Donation Spending

I just want to say a huge thank you again to everyone who donated to this cause! Our organization, Refugia’l, managed to raise a total of 6,600€ for the residents, with 1,300€ of that coming directly from my friends, family, and generous acquaintances back home. An extra big thank you to the people at ECOH Inc., who together accounted for a significant portion of the funds raised. You’re all beautiful humans.  Continue reading “Donation Spending”

Cold Waterfalls and Highway Driving

We survive the night without any demonic activity from the creepy candle lit church. The candle is out by morning.

We get an extremely early start for our hike. We don’t have time to summit so we’re just doing a 2 hour climb instead, before getting on our way back to Athens.  Continue reading “Cold Waterfalls and Highway Driving”

Men’s Residence

I love Greek food, but I do not like these little cactus fruits someone in our house has picked up from the grocery store. I’m not actually sure they’re Greek, but I’ve never seen them before. Continue reading “Men’s Residence”


Things are starting to come together at the school residence. We’ve arranged for a meeting with all the volunteers this week so we can create a schedule of activities each day. I’ll be teaching English classes every day at 5, and helping out with whatever else needs doing before and after. 

For now I’ll just be teaching kids, but I hope to offer some classes to adults soon. 
We’re slowly making a dent in Donation Mountain, too. Between the projects here and some smaller occasional tasks at other camps, we’re going to be busy. We now have some work at a small camp specifically for pregnant women, we’ll be going twice a week to the summer camp outside the city, and some of our Spaniards will be doing an activity making human towers (known as castellers, or muixeranga because they’re from Valencia). 

I have my first English “class” today, which is really just a test to get a feel for the kids levels, and to get them comfortable with me. This is no challenge. The kids are all SO extremely friendly and energetic everywhere we go. 

I lay out some colouring pages, markers, and worksheets with simple math questions in English. I bring colourful clay and hope no one tries to eat it. About 15 kids show up, and within moments are tearing the room apart. The 10 year olds are swinging the 2 year olds around. The 2 year olds are crying because they’ve pushed the markers so hard into the paper that they break. I try to keep some order but you wouldn’t believe how hard it is. I had a couple students in Spain that I thought were difficult but this is next level. The clay is a big hit but of course everyone has trouble sharing. Kids are flowing in and out of the room, their attention spans don’t last long and there are no rules about where they have to be. They always ask to bring entire colouring books or boxes of markers to their rooms. I hate saying no but obviously we don’t have enough supplies for that so I have to. Then I have to watch to make sure they don’t try to sneak it out anyway. 

One of the mothers comes into the classroom and I smile at her, but she starts just screaming at me in Arabic, pointing at the clay. She’s holding the hand of her 2 year old son and I’m worried she’s mad that I’ve given a young kid something he might try to eat? I’m asking the other kids to translate for me, and piece together that no no, she’s angry because I didn’t give him any clay. I can assure you I did, but maybe one of the other kids stole it from him. He’s 2 so like…who knows. 

She storms out, and one of the other volunteers tells me there’s an issue in the camp, where the Iraqi community feel they are treated more poorly than the Palestinian residents. I have no idea if that’s true in other aspects of the organization or not, but I assume they must have some reason to believe that. Though I am not denying 2 year old children play-doh because they’re Iraqi. Did I even know he was Iraqi? No. I feel better that this isn’t the first time she’s yelled at someone though. 

After an exhausting 2 hours trying to keep the children entertained, speaking English, and from eating any play-doh, I help with some donation sorting and head home. 

Later in the evening I meet a friend to sit just outside the Parthenon; under the stars, overlooking the city with a couple drinks in hand. Athens is a strange place, dirty, abandoned, crumbling, yet somehow bustling, illuminated, and beautiful from here. 

2 months later…

Oh hey! I know it’s been two months. My day to day life doesn’t seem worth blogging about. Though I should do it anyway, for myself if no one else. You don’t have to read it if you don’t like it! …But you know you do.
Anyway, here, I’ll try to catch you up.

My seemingly friendly and helpful roommate Gary has become insane, so I’ve moved out. He’s doing everything in his power to keep my 400€ deposit, which I really can’t afford to lose. He’s also kicking Max out, even though they’re supposed to be besties. According to Max, Gary hasn’t been paying the rent to the owner, and just pocketing the money we’ve paid him. Poor little Max is on the lease too, but thank the heavens I’m not. I have escaped mostly unscathed. Though, Gary is now claiming I was the messy roommate, never cleaned the apartment, and now needs to “pay” someone to clean it, so instead I’m going over to clean it myself. Pathetic, I know, especially considering I was certainly NOT the messy one, but I’m determined not to lose that 400€.

On the bright side, I’ve found an absolutely beautiful apartment right in the heart of Barcelona. I’m on a classic vintage European fourth floor walk up, that has a view of a historic church from my living room, and am a mere 2 minute walk from Las Ramblas.

My brother, checking out my sick view
I also live much closer to Lindzee, John and Adam, who are still basically my only friends, so I guess not THAT much has changed. The new roommates in my flat are great though so that’s positive. I’m still settling in because I moved just before the holidays when my family came to visit and we did a little road trip to Madrid and Valencia.

Oh yah! My fam came to visit. I lived a temporary luxury lifestyle, staying in hotels and dining at real restaurants. I finally went to see Montserrat, and the inside of the Sagrada Familia. I saw some famous art work at the Prado in Madrid, and visited an epic “Oceanographic Museum” (glorified aquarium) in Valencia.

Here are some pics.

Sagrada Familia – Under construction since the 1800s

View from Montserrat

Walking up to the basilica

My brother and I, entertaining ourselves at the Prado
I didn’t say anything about being overly mature or culture-absorbing at the Prado.

Valencia has some insane architecture

We had paella at an underwater restaurant

Photo next to a garbage can because we are trash
Oh, and I’ve also started some Spanish lessons and am doing a 4 day mini-intensive course to really get a jump start. I’ve been here almost 4 months now and I still have a very limited vocabulary. Time to up my I’m-a-local game.
Alright, I think that about sums it up. Which brings us to the present day, as I try to get comfortable in my new flat.

All I’ve got in my kitchen is a bag of pasta, tomato sauce, rice, a block of cheese, and kraft dinner. Yes, kraft dinner. I had asked my parents to bring me a few boxes so I could show my students. They’d never heard of or seen it before, which surprised me. But guess what? I’m going to keep a box and make it for myself today.

Both of my roommates end up in the kitchen around the same time as me and we all cook our individual lunches. I am full of absolute horror and shame as my Egyptian roommate makes a wonderful and healthy looking octopus salad, and my Spanish roommate heats up her mothers home made soup… my neon noodles look offensive next to their real food.

I get ready and head over to my Spanish lessons, giving myself a little extra time because walking up Las Ramblas is a nightmare. Tourists. Everywhere. All of Barcelona is like this, but Las Ramblas is undoubtedly the most concentrated area. The only downside to such an otherwise fabulous location.
I think it goes without saying that Lindzee, John, and Adam are all taking these lessons with me. Our teacher for the mini-intensive is different from our normal once a week classes, and she seems a little nervous. She seems like she’s winging it a little, but I remind myself thats exactly what I do in my classes almost daily.

I’m not one for New Years resolutions, but I resolve to do a little more to organize and plan my lessons for each of my students.

Arabian Sea

In the morning Ilona is feeling a little better and feels up to eating which is a miracle because she hasn’t eaten much in the last few days, so I go on a mission into the streets of Goa to find her some breakfast. She requested a muffin and I know that is going to be next to impossible but I try. I stumble upon a cafe about half a kilometre down from our hostel after being called over by every single shop keeper on the street. I am basically the only person walking around because not many people are up early in Goa, I guess it’s due to the beachy vacation vibe.
As I approach the cafe I see a muffin in the display case and am so happy to have found something Ilona can eat. I bring it back to the hostel along with two fruit smoothies (one for me of course). The muffin is awful, but she eats it anyway. She has taken a hot shower while I’ve been away (hot shower is an extremely rare treat for us backpackers) and feels much more refreshed and healthy. We go hang out by the pool for a bit, then she decides that she has the energy to go to the beach ! On the way we stop for water and I grab a Bacardi Breezer for the sand. Two liters of water and a cooler cost 80 rupees ($1.50), basically free. The best thing ever.

We make it down there and find a quiet spot on the beach where we won’t be bothered by too many people. I don’t know who I thought I was kidding when I thought we would be left alone on our beach visit. I think being on a more quiet patch almost drew more attention to us because our white skin was much more obviously seen with no people to shade us. Who knows, but we had numerous people approach us and ask if they could take a picture of us, with us, of them, or wanted to know our names etc. I will never understand the concept of wanting to take a picture with me when people don’t even know me. And even more confusing are the people who want me to take a picture of them. On MY camera. Why? I have to say though, I do prefer when they ask if they can have a photo, as opposed to them just getting close to my face and sticking a camera in it without my permission.

I decide to go for a quick swim in the Arabian Sea. I would explain why, but does it really need an explanation? It’s the Arabian Sea.
I go in alone while Ilona sits with our things on the beach and continues to be approached by Indian men wanting to talk to her. Thinking I have escaped them, I start walking into the waves. The waves are strong and the sand beneath my feet is sinking, so when I turn around to see if find Ilona on the beach I realize I’ve been guided very left by the sea. I start slowly walking back towards my original entry point, just enjoying the water and the view. As I am walking, still quite far out from the shore, two young Indian boys of about 15 are getting too close to me, walking towards me and staring at me. I politely ask them to keep their distance from me, and they put up their hands like I’m being ridiculous. I continue walking, at the same time trying to get away from them and back to the shore. Ten seconds later when a big wave comes rolling in, I turn around to see one of them right beside me, who reaches out to grab my bathing suit top. Needless to say, I lose my mind. I start screaming at the kids telling them to get away from me, I think I call them gross, I swear at them. I am probably a little harsh, but not really because that’s totally nasty, in every culture. Land or sea, there is no escape.
It does become pretty emotionally taxing to always be on your a-game about everything. There are ALWAYS people who are always trying to rip you off, steal your things, who want to “help” you find something, grope you. It’s exhausting, and I finally snapped. Ilona got a picture of me telling them off, which after I calm down, is maybe a little funny.
The upside to the constant trickery here, is that I’ve gotten pretty good at bargaining and knowing how much I am willing to pay for something. I don’t feel bad about telling someone they are asking too much, where as before I felt like I might insult them.

After that little incident we leave, because I am ready to punch the next person who approaches me. We stick to the backyard pool where there are no leering young boys to bother us.
Goa is beginning to get on my nerves, as it’s humid weather and sandy beaches don’t quite allow for me to cover up the way one should when traveling through India. It’s hard to complain when the scenery is so beautiful, but I am in too adventurous a mood to lay on a beach all day. There is also less culture here than in Delhi or Jaipur, so I look forward to getting back to that bustling city on Sunday to do some more exploring.

I forgot to mention what I did for dinner in my last post, and for the first time in a long time it was actually note worthy!

On my way home from the beach I found a hotel that I had read about in Lonely Planet called Johnny’s Hotel. Lonely Planet described it as a very cheap but clean place to stay with a restaurant attached so I figured I’d try it out. I was the only person in the restaurant, which made me skeptical, but I was hungry and didn’t care. I ordered butter chicken and cheese garlic naan (interested in how that works). The butter chicken was delightful. I think I was probably more impressed with it than I should have been, but after a drought of good Indian food which I have been trying hard to find, it was like a breath of fresh air. The cheese garlic naan however, had no cheese. I do not comprehend why so many menus here cannot offer what is listed on their menu, but I’m not mad about it because it still came with garlic and let’s be real, that’s the only important part.

Baga Beach

We wake up and leave that godforsaken place with the scary noises as soon as we can. We walk down the road to the new, more quaint and affordable hotel. We make plans to go for breakfast and then to hit up the beach but during our meal it seems that Ilona’s health has taken another turn for the worse and she won’t be able to make it to the beach. I go out into Baga on my own, where there is no sight seeing to do like there was in Jaipur, only a beach. Along with the beach come the classic beach shops including tattoo parlours, and rickety huts selling very cheap swimwear, floaties, and bongs with pictures of Bob Marley on them (yes even in India).

I walk through the beachy-market area to the main beach along the coast of the Arabian Sea where there are just a TON of people. I don’t go in the water because frankly the crowds are too big and I don’t want to leave my things on the beach unattended. I walk along the beach and around the bars and restaurants in the area and at least get a feel for where our hotel is in relation to the water. It’s very close, only about a 2 minute walk, which is nice. I come back to see how Ilona is doing (and for lack of anything else to do but laze around on the shore) but she still isn’t feeling well, so instead of walking all the way back to the beach I decide to hop in the cute little pool outside our room and then read up on things to do during the next portion of our trip when we go to Thailand. All the while i am laying in the sun, surrounded by beautiful trees and flowers, coconuts and dragonflies. It’s not a bad day considering the circumstances. Ilona hopes to feel well enough by the evening so that we can walk over to the beach and watch the sunset.

Unfortunately she’s too sick and needs more rest so I decide to go alone. It’s a very busy beach filled with lots of screaming children, wild dogs, and even cows but with the pink and orange sunset sky ahead of me, I don’t care about anything else on this beach.
I walk up and down along the shore with my feet in the water thinking about nothing but how happy I am to be there in that moment. Until some man comes right up to me and takes a picture of my face. That sort of ruins it.

When I am done walking along the shore I find a place to sit where I can admire the sunset head on. While I am sitting there two Indian guys sit directly behind me. At first I don’t notice or care until they start talking to me, and I think I am in for another close up picture of my face when I turn around to answer them, but it turns out that they are just genuinely friendly people. They ask me why I am alone (in a non-creepy way, though I assumed it was creepy at first) and I explain about Ilona being sick but that I really wanted to come see the sunset anyway. We chat for a while and I find out that one of the guys is a Bollywood soap star in Mumbai. How cool! I ask him to write down the name of his show so I can watch it on YouTube. I didn’t have time to go to Mumbai this time, so this can count towards me seeing a Bollywood show.

They invite me to a party in Panaji (the capital of Goa, about 1 hour away) and say I can bring my friend with me if she is feeling better. I know that even if she were to feel better she won’t be well enough to be up to going out to a party, and my mama taught me better than to go to something like that alone, so I stay home and write instead.
I’m so fun.

I am skeptical about this guy’s status as “Bollywood actor”, but as soon as I creep his Facebook page, I find out it’s legit and regret not going to the party. Still the wise choice though, I know.


Goa is a south-western area of India. It’s known for it’s tropical temperature and white sandy beaches, where lots of tourists go to party, lay in the sand, and ride motorbikes around the winding streets.

We wake up at 7:30 in order to pack our bags and get to the airport in time for our flight to Goa, which leaves at 11:30. Karam, our driver, has told us that the Jaipur airport is 2 hours away from our hotel so we decide it’s best to leave by 8:30 at the latest. We order two very exciting free breakfasts to our room, just because they’re free. The only reason I say they are exciting is because the butter for the toast comes very yellow, lumpy and half melted in it’s metal container. Delish.

We get in the car prepared for a 2 hour drive, but 20 minutes later we pass a sign that reads TO AIRPORT… and soon after that, another sign listing the gate numbers. We check with Karam who mentions he has never been to the Jaipur airport before, and doesn’t speak fluent English so I assume somewhere there was a misunderstanding about how far the airport was. We are 2 hours early for our domestic flight in a very small Indian airport so there isn’t much to do. We visit some shops and get a drink and just sit and wait. Finally it comes time to board the plane and we take a little shuttle bus 30 seconds from the airport to the plane. I have never been on a plane that you get to actually walk up too outside, only ever at big airports where the ramp thing is already connected to the building when you board. I like the quaint style of this airport much more. It’s a very small plane that we are taking, and it’s less than half full. Ilona and I sit down and get comfortable but are later asked to move seats so that there would be someone sitting by the emergency exit, just in case. We happily oblige and discover that there is much more leg room at the emergency exit too. Upgrade! (and not the kind that comes with strings attached like smelly bathrooms and icy air).
It’s listed as a 3 hour flight, but 45 minutes later they announce that we are landing and I am instantly concerned that I somehow managed to get on the wrong plane. No such luck, (that would have made for a VERY interesting blog post) there is just a stop over in another Indian city. Ilona and I are frustrated because we had booked this flight through a travel agency in Delhi, (first mistake) and not demanded to see all the details of our itinerary until the day we were leaving to go (second mistake). When we got the ticket there was next to no information, Ilona’s name was misspelled, and only my name was on the return ticket. It’s all very questionable and we try to call our travel agent but the phone number he provided does not exist. Slightly sketchy…
I am so ready to be done with this tour thing that we booked.
Anyway, we’re frustrated that we don’t know anything about the flight we’re on but the stop over isn’t long at all so we sit patiently inside the plane and wait. The second half of the trip from this stop-over Indian city (I totally forget the name and was never given an itinerary to reference) to Goa, is much more popular than the first half. The plane is probably 80% full. It’s about half way through boarding when a woman approaches us and tells us that we are in her seat. Of course, when they asked us to move they did not take into account the other portion of the trip, and neither did we…because we didn’t know it existed. We go back to our original seats and there is a very young boy casually sitting at the window. We tell him that these were our seats and he just responds with “nope it’s mine”. I am too exhausted and frustrated to care, and he’s like 10, so we let him stay and just sit in the seats next to him, forfeiting our window. What I discover 10 seconds after sitting down, is that the rest of his family is across the aisle from me. They start speaking over top of us and the kid is coughing his face off (without covering his mouth as children so often do) beside poor Ilona who is trying to recover from her previous illness. As the plane starts for take off, babies are wailing, people are coughing and hacking, and I am told I am not allowed to use Airplane mode…. On the airplane. It is such a ridiculously frustrating flight but we laugh it off. I mean literally, we laughed uncontrollably for most of the flight. Finally we do arrive in Goa and it’s gorgeous, not what I expected any part of India to ever look like. There’s palm trees and beaches and it’s a much more humid type of heat than what I have grown used to in Delhi.

We take a taxi to Baga Beach which is what The Lonely Planet describes as the young person’s beach area for tourists like ourselves. We have not chosen or booked a hostel/hotel yet so we get our taxi driver to take us to a near by place to stay. The first one he takes us to is 7000 rupees ($140) a night and has a children’s playground at the front entrance. Not what we’re looking for. We tell him we’d like something much cheaper and he takes us to another spot with private beach huts, a mere 4000 rupees ($80). We tell him we can’t pay more than 1000 or 1500 at the most and he calls his friend who owns a hotel near by. We go see these accommodations and they’re very decent, but still 2000 rupees a night. It’s getting dark and we are running low on time so we agree to stay at this place (after bargaining him down to 1500 rupees) for just one night and then leave the next morning. Once we bring our bags to the room, we decide to run out quickly and grab Ilona a bug net which she is desperately in need of, especially now in the more humid climate. On our way we stumble upon this really cute little hotel called The Indian Kitchen. Their rooms are much cheaper (880 rupees) and have a very unique, colourful charm so we decide that we will definitely be leaving our current location as soon as the sun rises.
We find Ilona a bug net and go back to our room.

As we are sitting watching Twilight on my iPad, this absolutely terrifying, very loud sound of gun shots on metal starts abruptly. I am literally petrified with fear and don’t want to move. Ilona and I are both sitting there motionless looking at each other in horror when it happens again. And again. And again. We manage to find the courage to move to our beds and lock the door behind us. We notice that it’s the same pattern of sound each time, and it isn’t exactly the sound of a gunshot, no one is screaming, so we rule out the fact that someone is running around shooting people.
The noise stop after about 15 minutes of consistent on and off intervals of the mystery sound, so we manage to fall asleep.
I have one of the worst sleeps of my life because I wake up to every little bump in the night, paranoid and no peace of mind due to the fact that we never actually figured out what the noise was. It is the only night on my travels so far where I have felt unsafe, and it is awful to feel that way when you are in a foreign country and don’t even know which way the beach is yet let alone where to find help. But hey! We survived.

Alone in the Pink City

Today Ilona and I have arranged to go to Pushkar (1.5 hours from Jaipur) to ride camels in the dessert. Very unfortunately, Ilona has become very sick and cannot get out of bed let alone ride a camel, so we stay in Jaipur for the day. We call a doctor to our hotel to give her some medicine, because I am concerned it is more than a common cold, and clearly have no idea what to do in medical situations at the best of times, and definitely not in the middle of India. He comes and brings her some medication that should help but he suggests that she rest all day as well. I feel awful that she is ill, BUT I only have 7 more days in India and cannot afford to spend a full day in the hotel so I go out into Jaipur on my own.

I visit the Amber Fort, The Palace of Winds, and the Jantar Mantar Observatory.
I am lucky because my driver, Karam, is awesome and suggests that he call a tour guide to show me all of the sights. At first I feel ambivalent about it, because I don’t want to be such a tourist, like those people that wear floral print shirts, ridiculously large sunglasses and sun-hats with cameras hung from their necks, snapping photos of all the sites while following a tour guide.
I would die before I would do that, but I did ultimately decide that having a tour guide would be beneficial because, well, I have no idea what I’m doing.

The tour guide proves to be very helpful. Primarily because beggars and vendors are much less bothersome today. I look like less of an easy target with a local Indian man next I me. Thank god, because the amount of time I spend in a day attempting to figure out just how hard someone is trying to rip me off, is extreme.
I do a quick view of the Palace of Winds from the outside. It is located right on the main stretch of The Pink City, and is a tall structure (in comparison to the 1-3 story buildings lining the rest of streets) with many very small windows carved out along in rows.

He also teaches me tons about the history of Jaipur, Indian gods and goddesses, architecture and so many other things. He tells me a lot about the Amber Fort, but to be honest I don’t retain any of the information because I am so blown away by how beautiful the view is. Amber Fort is located on top of a mountain and was built close to 300 years ago. When I climb to the top floor and look out over the water and into the city, it’s impossible to think of anything else. The view is incredible and I take pictures, but I know they will never depict just how beautiful it really is to see with your own eyes.

My mama suggested that I go see the Jantar Mantar Observatory, which is probably the most interesting to me of the three sites that I visit, probably because it was way over my head. Basically, a Maharaja (King) from 300 years ago made these huge stone sculptures which are actually sundials, and can tell time accurately based solely on shadows. He also built structures that can tell you the time based on moonlight, the Astrological Zodiac for that day, and which exact latitude the city is on. It is absolutely unbelievable, and I can’t wrap my head around ever coming up with something that elaborate and so exact before electricity was even available. Again, it is helpful to have the tour guide take me through this, because I have a million questions, and everything is in Hindi.

The tour guide clearly knows what he is doing, and saves the best for last by bringing me to a textile shop before going back to the hotel. I am in heaven as I am toured around by one of the employees of the shop, who teaches me how to print fabrics with vegetable dyes and stamps, while I watch women weaving carpets in the distance. In true Indian style, I am lead into the shop after my tour where I am shown beautiful silks, embroidered cottons, and lovely traditional Rajasthani clothing. They pull out dozens of silk bed sheets for me to touch and unfold onto large tables. They are all stunning, but I find one that is teal blue with silver printed along the edges, I can’t resist. I also find an absolutely gorgeous ultraviolet blue silk with gold prints. I find out that they can tailor make any of the fabrics into clothing and I decide to go for it, I am in India. They take my measurements and sew me a Sari from new, which will take a few hours so they arrange to have it delivered to my hotel. It arrives at 9:30pm to my door and I am elated. I cannot wait to find an occasion appropriate to wear such a beautiful dress.

I return back to the hotel in time to receive Ilona’s medical results from the doctor and it looks like she will be all better in a couple of days with some medication, which is good because we leave for the sandy beaches of Southern India tomorrow morning!

Mother suggested I add something about what foods I am eating and the people I am meeting to my blog. They were not included in this entry for the following reasons:
1. I made no friends while I was following my tour guide around all day snapping photos of Indian tourist attractions.
2. My breakfast was another free breakfast that came with the hotel, and consisted of toast, and “omelette” (a plain fried egg) and masala tea. I ate no lunch because I was busy following my tour guide around all day snapping photos of Indian tourist attractions. And 3. I had dinner inside our room with Ilona because she was still too sick to get out of bed. She had a chicken broth soup which I specifically asked (so kindly) to come without any pieces of chicken in it, and instead it was 90% pieces of chicken. Basically just chicken in a brothy sauce. I ordered chicken korma for myself, and the reason I did not write about this meal, is because I have yet to order a korma in India that isn’t a mysterious green colour. When I find one, I will let you know because it will be the happiest day of my life.
That is all.

On Route to Agra

Today we leave to start traveling south through India. We wake up early and pack our bags, stuffing them full of newly purchased comfy pants from the day before. I’m already running out of space in my bag. Not a good sign. We eat breakfast on the rooftop patio and try for round two to order a tomato and cheese omelette, and also order a chocolate crêpe. It takes 45 minutes and we are the only people on the roof so I will never understand how that is possible, but at least our omelette comes with tomatoes this time! The crêpe not so much, we get a banana crêpe instead. So close.

We have arranged to meet a family friend of mine, Dolly, at one of her restaurants for lunch. It isn’t too far from our hotel so we decide to take a Rickshaw for the first time ever. I have never been more excited in my life. Rickshaws look SO FUN.

We’ve heard that its best to ask them for a flat rate instead of going by the meter, so we ask the first Rickshaw man we see how much it will cost to go to the Khan Market, and if he knows where Dollys restaurant, The Kitchen, is. He tells us yes, and that it will cost 250 rupees which is less than 5 dollars so we hop in, enthusiastic about our first Rickshaw adventure. It becomes blatantly obvious very quickly that our Rickshaw man is absolutely cray. He keeps saying ” Khan Market, big shopping centre. 10, 15, 20 minutes, no problem! Ok?” and each time we respond with an “Ok”, ” yes”, or “thank you”. This happens about 100 times. This only makes me love my Rickshaw experience even more, I swear I’m smiling so widely my face starts to hurt. He starts adding something about a “lunch box” into his little schpiel. “Big shopping centre. Lunch box. 10, 15, 20 minutes, no problem! Ok?” I disregard it the first few times but then I heard him say “big shopping centre. THEN khan market” somewhere in there, and instantly Ilona and I look at each other in confusion. I ask him if the big shopping centre is in the Khan market…… nope. He has decided that we need to stop at a shopping centre which is “on the way” to the Khan Market, and buy him a lunch box. We tell him no, and that we need to go straight to Khan market for OUR lunch or we will be late. He legitimately sits there for 5 minutes trying to convince us to stop at this mall and buy him lunch. We finally make him agree to take us straight to the Khan market but he tells us that now it will cost another 100 rupees because the price he originally gave us included his lunch. Whatever buddy. I’m just so excited to be there that I don’t care so we agree. We continue to the Khan Market, annoyed with the Rickshaw man. When we finally arrive it turns out he has no idea where The Kitchen is, and suggests that he just let us out in the middle of the market and we walk to find it. I tell him thats cool, but then there is no way we’re paying him 350 rupees. Instead of just lowering the price and letting us out he starts asking people on the street where the The Kitchen is, and finally figures it out and drives us there. We pay him his stupid 350 rupees and asks us for another 50 rupees for his “special service” which consisted of him taking the long way around and into the market to the restaurant. We just do it and we get out. I am over my first Rickshaw experience. Turns out he dropped us a street away from where the restaurant actually is, so we had to ask some people and walk a little bit, (so angry) but we did manage to make it on time to our lunch so whatever.
After we eat our delicious meal with Dolly, we take another Rickshaw back to our hostel. We ask the new Rickshaw man how much it will be to go to the Main Bazar (home), and he tells us it will cost a mere 120 rupees…and drives us there directly, and doesn’t ask us for lunch.
I will forever hate my first Rickshaw man.

We make it back to our hotel, grab our backpacks and get in the car that is taking us to Agra. We drive through farm country where the roads are filled with trucks and vans completely loaded up with people. I mean 20 or sometimes even 30 people crammed into one vehicle. We see more stray cows on the roads, people carrying hay in bundles on their heads, and people who knock on our car windows with cobra snakes in a basket.

When we stop to fill up our tank, at least 5 men who work at the station gather around to help our driver fill up the tank. People in the country are even more intrigued by two white girls than they are in New Delhi.
The country side is beautiful and gives me lots of opportunities to absorb more of the Indian culture. I am in love with the constant stream of surprises this country continues to offer me.

We arrive in Agra at 7:00pm and go straight to our hotel, the Agra Mahal, which is really close to the Taj Mahal (duh), and order beer and butter chicken to our room. We fall asleep soon after. There’s something about the Indian sun, or maybe I am just not used to the time change yet, but I am exhausted. We are eaten alive by mosquitos in our sleep. Thank science for malaria pills.