsMUnq67C4Tyfyji20r_i1x_HMPUVS/s320/IMAG0642.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hostel Dining Table</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjleo4laRyEhqUpDrCgFYlirascqKpGCo9vB-e6N2tXzIDcQyA2Sl6RJC84K8ivqYLAIgpAgN1290f1dBueHwpwTCFNI3xwHXfUznKVcyKjze9gcO8kVlaCp2g7H3QTn3xdMJioTD8LzjkE/s1600/IMAG0645.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjleo4laRyEhqUpDrCgFYlirascqKpGCo9vB-e6N2tXzIDcQyA2Sl6RJC84K8ivqYLAIgpAgN1290f1dBueHwpwTCFNI3xwHXfUznKVcyKjze9gcO8kVlaCp2g7H3QTn3xdMJioTD8LzjkE/s320/IMAG0645.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Living Area</td></tr>
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The rest of the day was one of my main highlights of my trip. The hostel had free salsa classes (see video below). The instructor was one of the winners of the "So you think you can dance?" type of Mexican shows and he was really good. The video I have posted doesn't really capture his charm but I danced with him for a bit and I have never felt such perfection in movement. There were two American women in the hostel, mother and daughter, who I think, couldn't have been more unsuited for Mexico. To give them credit, the daughter was an angsty teenager but they wouldn't stop complaining about stuff. The mom however, was super excited about the Salsa lessons. It was 10 mins of pure cringe as she threatened her teenage daughter to join the lessons or else. When the daughter finally quit after a while, she kept making snide remarks about, "what's Spanish for quitter"... UGH!! I hate parents like that. Anyway, the lesson was brilliant and the teacher was amazing. We just did a few basic moves. Unfortunately, the hostel caretaker insisted that he wanted to be my partner so the teacher and I didn't dance much, but it was totally dreamy when we did. The best thing about it is that the guy controls and guides you with the slightest touch, the most subtle of movements and suddenly your dancing. On the other hand, it probably totally sucks for the guy because you pretty much need to know what you're doing. This guy in particular, would hold your hand in such a way that he was barely touching a few fingers and yet you knew what he wanted you to do.<br />
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The guy told me about a salsa club in Oaxaca and I still can't believe I did this but I decided to go check out the club alone that night. "Candela", the most popular salsa club in Oaxaca, pretty much dispels all the myths that movies give you about salsa clubs. It was formal seating around a dance floor with romantic candle lights. It was a well organized square which makes it super obvious each time someone walks in. Also, it was super coupley. The first 30 minutes in the club were completely mortifying. I didn't wanna be that person on my smart phone all the time so I just kept staring intently at all the couples killing it on the dance floor. What didn't help my raging sense of doom was the fact that the table I picked was supposedly reserved so the waiter made me move to a dark table in the corner whether the romantic candle wasn't even lit. Ahhhh, I wanted to sink into the floor and disappear. I tried my best to just keep my game face on, enjoy my pina colada and focus on the fact that I was in a freaking salsa club in Mexico. The atmosphere was completely electric. The people on the dance floor seemed to be mad professionals who seemed to have practiced their choreography a million times. I kept thinking about how I was so foolish to imagine that one lesson made me qualified to show up at such a place. I decided to make the best of it by trying to follow their moves and learn something. And then.. out of the blue, it's a new song, the dance floor is empty, and this one guy notices me sitting alone and asks me to dance. When I say asks me to dance, I mean pretty much tells me to come dance with him. I had seen him dance a few songs before and I knew that he was pretty much an expert, so I was completely nervous to walk to the empty dance floor with him. But I wasn't gonna waste my 50 peso cover charge so I just followed him to see how it unfolds. The song started and the guy just moves and twirls and spins. I have absolutely no idea how we looked but it felt amazing. We both were the only one on the dance floor in a packed club and I didn't care. All Mexican guys dance reallllyyyy close when it comes to salsa. But somehow the closeness is not creepy because you can tell that all they care about is the dance and not feeling up the girl. The closeness is part of the music, the sensuality that comes with the dance, and part of the dance. Thankfully, dancing with this guy somehow sent the message that I was willing to dance and I danced with soooo many different guys that night. Mexican guys of all ages, shapes and sizes, and all salsa experts. And I think that even though I sucked at it, they respected that I was willing to follow their lead and make an effort. It wasn't all sparkles and unicorns though. I was dancing with this pretty big guy who was pretty great at dancing but thanks to my fumbling often stepped on my toes. I would pretty much tear up with pain every time that happened. And then was the fact that each of these guys were dripping with sweat thanks to the vigorous dancing through the night. So you pretty much have to let go of any hangups you have about someone else's sweaty body touching every part of yours. I know I'm making it sound really graphic but that's pretty much how it was. And I checked to make sure that it wasn't just me who was being dirty danced the heck out of.<br />
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Anyway, I sprint back to the hostel around midnight and took the flight early next morning out of Oaxaca to Cancun. I got super lucky because this gay couple from the hostel was looking for a taxi at the same time and we could share the taxi. They both were sooooo nice and totally fussed over me helping me with my luggage. They manage properties in Cancun and have apartments for short-term rent in Cancun so I can totally hook you guys up if you guys ever need a place there :) <br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222310770375288859.post-28921958144717552162013-06-20T21:51:00.003-07:002013-06-21T10:58:12.837-07:00Month in Mexico: Part 4<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Writing about San Cristobal has already been so hard. With all the other days, the words were just flowing as I was dying to tell you about each tiny incident when I wished you were there. But with San Cristobal, my mind keeps going in circles with the many many memories and it's been so hard for me to know where to start.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gorgeous highland views from bus</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jess leading the way</td></tr>
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I remember the minute I got off the bus at San Cristobal, I got this strong rush that felt like I've finally found what I came to find in Mexico. I didn't want the dusty roads of Cancun but I wanted this adorable little city with rows of colorful houses, cobblestone streets and Volkswagon bugs everywhere. Jess looked up some hostel and we headed there through a lonnggg, rainy, cold and slippery walk through the city. I almost fell so many times on the slick stones that I finally took my flip-flops off and dragged my luggage barefoot. We reached the hostel and like all other places in the city, it was a giant wooden door which opened into an indoor courtyard. Everything was super colorful and Jess and I snagged a colorful private room because they were out of dorms.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cozy private room</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inner courtyard of the first hostel</td></tr>
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Unlike all the other places in Mexico so far, San Cristobal is on a high altitude so it was freezing cold through the night. I was kinda grateful that Jess was constantly complaining about the cold because usually everyone looks warm and comfortable and my teeth are constantly chattering away. I personally loved the hostel. I met this 40 something year old German gentleman, Siggi, who was a silver craftsman. He was such a great conversationalist. We talked for a long time and he invited me to join his big gang of friends who were celebrating a birthday. However, they all spoke Spanish and I have only too often been in this situation where I am the only one who doesn't know a language. One of two things happen, either people keep chattering in Spanish and I am completely lost or people are nice enough to include me but have to go out of their way to speak a language they aren't comfortable with. I wanted to avoid both situations so I just snuggled in bed reading Harry Potter.<br />
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We decided to switch hostels the next morning because Jess was traumatized by the bathroom. The fact that I wasn't, showed how much I had already changed on this trip. I looked up this sick deal in another hostel and we trudged there. Rossco Backpackers Hostel was everything I ever wanted in hostel. We got a 4 bed dorm that we shared with an older gentleman Al.The bathrooms were perfectly clean and there was actually liquid hand soap on the sink. I have so much to say about our roommate Al. He's a 60 something year old Canadian guy who has lived the craziest life. He's driven a motorcycle in so many different parts of the world and on this trip, he actually sold all his possessions, apparently burned all his pictures and just took off to spend the rest of his life exploring the world. He had given himself 10-12 years to cover as much of the world he could on his motorcycle. His story was mad inspiring and very sad at the same time. Jess and I always looked at the people at the hostels and evaluated which kind of person we wanted to be. We both admitted being terrified when we saw a 40 year old lady traveling alone at the hostel in Tulum. For the first time it seemed like the price for loving the adventure and instability might be ending up alone. Seeing Al, I was reminded of the same thing. And I honestly don't know which part is worth it. Ideally it would be great to find someone who can remain as adventurous as you and agree to trade the nicer house for an adventure in South America. I feel like many people I know, think they are like this. But when it comes down to doing it, life always gets in the way. And that would be scarier than not wanting it at all. Wanting it and living in regret. But then I also don't know if I'll change when I'm older and would prefer to live a quiet and comfortable life without stressing about money all the time. Ah this is getting too depressing for a beautiful place like San Cristobal. Moving on.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rossco - my favorite and cheapest hostel on the trip</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">kickass movie room</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPKIxtYe9W59dx46n-yeS6hus1MU79XD4wKJOxBpneJTpy4Ln_ji7bGOGYOn8mm8yjo6uCGOt4-2eCLtfpnkbzvEY-Ui_496f10mgWn1Q5xWkL7YD_OwT4JkUrujegkW_52quFuADapJCz/s1600/IMAG0594.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPKIxtYe9W59dx46n-yeS6hus1MU79XD4wKJOxBpneJTpy4Ln_ji7bGOGYOn8mm8yjo6uCGOt4-2eCLtfpnkbzvEY-Ui_496f10mgWn1Q5xWkL7YD_OwT4JkUrujegkW_52quFuADapJCz/s320/IMAG0594.jpg" width="180" /></a><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My bed for 3 nights</td></tr>
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San Cristobal is like this tiny European town bang in the middle of Mexico. The town center, called a "Zocalo", was a gazebo in the town square where musicians actually play every evening. People just sit around and watch and sip coffee. Right next to the Zocalo was this market that seemed to be selling Mexican desserts. A lot of these desserts seemed close to Indian sweets that I am used to. I didn't try any however because there were a whole bunch of bees swarming around the sweets and I was also scared about the fact that the sweets were kept in the open all day. One of my favorite memories in San Cristobal was to just be sitting in the Zocalo and watching this little Mexican boy pretending to talk on the public phone. It was so adorable. He was barely 3 years old and hardly managed to reach the handset. He kept pressing buttons and acting like he was having a serious conversation. Unfortunately I scared him off when he saw me trying to take a video :( Damn tourists.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBpfSk6mEFg2f2VZFlY_Ucyfk6Tposwud2-evE87Q6PowWDvQMlCjc7pukLaUtJMbYUUazNScZqdwjSGDGFJEkA8bkb44DBXcknZcd2oyTIiNlnPsdy8RuuU-uiSExhR014gguLSi_uTFg/s1600/IMAG0612.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBpfSk6mEFg2f2VZFlY_Ucyfk6Tposwud2-evE87Q6PowWDvQMlCjc7pukLaUtJMbYUUazNScZqdwjSGDGFJEkA8bkb44DBXcknZcd2oyTIiNlnPsdy8RuuU-uiSExhR014gguLSi_uTFg/s320/IMAG0612.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Zocalo</td></tr>
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Another really nice part of San Cristobal was the huggee handicraft market which sold clothes, trinkets, all sorts of cool stuff. I went to town on the woolen clothes here because they use a completely different kind of wool which is much warmer than the wool in the US. I bought a hat.. booties.. long socks.. a shawl. This was pretty much where the luggage increased considerably. I had initially left half my luggage at the hostel in Cancun (mostly textbooks). Two weeks in California before Mexico had given me a pretty clear picture that I wasn't gonna get any work done. Also I have no idea why I thought heels and a hair dryer were essentials :P So now with the new shopping, I was again back to barely managed heavy luggage.<br />
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Most of the 4 days in San Cristobal were just spent being so lazy and unfortunately the weather had made me kinda sick. I spent most mornings in bed and then left in the afternoon to try to find some food. Thankfully the hostel had a decent breakfast of fruit and toast so this pretty much required just one more meal each day. One of the interesting foods I tried here was Pozole. It has corn puffs in soup with a lot of ingredients that you can add according to your preference. Mainly stuff like onions, jalapenos, cheese, cilantro. All the good stuff. I didn't fall madly in love with Pozole but I didn't hate it either.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-S4FvbUuQHutUCy_rJr4YEUnf9k54zlyklLiAoqVOJqM0A5UJlOOOKiufrFJR2fhcUhuiL04s1cjoIwl3edpi6U4UYZlWPfS4MyE9sfVFrh_chceT8yhT_I9HZm6bSRJVEHNhwYRh1g7R/s1600/IMAG0572.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-S4FvbUuQHutUCy_rJr4YEUnf9k54zlyklLiAoqVOJqM0A5UJlOOOKiufrFJR2fhcUhuiL04s1cjoIwl3edpi6U4UYZlWPfS4MyE9sfVFrh_chceT8yhT_I9HZm6bSRJVEHNhwYRh1g7R/s320/IMAG0572.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pozole with all the trimmings</td></tr>
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One thing I did fall madly in love with was the boiled corn they give you on the carts. I saw this cart on the way from the bus when I first arrived and then I spent the next 3 days looking for it. Thankfully I found it on the last day. It's boiled corn with mayonnaise, salsa, and lemon. Yummmmm. The salsa on the corn was so perfect. I kept telling him not to put any since it's always too hot for me, but the guy pretty much overruled my preference giving me looks to butt out. I am so glad he did cos I fell in love with the sauce. I then checked the sauce that he used and spent the rest of the day looking for the sauce. What's crazy is that after checking out all the big places in the city (including where the guy told me HE bought the sauce), I finally saw this little boy sitting in the corner of the market with 4 bottles at that sauce. That was absolutely insane. I bought two bottles with each big bottle being 8 pesos. That's right.. close to 50 cents! Another yummy food adventure I had in SC, was the local hamburger. I am getting so hungry as I type this. There were these hamburger stalls in the market and I just sat down not knowing what to expect. This lady takes a fat chunk of butter on the skillet and deep fries a thin patty and strips of ham. I can't emphasize what a beef patty cooked in butter tastes like but hopefully you can imagine it. She also cooks the giant bun on the skillet. She then adds the patty.. strips of buttery dripping ham.. slice of cheese.. lots of salad.. pieces of quac...and some sauce.. oooohh. It was so giant that I asked her to cut it in half and save the rest in foil. I then sat and ate both halves with her laughing at my gluttony. Another nice enough and very cheap meal was this stall that sold taquitos. So I could buy 4 different types with 20 pesos or something. It wasn't amazing but decent.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Hamburger" from heaven </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Deep fried average goodness</td></tr>
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One not so amazing meal I had, was at this pizza place. I decided that I needed a break from Mexican and I really wanted to treat myself. So I went to one of the fancy Italian places where you can sit on the sidewalk, eat expensive food and just feel super great about being in such a cool place. I ordered a pizza with tomatoes, mushrooms and olives. The pizza tasted great enough. It came with this pesto dipping sauce and anyone pretty much has me at pesto. The pizza was HUGE and every now and then street kids would stop by and ask for a slice. This is the heartbreaking part of Mexico. There are so many street kids everywhere who are always trying to get money or sell you stuff and it really makes you feel so guilty to be basking in luxury and luck when they have nothing. However, past 2-3 times, I gave up on whatever food I was eating at the time, or gave the kid some coins, only to realize that he cheerfully ran to his friends to tell them of the sucker he found. So in spite of the constant bees and constant kids, I trudged through this meal determined to enjoy it cos I paid a shit ton for it. The pizza had 8 slices and I ate the smallest 4, pretty sure I could make 2 more meals out of the rest. He offered to pack it for me which basically included throwing them together in foil. When he brings it back, I am sure it's lighter than it should be and I open it and count it. Sure enough.. 3 slices! I walk back into the restaurant only to see the cheeky waiter feasting on my slice. I think I was kinda bugged cos my perfect meal was already troubled by the bees, so I insisted he make me another slice. The guy actually tried to give me the slice from his plate! I gave him the most scathing look I could muster and they threw together another shitty piece of pizza really quick to make me disappear. So yeah.. that wasn't a great meal. Another let-down food wise was this unbelievable candy cart I saw on the street. It looked like every kids dream come true. But when I bought some candy, it all tasted weird, like oil or something. I think I may have been scarred off fake Gummy Bears for life.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Very misleading candy cart</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">City center</td></tr>
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As you can probably tell... time in San Cristobal was simply eating.. chilling and walking around the city. I spend one whole day at a somewhat-spa going all out on getting everything possible done. That was freaking awesome. I met this lady there and we chatted over pedicures about how she moved to Oaxaca from Michigan some 30 years ago and hasn't regretted it since. Thanks to her I was able to communicate with the hair dresser about what I wanted. Googling "Spanish facial" was absolutely no help. In fact, I recommend you never try to Google that. The hostel at San Cristobal was super great to meet people. They had this unbelievably cool movie room which I discovered a few hours before I had to leave :( They also had bonfires every night. The first night I pretty much was the only one really interested in sitting by it.. but the next day a bunch of us were chilling by the fire and talking about what each of us were up to. Among the people I met at the hostel was this really sweet German girl, this nice Aussie girl Jess, German Chris, Aussies Ben & Marek and English Gary. I talked to Gary mostly cos I happened to be sitting next to him and that guy has the memory of an elephant. I'll explain later. Anyway, leaving Rossco was super difficult. I remember slowly inching towards the door with all my luggage in tow and this really seemingly cool English group just kept talking to me about cricket! I loved it.. they remembered all the milestones for the different cricketers and even names of Indian cricketers. It was great to see Sachin's name getting the reverence it deserves. Anyway, I finally dragged all my luggage to a huge rickety collectivo and headed out to our next destination, Zipolite. It's really funny how through out the trip, the next destination was decided by a conversation at the current destination. I decided on Zipolite just because Siggi kept talking about it and the tickets were cheap enough to take the risk. I came to Palenque just because someone at Tulum mentioned that the ruins at Palenque were much nicer. And I came to San Cristobal only because the tickets directly to Oaxaca were way too expensive. Funny how things work out.<br />
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The scariest thing happened to me on the night bus ride to Zipolite. Now, on many online forums, I had read about these "check-points" where either the cops or highway robbers stop the bus. The forums made it sound like both were equally dangerous. In fact, many people mentioned people who got off the bus with the cops and didn't come back on. So it was 2 am and the bus was stopped by the cops. They come inside the bus with all this assault gear and are looking at everyone. Out of the whole giant bus, they just zero in on me and ask for my passport. I give it to them and they all get off the bus with my passport and go into this small police checkpoint building. They didn't come back for the next 15 mins and I was getting super concerned. It also didn't help that the whole bus was pretty much waiting on me. Then two cops come back with my passport and I am relieved to see it safe but then they ask me to get off the bus. For all the people who keep telling me I am brave, I can tell you that I didn't feel too brave at this point. I was the only one being led off the bus and I was scared as hell. However, I think it's kinda disturbing that I was most scared about the fact that the bus might leave with my luggage and not that I might spend time in Mexican prison. They led me into this room, while still holding my passport and started questioning me about everything. They were very polite but having a whole room of guys staring at me was kinda unnerving. They mostly were fixated on the fact that it was totally abnormal for an Indian girl to be traveling alone and they pretty much wanted me to bust that myth. I was completely torn between mentioning Jess who was with me on the bus or not getting her involved. After they wouldn't back down, I kinda took a middle ground and told them that I know a girl whom I just met on the bus and that I had left my other friends back in San Cristobal. This way I haven't technically being traveling alone while Jess still wasn't associated with me. Thankfully this seemed to work and after 15-20 mins of questioning and making copies of my passport, I was allowed to get back on the bus. I still hated how it felt to board the bus after a long delay and I dunno if I imagined it but everyone seemed to be staring at me cos I was the cause of all this mayhem.<br />
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I know some people will heartily disagree with all this praise about San Cristobal. San Cristobal is super touristy in the sense that you have expensive restaurants dotting every street. It also has a touristy vibe in general. The bars are so expensive and you'd rarely find interaction with locals if you just saunter into the bar. But it depends on where you look. I went into this Mexican food place which didn't look pretty at all but I had the cheapest and awesome meal ever. I had Horchata which is a sweet drink made of rice and I ordered beef that was cooked on skewers shawarma style.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beefy cheesy tortilla goodness</td></tr>
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The spices were perfect and there was tons of cilantro with it. They also give you 3-4 types of sauces and tortillas to go with the meat. So unless I purposely wanted to eat in the touristy places, I still had other options. So in my opinion, San Cristobal was still pretty. Kinda like Singapore. You know it's fake, it's catered to what you want, but then it's still quaintly amazing in it's own way. So anyways, I left San Cristobal absolutely sure that the trip cannot get any better than this, and then I reached Zipolite.<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222310770375288859.post-23889275619996215912013-06-19T22:51:00.001-07:002013-06-19T23:04:08.828-07:00Month in Mexico: Part 3<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I wasn't gonna write ahead today but I can't sleep. So here goes.<br />
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I took the bus to Palenque and reached there early in the morning. I was just getting into a taxi to get to my hostel when this collectivo guy comes up and offers a marginally cheaper ride. What I didn't know at the time is that I would spend the next 2 hours stuck in the collectivo while he waits for other passengers. Also, I was stuck between paying the full price and leaving or trying to communicate with him that I wasn't paying and then leave. Both sounded unfeasible so I just chilled in the van outside hotels in Palenque. After I finally made it to my hostel which was 20 mins away, in about 2 hours, it was well worth it. So it's really hard to describe but there is a small group of hostels and restaurants inside the forest which lie right outside the ruins in Palenque. The cool thing about the Palenque ruins is that it's set right against the lush emerald forest with only 5% of it being properly excavated. Infact, many parts of the ruins didn't have ANYONE around so I really felt like I was living some Hollywood fantasy and exploring the dense jungles by myself.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2dlpfw8NMmZuZLCH7xS93BkLs5HihzJ8a2n7u3ORXiKJVpNe-lRaFxsEpr7jouj-oiDuJRpGrnBGNUJ8xn54qraqtR2x79QHeJvrTYJh7meKs13t7W7P1VqRbIbsjz0NIEQmDD9A5rhm1/s1600/DSC02084.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2dlpfw8NMmZuZLCH7xS93BkLs5HihzJ8a2n7u3ORXiKJVpNe-lRaFxsEpr7jouj-oiDuJRpGrnBGNUJ8xn54qraqtR2x79QHeJvrTYJh7meKs13t7W7P1VqRbIbsjz0NIEQmDD9A5rhm1/s320/DSC02084.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeGkA8lkVQNdLHGEF_9lIfY3Hm17dG_raRKu-X26UNPa19zUlYdHhlwDjU1i5MyqMTjHN9NPJayxlXf5x_ln024EEE3YYMxp2GX4dPy4KghNfDEV96U94TbTBy9T0LI81M1TK3ag_SptKz/s1600/DSC02085.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeGkA8lkVQNdLHGEF_9lIfY3Hm17dG_raRKu-X26UNPa19zUlYdHhlwDjU1i5MyqMTjHN9NPJayxlXf5x_ln024EEE3YYMxp2GX4dPy4KghNfDEV96U94TbTBy9T0LI81M1TK3ag_SptKz/s320/DSC02085.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiflzvbHB_FLISV6gr8Ty0nAqzbCms_eH3yYSAR2wuSo8APyKiJfBczFkOqcDY9OtBvIskG4oj7Hx-AXmmeSF_kqOLwgXIKphwsbfYh3yY-X8eiZyMD0u0g9hupLUWCTy6vsZXWDgQ8vmpi/s1600/DSC02095.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiflzvbHB_FLISV6gr8Ty0nAqzbCms_eH3yYSAR2wuSo8APyKiJfBczFkOqcDY9OtBvIskG4oj7Hx-AXmmeSF_kqOLwgXIKphwsbfYh3yY-X8eiZyMD0u0g9hupLUWCTy6vsZXWDgQ8vmpi/s320/DSC02095.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
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The hostel area within the jungle is called El Panchan (locals laughed at me when I said "El Panchan" instead of simply Panchan). I was super skeptical cos the rooms in Panchan didn't have A/Cs but the cabanas were totally adorable. Cabanas (the n has an accent in many such words. I can't be bothered to add it) are small cottages basically and the word is used very flexibly so I've realized that it could be something luxurious or totally crappy. This was luxurious enough by backpacker standards. The common bathrooms were not that luxurious. So the bathroom had no light. At all. So the first shower seemed pleasant enough at night. However, the next morning, I had the biggest shocker when I saw the state of the bathrooms. The problem was however quickly solved by just postponing the shower to the night. It also solved the problem that the shower curtains wouldn't really close. So it was definitely more modest to shower in the dark at night. My cabana was right on the edge of a stream so it was really nice to just step out on the porch and have a tiny bit of water trickling down. The second cool thing that happened to me in Palenque was that I met Jess. Sometimes it happens that you meet someone and just click. I really felt that with Jess. We started talking on a bus ride from the ruins and didn't stop talking until days later. We weren't actually that similar as people. But we loved to travel the same way. Also, she was way more disciplined than me so my budget owed a lot to Jess.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr4-y0IqeoOQG2nRyZKXM_hOZX1vdRH8dTgGCKXoJIGpBQ_E-JMGATu3kzeq7B55Pey6-1wsXsZ0G30LDeq5hbiRAdtajKV0hqO1jRBs3H4oWExGrMYa-2g3sQg0GZJgL717yX_4laB2gw/s1600/IMAG0540.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr4-y0IqeoOQG2nRyZKXM_hOZX1vdRH8dTgGCKXoJIGpBQ_E-JMGATu3kzeq7B55Pey6-1wsXsZ0G30LDeq5hbiRAdtajKV0hqO1jRBs3H4oWExGrMYa-2g3sQg0GZJgL717yX_4laB2gw/s320/IMAG0540.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Porch outside my cabana</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRGCVjY1ntiSAW2BAiLOtZC5obh0sHqBq1Yv3LBDbxDELRDgpNiQzc4UMBaPNDeK9uU0HXfS2wnqeiTFofHLsGlw-P9U_nAqkThaygBRgCRIyIzDpUhyyuCPNgNI0IdfkWETMKnrhBU7mS/s1600/IMAG0544.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRGCVjY1ntiSAW2BAiLOtZC5obh0sHqBq1Yv3LBDbxDELRDgpNiQzc4UMBaPNDeK9uU0HXfS2wnqeiTFofHLsGlw-P9U_nAqkThaygBRgCRIyIzDpUhyyuCPNgNI0IdfkWETMKnrhBU7mS/s320/IMAG0544.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cabana side view</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just walkway leading to the cottage</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jess posing in the cabana</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Right in the heart of nature baby</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hitching a ride in an open air collectivo</td></tr>
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I met Jess on the way back to the ruins. Another co-incidence (which apparently is not that rare in Mexico), I met these two English guys who were with me in the shitty hostel in Tulum, then were around with my bus meltdown to Palenque and then I again bumped into them at the ruins. I finally went and talked to them and they were pretty nice. From the ruins we went to these waterfalls, Azul Agua (I think) they were called. No wait, I don't remember the names. Let's call them Fall1 and Fall2. Fall1 was pretty standard waterfall. And to be honest, I am not a big fan of waterfalls where you can't get into the water. Sometimes, I might choose not to get into the water but I always want that option. Fall2 was pretty neat. It was a waterfall with many many layers and you could keep hiking up and checking out more layers. It was a very pretty bright turquoise color. (Note: I hate that all the water so far has been turquoise. That word is a bitch to spell). Along the waterfall was all markets and food places. Most of the food was pretty expensive so Jess ate healthy bananas and I ate empanadas. What was cool about this place is that it had more locals than foreigners. After a longgg day at the waterfalls, Jess and I headed back to Panchan. She was gonna be sleeping in a hammock at a nearby hostel. We just walked around the forest and it was really magical. We were the only people there, the golden sun was hitting the trees at the perfect angle and if the moment couldn't have been any better, we saw a rainbow. It was one of those very very frequent moments in the trip where I just sat back and sighed at how lucky I was to be there. We decided to have a nice dinner and ordered giant ass burritos and she treated me to a beer. We talked for a long time about boys and relationships, in the middle of the forest. It was pretty great.<br />
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The next day we walked all over the town, mostly to find me an ATM and I think it was a pretty cute little town. Not too bad at all. However, lunch kinda sucked. I got this chicken torta (torta = sandwich) and there was a bottle of ranch on the table. I assumed that the ranch would have the inside lid as it ALWAYS has been for the past 5 years. Nope. I turned the bottle and squeezed hard and the whole bottle's ranch fell into my plate. I didn't know what to do, so I just kept trying to put it back in the bottle. Oh and the ranch was kept out in the sun so it was rancid : / . Thankfully they kinda had an open sandwich toppings bar so I just ate a whole bunch of sandwich toppings for lunch. I just remembered another funny food related mishap. Until I met Jess, who rescued me with her Spanish, I didn't know what Asada means. I knew that Pollo means chicken so I thought that all the signs that say "Pollo Asada" was probably chicken with something. But it wasn't so. Asada means beef. And Pollo and Asada were the two options. So I completely understand why every single Mexican gave me dirty looks when I walked up and asked for "chicken beef" god knows how many times.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fall2 in all it's splendour</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Walking under Fall1</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Forests of Gold</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With a little color added</td></tr>
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From Palenque we decided to head to San Cristobal de la casas. This place has my heart. This was the place where I truly fell in love. The place was my favorite. The hostel was my favorite. And even though I didn't know it at the time, some of the people that I met there would later become my favorite :)</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222310770375288859.post-62092733860925011902013-06-19T18:03:00.001-07:002013-06-21T10:09:20.203-07:00Month in Mexico: Part 2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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So as much as day 1 and 2 sucked, I woke up all positive on Day 3 in Tulum cos my sister is awesome and sent me some very encouraging whatsapp messages. I start off the day with a visit to the famous ruins of Tulum. Imagine age
old ruins set against mangrove forests and turquoise waters. It was
breathtaking. I revisted the beach in the day and again I was the only person
there. Which normally should be amazing, but somehow last night had left me
kinda spooked so I didn’t linger long. Also, its been totally sucking to go to
a beach as a solo traveller since I can't swim because I can’t leave my stuff on
the water. And no beach has been close enough where I could just swim without
getting any stuff. I guess even if I lived right on the beach, I would be
risking my clothes and towel. I went back to the hostel for a shower and guess what? Somehow I missed all the signs that told me that the shower turns off automatically after 10 mins. I guess the previous night, the guy pooping made sure I didn't last ten mins. So I naturally am in the middle of shampooing my hair when the water shuts off. I really hope you can appreciate the panic at this point. However, I realized that each time I turn off the tap and wait 5 mins, there is a half-cup trickle of water. So yeah, hair in shampoo, half cup trickles, 5 mins wait. Do that math. It was at this point that I decided I had it
and hitched a ride on a “collectivo” or a public minivan to go live in the city
in another hostel. I should however mention that the shtty hostel had an awesome breakfast. They had scrambled eggs cooked with bits of tortilla, just the right amount of salsa trickled onto it, with lettuce and tomato on the side and slices of melon (I added that bit for you, Ciaran the jerk).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifyyuL8a9KT78HTqvDidc6l_JUQ7c0d5XA_cH83uLcDK5lW-zYpdZOe8ozRwQa0xeDXAworRmPUOm0H9LtdT6rV9VtmhIIo9iLYb1-S4T55qNBT9xdy6lW_qjbsokCmY94MgaBc6-vCkfS/s1600/IMAG0471.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifyyuL8a9KT78HTqvDidc6l_JUQ7c0d5XA_cH83uLcDK5lW-zYpdZOe8ozRwQa0xeDXAworRmPUOm0H9LtdT6rV9VtmhIIo9iLYb1-S4T55qNBT9xdy6lW_qjbsokCmY94MgaBc6-vCkfS/s320/IMAG0471.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shitty hostel, awesome breakfast</td></tr>
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The new hostel was brilliant!! It was clean and pretty and had air-conditioning! It was called Mama's Place. I immediately met two Norwegian
boys (Eric and Ruben), two Scots ( Cat
and Steph) and two Aussie siblings (Tony and Lizzie). I went walking about the
city in the day, sampled some excellent grilled chicken and rice. Gosh the salsa with the food was sooooo crazy hot. My least favorite word in Spanish, "picante". And there was this dog who sat by me the entire meal, and I felt so guilty eating in front of him. I gave him a tortilla but he didn't eat it. The dog walked around the city with me the whole time! Adorable! Then in the
night, everyone at the hostel had an amazing barbecue. SO MUCH MEAT!! We grilled tons of beef and tons of chicken and in true fashion, I started off by insisting that I wasn't eating and then dug in. Lizzie also made some excellent guacamole and at the time, I didn't know how much guacamole I was gonna be eating on that trip. We all
then headed off to a bar and gosh it was so great to have a fun gang to hang out
with. It always amazes me how easy it is to cross barriers in conversation. Everyone was super easy to talk to. And these were probably the first Aussies (not the last you'll see) and first Scottish people I was ever talking to. I thought Lizzie was a hoot as she was totally up for dancing with me in a non-dancing bar. Steph was just overall goofy. Cat seemed less goofy cos she was budgeting better than us and not drinking that night. I still felt like I knew these guys for ages. I was also really excited about swings at the bar! By the end of the trip I realized, apparently that's a very common Mexico bar theme. Overall, it was an amazing night.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ruins of Tulum</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tulum Beach</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yummmyy.. grilled chicken and rice and tortillas</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1POVmAeIeSc_oZXMva6YHOlefuXzIMViK85MTux2kuISYbhwkKmOd0rjexIyDTXdRiS4Nuy2wB1Rj2x-WvUttRQzmswKRYJsfpbPjN-n9gaxyi2Kyez_ubC3SHkK3EoplHlYdopu0vfmo/s1600/IMAG0494.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1POVmAeIeSc_oZXMva6YHOlefuXzIMViK85MTux2kuISYbhwkKmOd0rjexIyDTXdRiS4Nuy2wB1Rj2x-WvUttRQzmswKRYJsfpbPjN-n9gaxyi2Kyez_ubC3SHkK3EoplHlYdopu0vfmo/s320/IMAG0494.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mama's Place</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9s3l3Zh4zUaj6E0qoHyKQ-v2OTaZOtKps1_IIQuFcdRMK2rex79cBFIzl3hOhBcu1o9RkauSG2zrKW66DeGa7SL3Q3KdhdEhs_uXLD-w8szYO-xCkFAvcQNjfMCNY1FvXp2Wg1t4bKKi1/s1600/IMAG0495.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9s3l3Zh4zUaj6E0qoHyKQ-v2OTaZOtKps1_IIQuFcdRMK2rex79cBFIzl3hOhBcu1o9RkauSG2zrKW66DeGa7SL3Q3KdhdEhs_uXLD-w8szYO-xCkFAvcQNjfMCNY1FvXp2Wg1t4bKKi1/s320/IMAG0495.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inside of Mama's Place</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdlT4tslWMaeNBXMwTUk4LkCfqe0FrDMkzcnNBp6u9tw88hhyUCHf8FzNBxnfbGkT-EvEjo4SDFwcMRz0pM9CxMwDNw-cDw-5qCkybvPV9ZiO1jDvxcwPGyhg30NG2GdJKC_Oymd3_tHVK/s1600/IMAG0497.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdlT4tslWMaeNBXMwTUk4LkCfqe0FrDMkzcnNBp6u9tw88hhyUCHf8FzNBxnfbGkT-EvEjo4SDFwcMRz0pM9CxMwDNw-cDw-5qCkybvPV9ZiO1jDvxcwPGyhg30NG2GdJKC_Oymd3_tHVK/s320/IMAG0497.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The awesome hostel guy, Esteban. </td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6hatQkpUaQXh092dVlyk1y4Ea7Uki8L0c7LA_juq9hn7nT-fYoVGnv1iDZ3j2H269L2XzKYXX6aCxVrsLo5QCKH3RXXKOn_YpH3xCfxpIhCVsWVVk7eLAJRJ8cbtKDdNxo2CkRAuHb0sJ/s1600/IMAG0496.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6hatQkpUaQXh092dVlyk1y4Ea7Uki8L0c7LA_juq9hn7nT-fYoVGnv1iDZ3j2H269L2XzKYXX6aCxVrsLo5QCKH3RXXKOn_YpH3xCfxpIhCVsWVVk7eLAJRJ8cbtKDdNxo2CkRAuHb0sJ/s320/IMAG0496.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See the huge glass behind it. I drank that whole thing.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFK-qyxmipJ_F8OgYYX6KsKQ4PLSBVDJVS7lPGCiFzTwlaCfCNbxq2xJQ9pgejCYVI7Pp5CHbTAz2jKGBRtRj0k6nribrZFgDwEIpgBkXo_PMmxOHWZIg0sCDQbM2YKE6ScKvInuvu2_8W/s1600/IMAG0500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFK-qyxmipJ_F8OgYYX6KsKQ4PLSBVDJVS7lPGCiFzTwlaCfCNbxq2xJQ9pgejCYVI7Pp5CHbTAz2jKGBRtRj0k6nribrZFgDwEIpgBkXo_PMmxOHWZIg0sCDQbM2YKE6ScKvInuvu2_8W/s320/IMAG0500.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunburned and smiling</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxFizK85kmEpXvnzxN11KjDS-cdqAb7frb2NxtWBzeDO8fIw6eabt9N4hwyZeIJPFTtpbq7BvkoTb8DNdnuypmDHKVh6aP2DC1aI_zKjTmdoU5N10jx38qNZ8l9gD7-xRL60NUWcs12JbQ/s1600/IMAG0499.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxFizK85kmEpXvnzxN11KjDS-cdqAb7frb2NxtWBzeDO8fIw6eabt9N4hwyZeIJPFTtpbq7BvkoTb8DNdnuypmDHKVh6aP2DC1aI_zKjTmdoU5N10jx38qNZ8l9gD7-xRL60NUWcs12JbQ/s320/IMAG0499.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lizzie making guac magic</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhed6fRwfdk9C6Po9gyaUbCI6Av9XNPJy7JA08iHekFR5NSm-kzdsGQWvjYdRMiCy7FeEMMij1oZq3rlu5N_5vxWFs6L8tqXMYmTuoGFdhl8KJql_oO8ryQXkWwV6Y58as9AQ3pvpt6MHiC/s1600/IMAG0505.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhed6fRwfdk9C6Po9gyaUbCI6Av9XNPJy7JA08iHekFR5NSm-kzdsGQWvjYdRMiCy7FeEMMij1oZq3rlu5N_5vxWFs6L8tqXMYmTuoGFdhl8KJql_oO8ryQXkWwV6Y58as9AQ3pvpt6MHiC/s320/IMAG0505.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First bar swing.. so exciting!</td></tr>
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The next day in Tulum was even better!! Tony, Eric, Ruben and me took a day tour to a nearby “cenote”. This is a very popular attraction in the Yucatan peninsula. It’s basically underground cave systems that are partially covered with crystal clear turquoise waters. So we snorkeled through these caves with tiny fishes everywhere and insane formations in the water. Just unbelievable.I wish words could describe how beautiful this was. But since they clearly can't, I'm hoping Tony will oblige by providing me with the underwater pics he took that day. No pressure Tony ;) We then went to Akumal beach which has access to the second largest coral reef in the world and we were supposed to snorkel at the reef and swim with sea turtles. Unfortunately, they didn’t allow us into the water due to bad climate <span style="font-family: Wingdings;">L</span> This was some fucking BS since the tour was pretty pricey by Mexican standards. But none of us wanted to bitch about it to our really nice Dutch divemaster. So we just sucked it up and went with the alternate plan. We then off-roaded some 30 mins on a dirt path through the forest to reach another cenote which is completely cut off from civilization. We then snorkeled there through some very narrow cave structures and again saw some gorgeous formations. I was so terrified that I might hit my head on some stalactite and gracefully pass out in the water like Jack from Titanic. And even worse, that I might damage some thousand year old Stalactite in the process. Headed back after that and ate some “Mexican Chinese” food which tasted a lot like Indo-Chinese! It was basically noodles with chicken in a sauce but it was soooo yum. Much better than any of the American Chinese food I have eaten. Speaking of American Chinese food, don't you sometimes feel like eating Panda Express is like hooking up with a stranger. You don't know why you want it but you do, and the minute you have it, you feel the worst guilt ever and you promise yourself that this is something that will never happen again. And the walk back home is shame-ier than any other walk of shame. And yet the cycle repeats. I am obviously speaking of this purely from movies and no personal experience. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh34AKpnJc8lzgfiuq7Oik95ILhxNisrhqALINxq1ubot8Kuv3onRFbxMfjtkiMS1gmiPG6fWq8DfBXFV24dJd7GtjI9Xkdyb7TXlc7EtnU17SaJ0R44NT2H9Tkz7AY-9gFTzOlcYZ7eU0u/s1600/IMAG0518.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh34AKpnJc8lzgfiuq7Oik95ILhxNisrhqALINxq1ubot8Kuv3onRFbxMfjtkiMS1gmiPG6fWq8DfBXFV24dJd7GtjI9Xkdyb7TXlc7EtnU17SaJ0R44NT2H9Tkz7AY-9gFTzOlcYZ7eU0u/s400/IMAG0518.jpg" width="225" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmatUNNbcmh51GePepSAYUqg0KjYeq1Ue2ZqLCZ2UF-AL1Fs0LODQnmuXLi2W_j7bvCLlxN-DHoFIjQhQI7q1RO67NlFFy61iXHRkre-PzGBwdz-OdBB8IKuo4SLHzZoBkqII3GPyIFj-S/s1600/IMAG0508.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilhw1Y3AtKUwXdEeC573XOUvlkqYtIXy2pd4m63ecDWLHFh5JOGR2W5Lw_wVfDqEEoTZidmcEqFhO0zaupJYyAbo7Ac_wMZEhzTrzyy4wS9VQGtXv0TKDbGlDmy69LQLXRoBw8Lo0HOffg/s1600/IMAG0510.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilhw1Y3AtKUwXdEeC573XOUvlkqYtIXy2pd4m63ecDWLHFh5JOGR2W5Lw_wVfDqEEoTZidmcEqFhO0zaupJYyAbo7Ac_wMZEhzTrzyy4wS9VQGtXv0TKDbGlDmy69LQLXRoBw8Lo0HOffg/s320/IMAG0510.jpg" width="320" /></a><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmatUNNbcmh51GePepSAYUqg0KjYeq1Ue2ZqLCZ2UF-AL1Fs0LODQnmuXLi2W_j7bvCLlxN-DHoFIjQhQI7q1RO67NlFFy61iXHRkre-PzGBwdz-OdBB8IKuo4SLHzZoBkqII3GPyIFj-S/s320/IMAG0508.jpg" width="180" /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmJNYi5ffeHTcGW4Iw9XvX50-mTyl1TL4JB4pWb-G4h7rFWhkZ_FD3bC95NbuBGsPY2PJ-QHgcTXYiAHL7s_6nOiWYfKKgy-4Cv8H3nBQoIBldlMAC47b0pKe1usnD1dEFYz3c7OM_Wphv/s1600/IMAG0532.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmJNYi5ffeHTcGW4Iw9XvX50-mTyl1TL4JB4pWb-G4h7rFWhkZ_FD3bC95NbuBGsPY2PJ-QHgcTXYiAHL7s_6nOiWYfKKgy-4Cv8H3nBQoIBldlMAC47b0pKe1usnD1dEFYz3c7OM_Wphv/s320/IMAG0532.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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Anyway, end of this day, I decide to take the night bus from Tulum to Palenque. So after elaborate goodbyes at the hostel, I reach the bus station and they tell me that my assumption that I can show up and get tickets was pretty dumb. The bus was full and I was stranded in Tulum for another day. You would think that the worst part of this would be missing a day. But honestly all I could think of was showing up again at the hostel after all the sentimental goodbyes. That would be embarrassing as fuck. Also, it was a fucking bitch to walk with my luggage to the bus stop. So I did the next best thing. I insisted that I need to check the bus to make sure it's really full. I don't blame you if you can't believe it worked, because I can't believe it worked. It worked!!! So I was off towards Palenque through the windy mountains. I wanted to stop here on a very mystical note but I have to mention this French chick who sat next to me. She kept poking me in the back every time I leaned on her side and I never had the heart to do the same to her when she was all but leaning on my shoulder. Fucking French (I kid!)<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222310770375288859.post-3103672174587240782013-06-19T13:25:00.002-07:002013-06-19T18:59:11.723-07:00Month in Mexico: Part 1<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I have been back 12 hours and I have met a ton of people who
ask, “Tell me everything about Mexico”. It’s hard to believe that a month or so
ago, none of this had happened, because now it feels like such a big part of my
life. I promised each of them that I would tell the story right. This is my
attempt. It’s not gonna be short and it’s not gonna be too interesting unless
you have deep love for me. Also, I’d like it to be acknowledged that with the “M”
screaming at me, I didn’t use “Memoirs” in the title. Yes, it was hard.<o:p></o:p><br />
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“Why Mexico?” is a common question. As much as I wanna give
some romantic notion of Mexico beckoning me, the reasons I picked Mexico were
more practical than anything else; Developing country prices, no visa, cheap
tickets. In fact, the whole summer was mostly about California and Mexico was
just injected as an afterthought when I realized that my budget can only
sustain me for so long in Californian money. I was so excited about California that,
I kid you not; I didn’t know ANYTHING about Mexico until I was already on my
way to Cancun from San Francisco. Thanks to the Lonely Planet I was reading on
the flight, I figured out how to get to the Downtown with the cheapest way and
that was all the info in my head. Cancun airport is great because you have lines
of kiosks where government appointment people help you shit tons with all the
info you need. And they make it clear that they aren’t trying to sell you stuff
so you actually feel very reassured. However, that guy asking me, “How many
times have you been here? You know a lot already (Lonely Planet told me exactly
how much the bus would cost, where it would drop me and exactly which sidewalk
it would wait at)” gave me this false sense of confidence about the rest of my
night. I also had a very false notion that my being brown would make all the
difference in blending in. NOPE. The minute I left the airport, I realized that
I clearly didn’t look as Mexican as I thought and in fact, with a complete lack
of Indian tourists in Mexico, drew way more attention. My first few hours in
Cancun were hell. I had way over packed from California and I walked around the
city with everyone giving me contradicting directions. It didn’t help that the
city was not stroller bag friendly at all and not a single soul spoke English.
Also, it was dark and dusty and I was completely expecting the bus to drop me
off at some gorgeous beach. After around an hour of walking around a city which
looked like my least favorite parts of India, I finally just entered an
internet café and told the owner to dial the hostel. I was nearly hysterical
and thankfully he agreed to come and fetch me. The hostel itself was decent.
The people were nice. I managed to get two weeks’ worth of clothes laundered
for dirt cheap so I was pretty decently happy. I walked across the street and
got a meal of chicken quesadillas, which after a month, still happen to be the
best quesadillas I’ve ever had. Cilantro sauce, I love you. The hostel was nice
but very quiet. Also it was FREAKING HOT. I didn’t sleep a wink all night
because it was my first night in another country and I was also really
uncomfortable because of the heat. I also have this habit to sleep with my laptop
if I feel scared or lonely, so I was sleeping with my laptop and all night I
had nightmares of it getting stolen. Finally, in true hostel fashion, the last
people came in at 1, and the first people to leave were up at 5, so it was just
a bad night overall. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV8h0Aa7pigP4j5zd-zTv3nOZkO9XpeqMgTUT6pcXKROQmiEbPzAcQ4tcKY8RcBDl9viJz-Q-aHaGI4jXWPKp0RZu_dBWGf0X4AoVv7e_YVSv9wNlMWhuDo706J2wGBtSY8a0o_LppkXZQ/s1600/IMAG0470.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV8h0Aa7pigP4j5zd-zTv3nOZkO9XpeqMgTUT6pcXKROQmiEbPzAcQ4tcKY8RcBDl9viJz-Q-aHaGI4jXWPKp0RZu_dBWGf0X4AoVv7e_YVSv9wNlMWhuDo706J2wGBtSY8a0o_LppkXZQ/s320/IMAG0470.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Quesadillas at Cancun</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEahuETZErsKAz-qevdSP1SmHcAmtEcHnQW4MF8KHxWPrGvfWxD70hpJlWdQZcIrZcxbCzU_hzBbI3y-ApNO6IoqhHFF6ll_TUKd0udKHgUXI4ZK0OjnCH13gMmj3g144iv3LU_YqBF0Tq/s1600/IMAG0453.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEahuETZErsKAz-qevdSP1SmHcAmtEcHnQW4MF8KHxWPrGvfWxD70hpJlWdQZcIrZcxbCzU_hzBbI3y-ApNO6IoqhHFF6ll_TUKd0udKHgUXI4ZK0OjnCH13gMmj3g144iv3LU_YqBF0Tq/s320/IMAG0453.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First Night in Cancun</td></tr>
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I woke up the next day at 8 and decided that I’m gonna make Mexico awesome no matter what it took me. So I headed to the kitchen with full gusto, in high spirits, to grab the free breakfast. After a month in Mexico, I realize that the breakfast they served was a freaking feast. But I had been spoiled by hostels in Indonesia with their proper cooked breakfasts with three or four options served buffet style. So my expectations were cosmos high. Here was a jar of Jam, some butter, a toast and a toaster. Also, some bananas. I was so bummed. I grudgingly ate a piece of toast and headed to the beach. Finding the beach and getting there was easy and cheap enough (8 pesos of a bus ride each way). It’s called Delphines beach and to get there it takes 20 mins of crossing the fanciest palatial resorts you’ll ever see. Delphines is a nice enough beach but they have all these beach lounge chairs right by the water with the umbrellas. The minute I fell asleep on the chair, this guy wakes me up and after 5 minutes of really frustrated hand gesturing and attempt at communicating, I realized that he wanted me to pay 200 pesos to use that stupid chair. So I had to get out of the cozy shade of the umbrella and lie in the sun. My mood wasn’t helped by the fact that I was carrying my Kindle so I couldn’t get into the water leaving my stuff on the sand. So I just sat there for a bit baking in the sun. It was still gorgeous no doubt, but it wasn’t feeling right yet. After a few hours on the beach, I knew I’d had my fill of Cancun and decided to move on to this place everyone couldn’t stop talking about: Tulum.<br />
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<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhIXHVoO7dm6ws0uSOjRhtdIoToLBYgxz1G3OuB-raZBJzyT6w_8I4D-ifXXN24d2ur2m3eF2qpY-LWteQWieO4M6OB0E3WRVEX2XnJj3Rh0L4ECBTfT3J6mFlm8LxfNRWZuterZhn0LXx/s400/Part_1.jpg" /><br />
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Between Cancun and Tulum is a city called Playa del Carmen. From everything I had heard, Playa was also a very touristy place like Cancun and I decided I’d had my fill of that. So I just took the next bus from Playa to Tulum without staying too long. I reached Tulum when it was slightly getting dark so I decided to just treat myself to nice cab ride directly to my hostel. I picked the hostel with the best breakfast and the highest ratings and I was so excited. I show up at the hostel (which was significantly outside the city) and it was shut! After seeing me trying to break in (I really wanted to stay there), the owner comes out and tells me they are renovating. I was far from the city, had just paid for the taxi ride to get there and I wasn’t getting the breakfast everyone was raving about. I was really getting tired of this. The owner recommended the place next door and it was the shittiest place in the world. I got a room (BLAZING HOT) and tried to make the best of it. I asked the owner where I could get some dinner and he said that there were NO food places nearby. I see a gas station across the street and eat a Cornetto for dinner. The hostel guy then gives me a 30 min speech which could have conveyed the same information in 5 mins. It was dark by then but he convinces me that it’s a great time to go to the beach. He gives me directions and basically said that I need to cut through Mangrove forests and then I’d see tons of restaurants, coffee shops and what not. Here I am imagining Waikiki in my head and imagine chilling in some beachside bar with a cocktail. I get a bike from the hostel and set off on the freeway. After two seconds I realized that the bike had no freaking brakes. Thankfully the realization came before I was trying to cross the interstate. I went back to the hostel guy who taught me that the brakes are on the pedals and not on the handlebars. He, for good measure, also acted like every moron should have that information. I set off again without realizing that retraining my mind on how to stop the bike was much harder than I thought. I reached the forest and that’s what it was, a freaking forest. There are guards at the beginning of the forest who casually wave me in, so I’m thinking it was a normal occurrence for people to cycle through the forest in the pitch black. I have directions and I keep biking through forests so dark that I can’t see my own hands. If freaking out was an option, trust me I would have screamed out my lungs after 10 minutes. But I was scared that me screaming would only attract animals so I just continued to bike, looking confident and determined, without letting the animals sense my fear. After struggling through a steep slope with no fucking brakes, I finally made it to the beach. It was white shining sand and fucking gorgeous. It was so quaint; White dunes of sand, coconut trees, fisherman’s boats and white tents. There were also no lights or bars or cocktails. I was the only one for as far as I could see on the beach and while it sounds magical now, I was terrified. I was walking around a bit (cos the alternative was to go back into the dense iguana infested jungle) and this guy comes and shines the torch in my face. I have imagined this scene a million times in my life. I am suddenly alarmed by a guy. I grab his arm, trip his leg, and with one swift movement he is flat on his back. Obviously, then he happens to be telling me that I dropped something and we fall in love. But I completely digress. The point being, the first time, I was finally alarmed by a guy for real, I pretty much froze and all my thoughts were based on the fact that my parents are gonna kill me if I die here. Thankfully, again after much much frustration, I figured out that he wanted to rent out one of the cabanas on the beach. Here is a somewhat, in retrospect, funny part. I kept telling him that I wanted to check out the inside of the cabana. So I kept miming, “you, me, cabana, walk, show”. I dunno if you can see how this can convey wrong information. But basically he finallyyyyy took me to show a cabana. Turned out it happened to be his and he thought that’s what I wanted. I can safely say that I have never pedaled faster through a Mangrove forest in the middle of the night before. I reached the hostel and yelled my lungs out at the hostel guy for recommending that. To give him credit, he insisted it would have been heavenly had I waited for the full moon to come out. My rest of day two in Mexico mainly consisted of boiling in the heat, all hostel mates speaking in Spanish, hearing a guy poop right next to me while I showered, and seeing a cockroach near my bed. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR1om1uSRmQPHWABhG5yth7Ue0OgLe-cGU9jnt6tk0Rjye3MSV3fAQSppUipUjF_VnXatDZd0hB9JUB5c4ItuhqVLBA9gvSIkd70DlpU_kX8y_SkGpA677rfJH0rZz168IFpHM5pxKki6i/s1600/IMAG0454.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR1om1uSRmQPHWABhG5yth7Ue0OgLe-cGU9jnt6tk0Rjye3MSV3fAQSppUipUjF_VnXatDZd0hB9JUB5c4ItuhqVLBA9gvSIkd70DlpU_kX8y_SkGpA677rfJH0rZz168IFpHM5pxKki6i/s320/IMAG0454.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Delphines Beach</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix82KJ86rczXoHdiWYXPfbhjQ6zBgpHcqzHnMDUnUit6y1V9EL4xvGFEZbkkCliK9t0Oz2vymwhKs8BLrqxHJW0jtgAF56FcfhsVg8Ez0rVlYs2K6-cS58Q3vxqvjxekFWJXb4ImtKdF5x/s1600/IMAG0457.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix82KJ86rczXoHdiWYXPfbhjQ6zBgpHcqzHnMDUnUit6y1V9EL4xvGFEZbkkCliK9t0Oz2vymwhKs8BLrqxHJW0jtgAF56FcfhsVg8Ez0rVlYs2K6-cS58Q3vxqvjxekFWJXb4ImtKdF5x/s320/IMAG0457.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Those damn umbrellas.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDJI8xKWHuzKszD9Vv-xWnYMUDGd5wOnESn598Pc_WCoIh-mf2i_AWQV7wJVPYWQMreHK_o3FvOfyPb6yUypdPPdXoXAqNfrwcPYVSFedxDDtFkntVUXqIfSDBY-4tJMtQ-Z_-Mgqr_Mi_/s1600/IMAG0468.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDJI8xKWHuzKszD9Vv-xWnYMUDGd5wOnESn598Pc_WCoIh-mf2i_AWQV7wJVPYWQMreHK_o3FvOfyPb6yUypdPPdXoXAqNfrwcPYVSFedxDDtFkntVUXqIfSDBY-4tJMtQ-Z_-Mgqr_Mi_/s320/IMAG0468.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trying to have an abstract pic.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiimYoD6_HAgsJq0XmlvhwP000b4gXmKqZxDLcW_hDHm_3EpSvVdCkwLTcaTX7WolnjxCtRCP0gt42oNDZbF8aG9IlAWfTKo0prS10KS4ZFMn6JH4ds9KPYhhIDtbpC3-EwQc352vjNmzOw/s1600/IMAG0473.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiimYoD6_HAgsJq0XmlvhwP000b4gXmKqZxDLcW_hDHm_3EpSvVdCkwLTcaTX7WolnjxCtRCP0gt42oNDZbF8aG9IlAWfTKo0prS10KS4ZFMn6JH4ds9KPYhhIDtbpC3-EwQc352vjNmzOw/s320/IMAG0473.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Horrible Tulum Hostel</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwaoJWGzsrW2JasZG0aGogEHrBqtNGKITAXGaSw4_Kpjtc4DDx-BdM_Wka4_PMwB_9sf8x34gnnhhO999xAsn5aFuBDo-q0N8ZMyaEkO1Y5mC_vEEX1ZLTyrI626QydBwd-Tty0YngPPu0/s1600/IMAG0474.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwaoJWGzsrW2JasZG0aGogEHrBqtNGKITAXGaSw4_Kpjtc4DDx-BdM_Wka4_PMwB_9sf8x34gnnhhO999xAsn5aFuBDo-q0N8ZMyaEkO1Y5mC_vEEX1ZLTyrI626QydBwd-Tty0YngPPu0/s320/IMAG0474.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm REALLY traumatized that there was a guy pooping next to me while I showered. It didn't help that this was the sign on the door. </td></tr>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222310770375288859.post-90076709965888862762013-04-17T13:40:00.000-07:002013-06-19T13:41:01.580-07:00Wants<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I want a cat I want a dog</div>
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I want to stay thin how much ever I hog.</div>
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I want a huge self-making bed</div>
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I want Heath Ledger to be undead</div>
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I want to live in New York Town</div>
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I want my skin an even brown</div>
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I want a closet that choses clothes</div>
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I want the power to teleport</div>
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I want nutella in peanut-butter cups</div>
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I want to do twenty push-ups</div>
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I want F.R.I.E.N.D.S to have never ceased</div>
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And yes, don’t pout, I want world peace.</div>
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The problem though will always be</div>
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My grass I’ll never see as green</div>
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So all I’ll get, but want I’ll still</div>
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No such thing as wants fulfilled</div>
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So to get out of this vicious ball</div>
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I need the want that rules them all</div>
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I want one want (though it’s a bore)</div>
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I want to stop wanting for more.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222310770375288859.post-3480330865903209862013-02-10T13:39:00.000-08:002013-06-19T13:39:32.235-07:00Good things are happening too. <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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So everyone who knows me, knows that I can be very vocal about issues in India. Especially those related to bureaucracy and attitudes towards women. But something amazing happened on my trip to India that I forgot to share.</div>
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I bought two TVs on my trip to Singapore. (side note: Indians buying TVs in Singapore and taking it back to India is a thing! There was a separate aisle on the airport to stack the TVs. ). So, according to the website, the two TVs were within the allowed custom limit and I wouldn't have to pay the fees. But sooooo many people told me that if you have two TVs, the custom officers will make you pay a fee and there is no way to get around it. The logic being that someone who is buying two LCD TVs is rich enough to pay a hefty bribe.</div>
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My dad told me that the standard norm was to roll two Rs. 1000 notes in my hand and smoothly give it to the security guard and just walk out confidently. He warned me repeatedly not to get any funny ideas in my head about ideals. I think his parting words were pretty much, "don't fuck this up". I reach the airport and convert my last $40 into 2000 Indian rupees (at the worst exchange rate ever). As I am walking confidently into the "green channel", I realized that my dad completely missed the biggest loophole in the plan; I don't know how to give a bribe!! </div>
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So I am walking by the all these custom officials and within seconds they are like, "Ma'am two TVs? Please go through the red channel". I am frantically looking for the supposed security guard (the one who I had to bribe) who was supposed to come rescue me. I didn't know who the heck I was supposed to give the money to! I then see him, and it was unmistakable. The sleazy sly grin. I am pushed towards the red channel by the other custom officer and I quickly circle around and come back determined to finish the task assigned to me. I approach the bribe-guard directly and he sees the money in my hand. So he knows it, and I know it. Now here is the problem, I am scared to cross the one foot distance between our hands to give it to him. The guard says in Hindi, " Poor little girl like you with two big TVs. Surely you need help and I can give it to you". The custom officer comes back, "Is there a reason this lady is wandering around lost? Ma'am, please go to the red channel". The guard goes, "Sir, let me help her. It seems like she needs help." The security guard comes and stand right next to me again and all I had to do was barely extend my hand and my ordeal would be over. I couldn't. </div>
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I trudge back indignantly to the red channel hoping I can pay with my credit card and my dad will never have to know that I failed. The custom officer at the red channel was nothing like I expected. He was very polite, spoke crisp English, asked about my trip and promptly gave me the permission slip to pass by without paying anything. I couldn't believe it! Here I was "the weaker sex" flashing two LCD TVs in his face and he actually treated me with complete respect. He then asks me, "You're clearly within the allowed limit, then why did you keep going back and forth?" The honest answer was that in this situation, my country hadn't failed me, I had failed my country.</div>
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I remember once being super stressed about shit and bitching to my friend. He simply texted back.. "Chill.. good things are happening too." That line really struck a chord. Stayed with me. I feel like this is something I haven't been acknowledging when it comes to my country. So many things are changing for the better. Homosexuality was decriminalized just a few years ago. The people are making a stand against corruption. Just yesterday, a normal guy from Mizoram wrote in his blog about how he felt bad that a Mumbai cop called him "Nepali", and within the day, the Mumbai police sent him a letter apologizing and invited him to join the investigation to find the offending cop. It's giving me a warm fuzzy feeling inside :)... kinda like when I marched triumphantly out of the airport, gave the crumpled money to my dad and said proudly, "Trust the system, dad. Good things are happening too". </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222310770375288859.post-85799230640300981642012-12-30T13:38:00.000-08:002013-06-20T09:03:05.666-07:00Rishikesh!!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
A couchsurfer that I met in San Francisco told me that his favorite Indian city was Rishikesh. I had nothing to add to his comment because I have never given much thought to Rishikesh. It's a small holy town on the banks of the Ganges (or Ganga). The one time I had visited Rishikesh was when I was around 12 and the only thing I remember was that the water was freezing and the bathrooms were terrible. Thanks to the CSer's comment, I decided to tag along with my dad on his business trip there.<br />
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Rishikesh was a 5-6ish hour long drive from Delhi. The drive there was pretty unremarkable. Tons of dhabas (food stalls) on the way but I didn't eat there cos of my delicate digestion. At first sight, Rishikesh was everything that I expected from a small sized north-indian town. Traffic, dust, trucks everywhere. Our hotel was in a shitty part of town with nothing to offer. I was very ready to spend the next three days in the hotel with my book. However, since my parents hate to see me being lazy (read: comfortable), my mom dragged me out to explore the city.<br />
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Rishikesh was a revelation. Thankfully we were visting in the off season so the town was deserted for me to explore. The city lies on both sides of the river Ganges. The first shock to me was to see that the river was so clean! The water was completely clear and freezing cold. The town was sooooo clean too. There were cows everywhere (and cow droppings too) but I was shocked to see that the streets were litter free. The town was hilly ups and downs of quaint by-lanes and small stores. We started at this bridge called Ram-Jhula which is an awesome suspension bridge. This HUGE bridge was actually moving when I was jumping on it.. and it was filled with monkeys. I think I was exceptionally brave to walk across the narrow bridge without freaking out and the monkeys also co-operated by not attacking me.<br />
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The most amazing part of Rishikesh is so hard to describe. Imagine a city with ancient roots. It is filled with ashrams where people across the world come to meditate and to learn yoga. This is where yoga began. Everywhere in the city you see schools teachings different forms of dance, music and instruments. The air is thick with culture. This is what the city is all about. To top it off, it rests in the lap of Himalayas, surrounded by forests with the gorgeous Ganga gurgling by. The sidelines are dotted with the city's namesake, rishis (sages), who I bet have incredible experiences to share. I actually saw this Rishi put this hands under a urinating cow and wash his wound. We drove through the forests (called the Rajaji National Park) and while the roads along the mountain cliffs were terrifying, the drive was still delightful. Another real nice feature of Rishikesh was these adorable little cafes dotting the banks of the Ganga. Most of these very bohemian eclectic with varied cuisines on the menu and sporting breathtaking river views. I tried Yak cheese (it is as brave as I could get in the mostly vegetarian town of Rishikesh) and it tasted fresh and un-weird. The cafes were filled with friendly travelers from across the world. I identified some French, German, Russian and American English being spoken but no clue about the rest. I figured my parents wouldn't be comfortable with me socializing with strangers so I didn't really talk to them.<br />
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Rishikesh is also the hub for adventure sports. Tons of companies are offering rafting and camping trips along the banks of Ganga. I couldn't do this as I needed to stick with my dad but the camps are truly gorgeous. They also have Asia's highest bungee jump (or so they claim : 83 m) and something called flyingfox (no clue what that is). It's also filled with real spas and places claiming to be spas with Ananda Spa being one of the world's best spas (and accordingly priced at around $500 per night).<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222310770375288859.post-30694979372448576072012-12-25T13:41:00.000-08:002013-06-19T13:42:13.740-07:00Being a girl in India sucks ass.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I am patriotic. Inspite of what the title might indicate, I madly love India. With the good stuff and the acceptable bad stuff. However, some of the bad stuff is not acceptable anymore. I feel pride at India Gate, I can eat more pani-puris than anyone, and I cried when India won the World Cup (finally!).</div>
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I still hate coming back here.</div>
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India guys know they are special the minute they are born. They are treated differently because the society demands it. My brother and I always had different curfews as kids. Even today at age 27, I can't leave home without my brother as an escort and he knows this. It is completely unheard of for an Indian girl to openly smoke a cigarette or buy booze. We always need to ask guys to help us for these simple pleasures. Just like every any male who gets treated like God, my brother assumes that this gives him some kind of power over me. The other day we had a fight in which he told me, "Stay in your place". This is not some "labor-class" uneducated person that we as a country love to blame for all crimes in the city. This is a guy that had the same education as me but believes that he is superior to me because I need him to drive me to buy a recharge-card. And whether we like to admit it or not, this is the pervasive attitude in this male-freaking-dominated society.</div>
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Sexual harassment is so common in India that we don't even know it is happening. From the auto-driver adjusting his mirror to stare at you, to the shop-keeper slimily touching your hands while returning the change, it’s a part of life. (By age 20, I noticed that I automatically put the money down on the counter every time). I don't think I have ever walked on a street without constantly expecting someone's hand to brush my ass. Each time that I visit home, I have a set of "India-clothes" that I have to wear. The clothes can't be above my shins, well-fitted or basically flattering in any way. The whole point is to not draw attention. The first time I visited home from the U.S., all-female empowered, I fought with my dad about his. He replied, "Is it too much to ask that my daughter is safe?" Every Indian girl is taught that preventing misconduct is somehow her responsibility. If we don't "ask for it", we don't get shit. I remember when I was 16, some creep in the building wrote some lewd comments about me all over the walls. I wasn't bothered or upset when I read it. By age 16, we are immune to sexual harassment. The only impact that it had on my life that was that my freedom was restricted. That asshole wrote something about how he sees me buying bread at the grocery store 100 feet away from our apartments, and my bread-buying privileges were revoked. When I was 15, a guy in my class always touched girls inappropriately. I confronted him threatening to complain but deep down I knew that the teacher would blame that my school uniform (which was fashionably just above my knee) was too short. A yoga instructor molested me in a class of 50 people just because he knew he had the same immunity. He was right. I didn't complain because I knew that the only thing that would change is that I wouldn't be allowed to go to such classes in the future. I don't blame my parents or my teacher, I know they were just afraid for my safety, but I also refuse to accept this as normal behavior.</div>
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Where I live right now is the most sexually frustrated pocket of India (Haryana), so things are a little extreme and most Indians won't agree with the restrictions. But even living in a metropolitan city, we CONSTANTLY face the same discrimination, probably in subtler forms. I remember that my friend once got into a minor accident, and the cops' entire demeanor changed when they saw that I was wearing shorts. He kept focusing on the "type" of girl I was ( I wasn't even driving) and such "type" of girls always get into trouble. I was being punished for wearing shorts! This just one of a zillion examples where it is routine to treat a girl like shit based on “morality”. And all the so-called "moral police" are the most sexually frustrated of the bunch.</div>
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The only reason that today the whole country is in an uproar about the girl who got gang-raped is because she followed all the rules and it didn't work. She was returning from a movie and not from a club, she was accompanied by a male friend, and the media probably couldn't find fault in the clothes that she was wearing. If the same girl was returning home drunk alone wearing a skirt, SHE would be the one to blame.</div>
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So yep, as much as I love India, I won't deny that I am happy to leave.</div>
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P.S. I realized like it sounds like a rant against my parents. I am having an amazing time with my loving parents who treat me like a princess on my visits here. I just am ready to be treated as a human by society in general.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222310770375288859.post-27321848766344873132012-11-12T13:44:00.000-08:002013-06-19T13:44:23.814-07:00What is my Diwali like?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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So it's another Diwali away from home and all I have are memories of all the years celebrating the 'Indian Christmas". With all the international friends I have made over the past years, I am dying to show them what Diwali is like at home in India. What I grew up with. The real deal. But since I can't, this is my next best attempt.</div>
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The prep for Diwali would start days before. So every year most families exchange boxes of dry-fruits and sweets. Everywhere across the country you get boxes of assorted dry-fruits packed beautifully (see pic). But these didn't have the best quality dry-fruits, so weeks earlier my mom would buy it all individually and we would all sit around the dining table, with piles of dry-fruit and all of would pack it in pretty boxes. I remember that we were allowed unlimited access to munch on all the dry-fruits by my mom but all I could think of was how expensive the dry-fruits were so I would keep monitoring how much my bro n sis were eating (I am the family miser). We would also send cards to all the family/friends a few weeks before. Luckily for us, my mom n dad believed that we should all wear new clothes on Diwali.. so ka-ching! All of us would go shopping before every Diwali for new clothes. Diwali is the festival of lights and everyone decorates their homes with tiny oil lamps. My mom, sis and I would paint all these pottery lamps indivisually in the days preceding the big day.</div>
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Diwali is spread over 3 days. The first day (2 days before Diwali) is called "Dhanteras". This is a day when all businesses start new account books and it's the holiest day of the year to buy silver (not sure why). So every dhanteras, all we did was a tiny worship ceremony in the evening and then we would all go shop for some tiny silverware just to follow tradition. We were allowed to light one lamp on this night.. the significance of which I have completely forgotton. The day before is called "Small Diwali".. we didn't do anything special really on this day except that we were allowed to burst some of the fireworks and we were allowed to light one lamp in every room. So the reason people light lamps on Diwali is because the myth is that Goddess Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth, visits your home on this day and she won't enter if it's dark.. so yep.. it's all about the money :P</div>
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The main day today is simply called Diwali or "Big Diwali" translated in Hindi. This is celebrated (very broadly) because one of the main dudes in Hindu mythology returned home after 14 years of exile. This guy is super loved so it's a really big deal to Hindus. I'm not gonna include too much of the history lesson cos I want this to be about my Diwali experience each year. The first memory of every Diwali is my mom using that excuse to wake us up early.."get up early.. it's Diwali.. you need to look fresh on Diwali". My mom and dad are OBSESSED with us taking a shower. The nano-second I wake up, it's the only thing that they can think of. And on Diwali, they milk the "holiness" of the day to fulfill this obsession. Then we go shop for fresh flowers to decorate the house. The yellow marigold is the standard flower that everyone uses to decorate all the doorways and the balcony at home. The rest of the day would just be spent chilling at home. eating amazing food, and gorging on the insane amount of sweets that other people sent over. Around 7 pm in the evening, we have the "pooja" or the worship at home. Most families have a very elaborate ceremony on Diwali. As a family, 5 of us would just crowd in our tiny kitchen and try to muddle our way through what the ceremony should be. We sing some hymns and then my dad would lead us in saying thanks. Everytime we have this prayer, I would love to open my eyes and observe how everyone else is behaving. My brother would always have this intense expression like he is summoning Goddess Lakshmi with all the personal favor he can manage, my mom just seemed like she is lost in her world of devotion.. my sister looked pretty normal .. and my dad looked super calm and peaceful. Some of the hymns were soooooo long and I would just wait for the magic words of the last paragraph. I remember feeling like a long distance runner in the final sprint everytime I heard that. Anybody could sense the renewed energy the minute we hit that paragraph :P Also right after the worship was the elaborate and special Diwali meal that my mom made.. so that occupied a lot of my thoughts.</div>
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So after the meal is the social part of Diwali. This is when people finally get together and celebrate with everyone else. Our muslim neighbors would visit us to wish us. We would all head to the terrace on my building and all the neighbors would be there. Everyone bursts crackers (fireworks).. with the boys going for the bombs and the girls doing all the ones with the pretty lights. I have many memories of narrow escapes with bombs. Most of my night would be spent with my fingers in my ears. It's so gorgeous to stand on the terrace and watch the whole city erupting with fireworks at the same time. It also came with dense layers of air pollution and a whole night of sound pollution. This is why some Diwalis ago, my family decided to stop doing the fireworks (also I could pocket the firework money). But we would still stand in the balcony for hours and watch our city light up around us :)</div>
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Happy Diwali everyone :) </div>
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How people line their houses with lamps.</div>
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This is the usual level of floor decoration with flowers and lamps</div>
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The lamps called "diyas" that we would hand-paint</div>
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The dry fruit boxes we would pack :P</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222310770375288859.post-14739610275552117762012-11-01T13:46:00.000-07:002013-06-19T13:46:33.222-07:00Why it doesn't suck to leave Singapore?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Since I've booked my tickets, I keep having mini panic attacks through the day at the thought of leaving. I keep trying to think of all the zen stuff.."change is inevitable" but that's clearly not helping. 'Who moved my cheese' was a life-changing book until I actually need it to change my life. So I'm just resorting to what I do best.. make lists.. so here goes (in no order):</div>
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1) NACHOS!</div>
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2) Can wear boots again.</div>
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3) Get to spend Dads birthday with him after years.</div>
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4) Can hang out at Purdue with Rob.</div>
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5) Can cook for real.. will have oven again!</div>
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6) Cheap alcohol!!</div>
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7) Affordable shopping!</div>
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8) Can attend classes again!</div>
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9) Group ex classes</div>
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10) Can visit Mansha and Sameer in their new married home. </div>
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11) Can organize cool events for the West Lafayette CS community. </div>
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12) I don't wanna go back :(</div>
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13) Can have access to all my shoes!!</div>
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14) Free bowling at Rob's place with lots of nacho cheese and chips.</div>
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15) Can probably bug Zherui into teachiing some cooking. </div>
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16) Can finally graduate and get a real job.</div>
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17) Can save more money and go to Europe.</div>
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18) Kelly's baby boy!!</div>
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19) ...</div>
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20)..</div>
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21).</div>
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I don't wanna go back!!!!</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222310770375288859.post-28003478860028047712012-10-29T00:29:00.000-07:002012-10-29T00:29:07.111-07:00Unexpected lessons<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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So I was walking on the street yesterday, all dressed up in my sundress and flipflops, ready to hit Tanjong Beach Club. I suddenly saw this reallllyyy old and frail Uncle pushing a metal cart filled with recyclables. He seemed between 80-90 years of age and was completely hunched due to age. I am by no means a great samaritan but seeing someone so weak struggling with his cart on the uphill slope just was too heart-rending to not care about. Also, I knew that I wasn't going anywhere important. I was going to the beach to party with my friends.</div>
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I was carrying a stack of books and I started helping him by pushing the cart with my one free hand. It helped a bit, but all the people around could see that we were clearly struggling. I even dropped my books at some point. So we were then on an uphill slope pushing a metal cart stacked high with cardboard, with my books on the ground and still noone offered to even pick up the books for me. After 30 seconds of no reaction from the swarm of people around us, I realized that I can't half-ass this anymore. After what looked like a game of Twister, I managed to keep the cart steady and pick up the books at the same time. After dumping my books in the cart, I took it from him and we started walking ahead slowly. </div>
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I first started walking at what I thought was a slow pace. After Uncle needed to rest in a few mins, I realized that my slow pace was too taxing on him. So we started out on a new speed which literally seemed like the definition of baby steps. Any driving past us in the car would have assumed that we are standing still. That's how slowly we walked. And for the next 30 minutes. Walking at a snail's pace with Uncle shuffling next to me was the most relaxing 30 minutes of my week. All I was focussed on was pushing that cart on the uneven sidewalk, avoiding the ditches and just enjoying the moment. Uncle and I tried some conversation but it didn't get very far. The only sentences we exchanged was him contantly offering "you go home", me replying, "No. no, I push". As we walked along the sidewalk, people for some reason, looked mad. Everyone stared and most people gave these disdainful looks, I have no idea why. The cart was clearly heavy for me and nobody offfered to push. I felt like I had stepped into his world of indifference and for once I was seeing the other side. But it was so relaxing and peaceful to walk at a snail's pace, for once really look around my own neighbourhood while constantly exchanging smiles with this stranger. It's so hard to describe but it was one of the most enriching experiences ever. I felt all my stresses were so self-made, so avoidable, compared to Uncle pushing this heavy cart for miles. </div>
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After 30 mins or so, we reached a bus stop and he said that was his destination. I am sure that he was saying that only cos he didn't want me to help anymore. You could see this clear expression of gratitude mixed with embarassment everytime he insisted that he wanted me to go home. His look of hurt pride when I carefully asked him if he wanted to sit on the cart (he looked very tired as we walked), showed me clearly that he would rather push the cart than feel incapable. So I had to convince him that I truly had nothing to do and he was helping me be less bored. At the bus stop, I sat down with him (again with everyone staring) and I tried to convince him that I can walk him home. He insisted he was okay. Not knowing what to do, I just gave him a hug and asked him to take care. Then verrryyyyy suprisingly, he says, "Monday 1 o clock, I wait here". I tried to explain that I would be at work, but he just kept repeating it, "Monday 1 o clock, today sunday, tomorrow Monday.. Monday 1 o clock, I wait here for you". I promised him I would come and I walked away, my day a million times brighter. What's funny about this whole situation is that he thought I was the one who did him a favor.</div>
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Epilogue</div>
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Today, I bought some fruits for both us and even took a cab from work so that I can meet Uncle in time. Waited from 1.00 to 1.30. I guess Uncle couldn't make it. He's so old :( I tried to ask a bunch of kids at the bus-stop for some paper and a pen so that I could leave a note for him. With their giant school bags, they all replied, "don't have". Punks. </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222310770375288859.post-55726072074195695622012-09-10T01:05:00.000-07:002012-09-10T01:07:27.783-07:00What happened to Indian journalism?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglUg0agCtQjG6HA0NOkBwm-7LYtSRDChc12hYjP6pVndr0Njnf_v_TWv7DiRjb3gZsXoxcXfzJQZtS4Mq-2siSjOAdWH0CGjghCf05NoEme8PiUebGC1oBI98_jqIThiuBnto8BTqFwqTv/s1600/news.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglUg0agCtQjG6HA0NOkBwm-7LYtSRDChc12hYjP6pVndr0Njnf_v_TWv7DiRjb3gZsXoxcXfzJQZtS4Mq-2siSjOAdWH0CGjghCf05NoEme8PiUebGC1oBI98_jqIThiuBnto8BTqFwqTv/s320/news.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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This is a question that I have been asking myself SEVERAL times over. Each time I read any Indian magazine or newspaper in fact. But this glaring example of biased and shoddy journalism is just too hard for me to not rant about.</div>
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So the big news of today is how these poor Indian parents are being victimized by the US government by placing their child in Child Protective Services (CPS). Many news articles are clearly taking this stance. IBNLive goes one step ahead by even making the headline biased, "<span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.2em;">US denies Indian parents access to their child". </span>The back story: a child fell from the bed (according to the parents) and they took him to the hospital. Upon examination, the doctors believed that the child also has injuries that are consistent with excessive and intentional shaking of the child. So they reported the parents to CPS. </div>
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WHY IS THE CPS WRONG IN TAKING THE CHILD AWAY??</div>
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Indian culture as a whole has two traits that I don't agree with:</div>
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1) <i>Ghar ki baat ghar main rehne do </i>(family affairs should be dealt within the family):</div>
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While diminishing, this attitude is still largely prevalent. If the examination happened in India, it would be very normal for the doctors to sweep the matter under the rug because it is "a family matter". While I have no actual research or numbers to support this claim, I am strongly believe that this is a huge factor for many family-abuse related cases going unreported. </div>
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2) Excessive Melodrama</div>
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Ekta Kapoor's whole life success is based upon tapping this trait of ours. We don't need a valid reason to create unnecessary hype and melodrama. This whole episode has become a gut-wrenching tale of a poor hapless child being separated from his devastated parents. It's not. It's a story of two parents who may not have met the standards of parenting required by the country that they live in. If the child was being shaken, the government is not at fault for giving the child a safer environment. But no, we as a country love to dramatize everything. The Indian government is involved for god's sake. According to the opinion of my friends living in Australia, the whole Australian racial attacks started off as a few random muggings. Once the second Indian got mugged, we raised hell about a pattern and made it worldwide news. This prompted actual racial attacks cos apparently WE made it a thing! </div>
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Now, I know the pitfalls of the foster system and how the child may have better off with the Indian parents. This debate is not about that. It's about the attitude of the Indian media towards reporting an event in a clearly biased manner instead of merely reporting the facts. I also know that comparison to the Norway incident will be made. But that was a totally different incident. Some news channel (that I have never heard of before) called newsx reports, "In a shocking virtual replay of the Norway custody case..". Seriously guys? That kid was eating with his hands. This kid had internal damage to his body. And in both situations, we Indians are the victims because that's a role we freaking love to play. </div>
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P.S. To give credit where it is due, The Hindu's report was unbiased and kept up to the standards that it is known for. </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222310770375288859.post-57758820623081707422012-09-06T20:28:00.000-07:002012-12-13T03:23:29.899-08:00Tough love<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So my whole drama with Rob might finally have come to a conclusion. We are not talking anymore. It's tearing me apart to lose my best friend. For the first time, I ignored some 50 of his calls, his texts, and shut him out. It hurts me as much as it's hurting him but I can't tell him that. I can't tell him that it means everything in the world to me to see him happy. I want to tell him he has been my family, my friend, my confidante, my support-system and I wish now he wasn't this stranger that I don't know. But I can't tell him all this. Every time I tried to help him move on, he took it as a sign that there is still hope for him and took advantage of it.<br />
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Rob, this is what I want to tell you knowing that you wouldn't listen. I love you as my best friend. As the guy that I shared most of my past 2.5 years with. I hate you as my ex-boyfriend that won't let me move on. I will miss you from the bottom of my heart. I will miss the queso at Don Pablos, the long drives in the Z, I will miss the Pizza Hut buffet and the obsessive couponing. I will miss going to Payless at 3 am in the night. I'll miss dancing in Cactus with you and you carrying me piggyback cos my feet hurt. I'll miss the road trips and the movie nights. However, I won't miss the fights and the tears. I won't miss you getting drunk and punching holes in the wall and your ibuprofen projectiles on my face :) I won't miss the feeling of helplessness as I beg you to let me get over you. There are some good memories. Let's cherish them and move on positively. Be happy. I am doing this because I care for you and I care about myself too. I will always think of time good times and miss you as my best friend.<br />
<br />
<u>This too shall pass</u><br />
<br />
<br />
The doors seem shut,<br />
<br />
The sky seems grey,<br />
<br />
You feel like you can’t<br />
<br />
Get through today<br />
<br />
Hold on a little stronger<br />
<br />
It’s not that much longer<br />
<br />
Guess all I’m trying to say,<br />
<br />
It’s all gonna be okay<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Your friends are there<br />
<br />
You just need to look<br />
<br />
The answers you seek<br />
<br />
Are not in any book<br />
<br />
Don’t be ruled by fear<br />
<br />
In my thoughts you're near<br />
<br />
What I’m trying to tell you,<br />
<br />
You’re gonna stop being blue<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Just step out the door<br />
<br />
Look all around<br />
<br />
Your life is beautiful<br />
<br />
Joys waiting to be found<br />
<br />
Stand brave, stand tall<br />
<br />
may stumble won’t fall<br />
<br />
The message that I convey,<br />
<br />
There will be better days.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I know it’s hard<br />
<br />
I’ve been there too<br />
<br />
But I can’t be of help<br />
<br />
It has to be you<br />
<br />
You’re almost there now<br />
<br />
Find the will somehow<br />
<br />
Trust me, soon you’ll laugh<br />
<br />
Rob, this too shall pass.<br />
<br />
Epilogue: We started talking again two weeks later.. he promises to be a good friend. Dec, 2012 and it's mostly holding true.<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222310770375288859.post-58488014189543620452012-09-04T12:09:00.000-07:002013-06-19T13:37:29.952-07:00Indonesia trip<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<em>This is specially for Vlad. I am so sorry it took so long. </em></div>
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So I know I promised a whole bunch of you that I'll give you the details of my Indonesia trip. I wish I can pretend that I was too busy to write it but the truth is that I was just too lazy :( But here goes.</div>
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Broadly, this was my itinerary: </div>
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Singapore --> Jakarta --> Jogja --> Surabaya --> Singapore. (all tickets cost around 200 USD totally).</div>
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<em>Pro tip: It was much cheaper to fly to Jakarta and then fly to Jogja, instead of flying to Jogja directly. Also, a common approach is to take a 7 hour bus from Jogja to Surabaya but because we were trying to squeeze everything in a long weekend, we preferred to fly. </em></div>
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<strong>Day 1</strong>: So Cherlyn and I reach Jakarta around 9 pm and the plan was to explore the city by night. But we met a lot of shady characters at the airport and we had some interesting (ahem!) experiences at Jakarta airport so we just stayed at the airport and then left for Jogja the next morning. The airport is clean/comfortable and very modern.</div>
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<strong>Day 2</strong>: We reach Jogja around 8 am and we checked into this AWESOME hostel. (I don't remember the exact name but I can look it up whenever someone plans the trip). The hostel was like a 5-star hostel with a nice lounge, tv room, computers with internet and awesome breakfast. LOVED it! So you can rent a car specifying that you need to go to Borubudur, and Prambanan and the guy will take you for a fixed price. Again, I forget how much it exactly was but Teann and Cherlyn can perhaps help with those details. The ride from Jogja to Borubudur is around an hour and another hour and a half from Borubudur to Prambanan. Both temples are absolutely breathtaking. All of you are travellers so I know I don't need to tell you guys the feeling of standing in ancient temples so many centuries old. We stopped at a place for lunch between Borubudur and Prambanan. I would think that one day is enough to visit the temples but if you wanna spend some time around Jogja, you could make it two. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Walking to the temple. Notice jeans in boiling weather (looking at you Cherlyn :P) and they give you those sarongs. No they are NOT souvenirs as one might imagine. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Unbelievable view from temples. Each of those stupas holds a statue of Buddha.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE1SMtxS_nolQwe3WJp_Rl9vscoDAivr2zX3uFB6ZaSKfMbbmVn0GDmnaqnwfb-RLgZzznjoCS0JYKBsKEC1Q0JlUyHotOpwfC2l0PSdj9ZDbcdya3Gj8mTHcIbF_9-PkmlbQbxBI1eglA/s1600/IMG_6736.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE1SMtxS_nolQwe3WJp_Rl9vscoDAivr2zX3uFB6ZaSKfMbbmVn0GDmnaqnwfb-RLgZzznjoCS0JYKBsKEC1Q0JlUyHotOpwfC2l0PSdj9ZDbcdya3Gj8mTHcIbF_9-PkmlbQbxBI1eglA/s320/IMG_6736.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<em>Pro tip: While we were all wearing fully covered clothes thanks to Cherlyn doing her homework (which I am very thankful for :P ), I think anything normal is alright. You won't see local girls wearing shorts but there are so many tourists around in shorts that you won't draw too much attention. Also VERY VERY IMPORTANT: STUDENT IDS!!! The temples each cost around 20 USD without student ID and 10 bucks with it. So carry it!! Also, don't worry, this was the only big ticket expense. </em></div>
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<em>With food, the drivers get commission to take you to super overpriced places, so don't let them decide. Tell them you want to eat "cheap cheap" or that you want to eat on the roadside which is called a warang. A local must-do seems to be to eat at "lehesans" which are places where you sit on the floor and eat almost Japanese style.This is assuming you wanna go dirt cheap. I was aiming for an average of 10,000 rupiyah for my meals (which is around 1.5 SGD or 1 USD). </em></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Prambanan Temples</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lunch in the day. I had funny happenings with my stomach so I didn't eat anything :(</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is where we stopped for lunch. Adorable.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yummy dinner. Also I can't believe that those portion sizes were enough. </td></tr>
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<strong>Day 3:</strong></div>
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We spent half of the next day exploring Jogja which is so quaint and gorgeous. We walked amidst old buildings, one "palace" where the king's ceremonies happen (called the sultan's palace) and another "water palace" which was like a big tank of water but very nice architecture. This is called the Taman Sari. We mostly walked among these places and we also used the local "becaks" or rickshaws just for fun. At the king's palace, a tour guide is assigned to you and it wasn't voluntary. He then insisted that he'll show us how Batik is made. LAME. He took us to a house with tons of paintings and one lady in the corner doing some batik work. It was mainly to sell us the paintings which I guess we didn't wanna buy. Two things that I didn't do and apparently you should is to try this local delicacy called the "gudeg" and to explore the street art around Jogja.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sultan's Palaces</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Old and quaint Jogja</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sultan's Palace inside</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taman Sari</td></tr>
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We spent the evening just getting our asses to Surabaya. We reached around midnight and took a cab from the airport. We took a prepaid cab which I generally recommend even if it's more expensive. So the highlight of my trip to Surabaya was this adorable hostel we stayed at. The owner was this unbelievably nice lady. She offered me mosquito repellent, guide books, organized a driver for us, and cooked for us every time we were around! And what was so unbelievably nice was that this was during Ramadan so her son and she couldn't even eat the meals that she cooked. So the hostel we stayed was just a home converted into a hostel so nothing fancy but comfortable enough. Clean bathrooms, hot water. </div>
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<strong>Day 4: </strong>We spent most of today just exploring nearby, went out for food and then decided to nap in the evening cos we had to set out at midnight. The hostel aunty got us in touch with a driver who would drive us to Mount Bromo. The way it works is that you leave around midnight in a hired car (which was a nice, fancy, comfortable SUV). It's a 4 hour drive to this "meeting point" where you need to hire a jeep. Also you can rent winter jackets for around 1 USD. YOU NEED WINTER JACKETS. I live in bitter cold Indiana (it's snowing as we speak) and I had a jacket that is almost enough here. It wasn't enough. Not by a long shot. All of us who thought we were prepared ended up renting jackets. So definitely be very very prepared. After we took the jeep, we drove through some of the most winding roads and most amazingly weird landscapes to climb this really high mountain that gives a great view of Mount Bromo. The jeep ride was awesome. It's unbelieveably shaky and you can see out far and wide to pitch black plains. We were heading to see Mount Bromo at sunrise. BE EARLY!! I can't emphasize how important it was that we were early enough to catch a great spot. It'll be bloody freezing but go there as early as 5ish and snag a great spot. There is a nice coffee shop just next to the view point, so grab a quick coffee n then snag your spot. Once it's close to sunrise, everyone will be vying for a place on a very tight area so your whole Bromo experience might be ruined by your lack of a spot. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jeep to Mt. Bromo</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Breathtaking view.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Walking towards the crater of Bromo</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Love the bromo landscape. All ash.</td></tr>
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Once you see the gorgeous view, and take a million pictures, then the jeep guy will drive you to the base of Mount Bromo. From here you can either trek up the volcano to see the crater or you can even rent a horse. We all decided to trek and what a trek it was. There is sand blowing everywhere and you can see all these sandy mountains around you, it's amazing. It was very challenging but in a fun way. Coming down is equally fun cos you need to hold this rope and slowly move down. It will be very very sandy and dusty. I tied my scarf around my nose which was a huge help. All your clothes will have sand in them by the end of this trek. </div>
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After we came down from Bromo, the jeep took us back to our own car (parked at that meeting point) and we headed off to this waterfall called Medikeri. The waterfall is around 3-4 kms inside a forest. You will find a guide in the parking lot and yes you need the guide. There is also a small food stall in the parking lot where we grabbed a quick lunch. The trek in the forest is absolutely delightful. We had to cross shallow streams, walk on logs, climb through rocks, it was awesome!! The waterfall itself is fucking magnificient. You can rent an umbrella if you don't wanna get wet but I recommend that you are mentally ready to get very wet. It was one of the most beautiful waterfalls ever and the water was crystal clear. We jumped into the icy pool at the bottom of the waterfall and what an amazing feeling it was. For me, even though mostly unknown, the waterfall was as amazing as the bromo experience. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Best waterfall ever.</td></tr>
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We reached the hostel back around 5 pm and I decided to go explore the city a little bit. So public transport in Surabaya is for the very brave. You have this small mini van looking things that you need to hail. So I just asked a local where you go, he waited with me and stuff me in a van filled with indonesian men. Thankfully, I reached the mall safely and shopped for shoes :) My personal experience shopping for shoes in a very very fancy looking mall in Surabaya was that the quality was shit. The practically came apart in few months and the same thing happened to both pairs I bought. </div>
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<strong>Day 5</strong>: So one thing that someone told me and I completely ignored was that there is nothing to see in Surabaya. I can't agree more. Surabaya is a gateway to Bromo and there is absolutely nothing else to see in the city. I spent the day doing some "sight-seeing" but it was really pointless with absolutely nothing worth seeing or recommending. So yep, that was the ending of our awesome trip :)</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sampoerna House (famous Indonesia handrolled cigarettes are supposedly made but mostly marketed here)</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Only evidence that we were in "Chinatown"</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Robotic Hand-Rolling in progress</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Local street art</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVfe2hDweCmIEfKQJj6WE1neLtZCFwvx7Upep74fGOM8CrJTDcVIkrxs7rJoLEyzfnZufBN8xs6sqTARuA9th4qMVbMHtC_pseuZyLInzF72Ik58CjFxhz1GLRTgIJ4TVRPzKAnFROtl3T/s1600/IMG_7605.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVfe2hDweCmIEfKQJj6WE1neLtZCFwvx7Upep74fGOM8CrJTDcVIkrxs7rJoLEyzfnZufBN8xs6sqTARuA9th4qMVbMHtC_pseuZyLInzF72Ik58CjFxhz1GLRTgIJ4TVRPzKAnFROtl3T/s320/IMG_7605.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Local church</td></tr>
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TL;DR: </div>
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Day 1: Jakarta</div>
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Day 2,3 : Jogja, travel to Surabaya</div>
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Day 3,4,5: Surabaya, back to Singapore</div>
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(I would recommend spending one day lesser in Surabaya)</div>
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1) Tickets: 200 usd</div>
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2) hostel: around 25 USD totally (around 10 sgd per night)</div>
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3) food: between 5 USD per day approx.</div>
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4) Driver/car rental: 20 USD (guessing)</div>
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5) Temple tickets: 20 USD</div>
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6) VISA: 25 USD</div>
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7) Departure tax : 50,000 rupiyah or around 9 SGD</div>
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I know I spent exactly 150 SGD on the trip and around 200 USD on the flight tickets, and 25 USD on the visa. This is all the money I carried. </div>
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I kinda went on a ramble here, but hope it helps you guys plan your future trip. I'll re-read it and edit it tomorrow. </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222310770375288859.post-9324899122371700862012-08-28T03:06:00.000-07:002012-08-28T03:07:29.563-07:00Indonesia: Part 1<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I am at work and I have a deadline. Naturally, time to blog!!!<br />
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<u>The beginning</u><br />
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I just went to Indonesia a few weeks ago. What can I say. I am BLOWWNNNNNN. This has undoubtedly been the most amazing and overwhelming trip of my life and we're talking between Hawaii, and Scotland and London and Vegas and everything!! Now anyone who knows me, knows that I have the slight tendency to be overexcited about stuff. But this was for real guys.<br />
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I decided to do this trip when I saw a post from a stranger on <a href="https://www.couchsurfing.org/" target="_blank">Couch Surfing</a> asking if people wanted to join him on the trip. It turned out to be 4 of us (and a fifth part timer). One of the awesome cool things about the trip was the fact that all five of us were from different countries (Pocholo - Philippines, Teann - Canada, Cherlyn - Singapore, Tiago - Portugal , Me - India ). It gave us the cheapest thrills when everywhere we went, people would ask us where we were from and we would cheekily rattle off all the countries.<br />
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The trip started on the 8th of August with me heading straight from work. My pink suitcase caused much amusement in the office. Also, to my fellow "backpackers" once I reached Indonesia. I don't understand why do you need to carry all your luggage on your back to be a "backpacker". I mean, literal meaning aside, I personally think I was the most comfortable one on the trip breezily dragging my little wheeled buddy. The plan was to fly into Jakarta and to spend the night in Jakarta, going out into the city for dinner, check it out and then head to Jogjakarta the next morning. However, things did not go as planned.<br />
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<u>Jakarta (airport) experiences</u><br />
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So as I reach Jakarta, the first feeling that I get as I am descending down the makeshift stairs from the flight, "OMG, I am in India". Upon further reflection, I realized that the reason that I felt that way is because the only time that I have gotten out of a flight on to the tarmac has been in India. In all other countries, you have the aerobridge. Also, in the past, I have mostly done that coming from the US. So the way the extra windy air hits you, the noise, the sudden warmth after the air-conditioned flight, all had a very India connection in my mind. Anyway, moving on.<br />
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I get my visa and it so happened that I was the last one left in the immigration line. So by the time I approach the window, everyone else is gone. I give the immigration officer (who was Indian) my passport and am waiting when his buddy just comes and stands there. Then they keep talking in what I can only assume is Bahasa Indonesia and they are laughing and smirking. Suddenly his buddy asks, "Are you here alone?". I told him that my friend is waiting at the airport for me. He then asks me, "Do you have a boyfriend?". Now Cherlyn kept telling me how Indonesia is a Muslim country and very conservative. So I don't want to be locked up for adultery or whatever so I just say no. Big mistake. THE GUY ASKS FOR MY NUMBER!! At this point, since the 4 other officers are jobless, they are all listening in, and a few of them come over and not to help. I am like.. uhhhh... "I am here only for tonight. I leave tomorrow morning." And the buddy goes, "This is Ravi. He is also Indian. He is really nice and you guys can hang out tonight." (So much for conservative!). Now I know how you all think I should have stormed off or something but I am alone in another country and this Ravi still has my passport in his hand. Between hooting and whistling and me turning pink (inwardly atleast), I manage, "Umm.. I thought you meant if I have a boyfriend in Indonesia. My boyfriend actually lives in India and we are getting married in December. Please can I have my passport?". The guy insisted at least twice more and I kept chanting "No, but thank you" and finally I all but snatched my passport and ran away.<br />
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I found Cherlyn waiting for me and I was sooooooo relieved. I wasn't traumatized or anything because I am sure all Indian girls have dealt with enough "eve-teasing" and sexually-frustrated men to be unfazed by this behavior. But it really made me think about how violated and unsafe foreigners must feel when they are in a completely strange land like India and then they are tormented by cab drivers and such. Someone I know had her ass grabbed by a cabbie in Delhi and this is just one such incident. Anyway, after that, Cherlyn and I decided not to venture in the city alone and stay put on the airport all night.<br />
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I was starving so we decided to hunt for food. We had the same experiences with the waiters and everyone in the restaurant really staring at us. The funny thing is that halfway through my meal, Cherlyn pointed out that what I thought was a KFC, was actually CFC with the same font and everything! The funniest thing happened to Cherlyn. She left her charger in the socket and went to the bathroom or something. She came back and didn't find it and made the biggest deal about how the cleaning staff stole her charger. They went to find the security in-charge. Meanwhile, she notices that the charger is plugged into another outlet. Totally embarrassed, she just unplugs it and puts it in her bag. The security guy arrives, and she's all like, "Never mind, it's just a charger". The security guy insists on watching the CCTV footage. LOLLL.. She totally shit her pants. Then she very "graciously" insisted that it was not worth the effort and that she was very tired and ran back to our couches :) All night she was imagining that those guys will watch the footage and come back and get her.<br />
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Well that was I could experience in Jakarta :) I'll continue in another post. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222310770375288859.post-32591183302212837172012-08-20T20:59:00.000-07:002013-06-19T13:42:45.713-07:00Best Friend<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<u>Best Friend</u></div>
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You say you’re my best friend</div>
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Yet you harshly bring me down</div>
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You hold me close when you want</div>
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And then push me to the ground.</div>
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If best friends we are,</div>
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Why do I need your bidding do</div>
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Why can’t I be happy if you’re not</div>
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Why can’t you rejoice for me too?</div>
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I would go to the ends for you</div>
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I would fight the world, I would</div>
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But I don’t have the world to fight</div>
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Only you’re destroying me for good.</div>
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I have loved you, still do, it’s pure</div>
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But I don’t know how long I can</div>
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Can you hate someone you love?</div>
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I loathe you more than any man.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I have your shoulder to cry</div>
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Yet I get no smiles for my joy</div>
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Can you ever truly let me go?</div>
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See me happy with another boy?</div>
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<br /></div>
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You chose this, it was you,</div>
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I was yours to take, you know?</div>
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You broke me, made the choice</div>
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Now you’ll reap what shit you sowed</div>
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<br /></div>
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You use your best friend knowledge</div>
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Do what you can to make me fall.</div>
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From where I stand, best friend not,</div>
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You’re not even a friend at all.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222310770375288859.post-17313394457954675692012-08-14T08:57:00.001-07:002012-08-28T04:06:12.093-07:00I love my India :)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />With the corrupt politicians and the brave soldiers,<br />With the poor stray dogs and the gorgeous bengal tigers,<br />With the potholed streets and the world class highways,<br />With the diarrhea and the worth it golgappas,<br />With the garbage dumps and the spotless malls,<br />With the nosy aunties and lovable neighbours,<br />With the polluted rivers and the gorgeous backwaters,<br />With the eveteasers and endless rakhi-brothers,<br />With the scheming autowallahs and the enterprising dabbahwallahs,<br />With the incessant honking and soothing temple chants in the morning,<br />With the lack of free public schools and the innocent pride in 6 Olympic medals,<br />With the queues that never queue and the strangers that will stop for you,<br />I love you. </span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222310770375288859.post-58763886833206241212012-08-14T02:06:00.002-07:002012-09-06T23:01:09.636-07:00Humans are weird<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: lucida grande, tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 17px;">I don't understand the point of killing someone in hatred. The other person is dead. He doesn't even know that he's dead. If it was about "winning", the other dude doesn't even know that you won. Doesn't someone,after they kill someone in crazy deep hatred, go, "Okay, now what?". </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: lucida grande, tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 17px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: lucida grande, tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 17px;">If it was about never seeing that person again, you can just not meet the person again. Delete their number. Block them on Facebook. Or even better, keep them on Facebook and keep making them jealous with awesome life updates. Instead, you choose to endanger your whole life, do a shit load of digging and for all you know the guy you just took out is sipping wine with virgins in heaven. Animals, on the other hand, at least get a meal out of their murder. Just sayin.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: lucida grande, tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 17px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: lucida grande, tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 17px;">(Stolen from my Facebook rant)</span></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222310770375288859.post-26753134174517861922012-07-16T21:53:00.000-07:002012-07-16T21:54:39.236-07:00Singapore Food Reports<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
Ok so it's been almost 3 weeks in Singapore and as I'm trying out the new places, foods etc. I'll keep updating my experiences about this.<br />
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<b>Koppitiam</b><br />
My first experience with Singapore food was this common food court chain called Koppitiam. That word apparently means "food court" in Malay. That experience SUCKED. It was my first meal here and I picked terribly. I asked for anything in chicken and they gave me this version of barbecued chicken. Don't get barbecued chicken in Koppitiam.<br />
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<b>Mee Goreng</b><br />
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One very very safe option to eat out anywhere is Mee Goreng. Goreng means "fried" and that's just stir fry. I didn;t like it much though. It was DOUSED in oil and spices and I don't like dishes with shredded chicken I guess.<br />
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<b>Pataya</b><br />
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This was yum. I had the chicken version which is basically chicken and rice stuffed in an omelette. yummy. Need to get more of this.<br />
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<b>Roti John</b><br />
I had the chicken version was was bits of chicken mixed with egg and onions and bread dipped in that batter and shallow-fried. Very safe option which was nice for a light meal.<br />
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<b>Tea-egg</b><br />
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This was just egg boiled in tea and it tasted pretty neutral. Just a boiled egg with an interesting flavour.<br />
<br />
(can't remember name)<br />
This was a dessert made out of shredded coconut and rice flour steamed together. It was pretty interesting. I liked it but not LOVED it. Would eat again.<br />
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<b>Satay</b><br />
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So you walk down Orchard (the main shopping district) and everyone around me was eating satays which is grilled meat on skewers. Okay, one weird thing.. you can't slide the meat out. It was stuck to the stick! It came with this sweetish peanut sauce and the satay itself was a sweet n sour taste that I didn't love. I generally don't enjoy food that is slightly sweetish so I may be biased. This is very popular here so I guess it's a good choice.<br />
<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0