Amiram Hayardeny's My China Experience

Anxiety, Fear, Torture - Take Everything - Just Leave Me Alone

It was a poorly lit alley, and in retrospect I know that I shouldn't have been there.  As soon as I came through the sliding door, I was taken over by a large, strong, uniformed woman and lead to a room on the second floor.  My heart was already beating very fast, and I was struggling for air.  The room was bright and shiny, with a lot of what seemed to be medical equipment.  A few large, scratched bottles of gas were lined up on the floor, with pipes coming out.  A large man, with a face mask, held me down to a chair, and hooked me up to one of the gas bottles using a mouth piece, tightly secured to the back of my head.  At this point I was already frantic.  I was going over my will, and the long list of my loved ones, friends, and co-workers.

The masked man was joined by a bunch of women, all uniformed, all masked, in a successful attempt to conceal their true identities.  One of the women assisted the man in opening my mouth, injecting me with some bitter substance.  They all seemed surprisingly calm, compared with my state of anxiety.  Lastly, before starting the torture, they fitted me with this pair of orange eye glasses, they lowered the chair, and then set the pain dial to three.  I couldn't talk, and I couldn't even scream.  I wanted to tell them that I will tell them everything they wanted to know, that I will give them the combination to the safe deposit box, and the Swiss bank accounts.  I was even ready to surrender my accomplices.  But as I was trying to speak, only a strange hoarse noise came out, which followed by them increasing the pain right away.  I fell silent.

This was the point when fear started crawling into my incoherent mind, and my vague consciousness.  I realized that I don't have a safe deposit box, and I most certainly don't have a Swiss bank account.  I don't even have accomplices.  In fact, I was pretty sure that I have nothing to give them.  Realizing that, I wasn't sure what is it that they want from me, and whether we can end this peacefully at all.  I was completely and utterly afraid.  My forehead was already sweaty, and so were the palms of my hands.  My heart was pumping blood as if I was a race horse.  In a race.

It appeared that the masked people surrounding me were under the impression that whatever their goal is, they weren't accomplishing it.  They set the pain dial back to zero, left one woman to keep an eye on me (not that I was in any condition to go anywhere), and left the room.  I started eying the barred windows, and the crack left on the closed door.  I thought I could take my woman guard.  But I was very wrong.  As soon as I tried to get up, the relatively small woman, held me down with such force, that I immediately understood that the battle, which never took place, was already over, and I lost.

They came back a few minutes later, accompanied by a beautiful Asian woman, who spoke perfect Mandarin, but also perfect American English.  She didn't even bother to mask her face, I guessed that her confidence was so high, she didn't need to conceal her identity.  It was very clear that she was in command of the room and the crew.  Everyone was attentive to her every word, and her requests were answered immediately with no questions asked.  She was obviously the Alpha female.  I started thinking that my luck has changed, and that they have brought someone who can understand my language, and can explain to me what is it that they want.  But as it turns out, I was wrong again, and things turned for the worse.  She turned the pain dial to seven, and immediately moved her entire attention to my open, and very sore mouth.  In a mixture of English and Mandarin, she asked for some tools which I have never in my life seen before, and used them to extract pieces of my gums, bone, and what was left of my tooth.  I slipped into blessed unconsciousness.  When she was finished, and I opened my eyes, I saw the pain dial, and it was already exceeding the maximum.  I raised my hand, and asked for a piece of paper, on which I planned to give them everything.

But then she left, and I remained at the hands of the masked man and his female assistants.  He apparently was asked to finish up whatever it is they were doing, and wrap it up.  I was almost relieved.  I thought it was over.  And indeed, it was.

The crew took off their masks, and the man, the dentist that is, explained to me what was happening and what the plan was to take care of my teeth.  I thanked him, and went to the office to pay my bill.

Thankfully, my wife, who knew I would be in a state of shock following the dental appointment, booked a foot massage right after that.  We went to the massage parlor, and were lead to a dark room.  A deceivingly small young Chinese woman, who at second look, resembled Arnold Schwarzenegger in his early days, took it upon herself to break every bone in my already-sore body, twist every aching muscle, and rip every stretched ligament.  Ninety minutes later, my remains left the building and went straight to bed.  I can't talk, I can't eat, I can hardly move now.  And if you knew how much I apid for to get to this condition, you would probably commit me to involuntarily to some mental hospital.  So this is my first attempt at writing fiction.  Which was an embarrassing failure, as every single thing described here actually happened earlier today...

Posted at 04:04PM Feb 29, 2008 by Amiram Hayardeny in Personal  |  Comments[3]

Happy Birthday Guy

February 13, 2003 was a cold winter day in Israel.  Some very aggressive looking black rain clouds intimidated the sun into hiding.  Sometime before noon the skies opened up, and a second flood started.  Around that time, Dorit, my wife, said she wasn't feeling very well.  Dorit was almost nine months pregnant, with a history of pre-eclampsia (pregnancy induced high blood pressure).  We didn't want to take any chances.  We drove to the hospital, were immediately admitted and told that the baby will be delivered shortly, the wait had abruptly concluded.

The doctors tried to induce labor, but after a few hours, nothing but pain showed up.  But suddenly, the two of us and the midwife started witnessing some hiccups on the fetal monitor.  This was the point when things started to roll pretty quickly.  The midwife called the doctor, who called another one, and we were all watching nervously the green line on the monitor.  The new person, still safe in his mother's womb seemed to be in trouble.  Indeed, at times the monitor quieted down completely, which caused everyone in the room to move forward towards the monitor screen, but after a few seconds, the heartbeat picked up again, to the relief of the strange audience.

But then, the heartbeat stopped, and it took just a little too long to renew, at which point the two doctors and the midwife looked at each other, and started a well known and practiced routine: emergency Cesarean Section.  I was the first to be told to beat it.  Then the preparation began, epidural, rushing to the OR, delivering who will later be known as Guy Hayardeny.

Thankfully, we chose a hospital where an old friend (who shall be known as the angel) worked as a midwife and labor room nurse.  She came from home to be with me in my time of complete isolation and waiting.  She went in every five minutes to bring out news.  There weren't any, but she kept going in and coming out with a shred of "good news" every single time.  It wasn't long before she came out smiling, saying that the baby was born and that both mother and baby are stable and doing well.

Only later, I found that Guy was actually in big trouble, and that his Apgar score was three (!)  right following delivery.  Indeed, he recovered fully in less than five minutes.  We named him Guy, we took him home after a few days, and that day, the day we took him home, we became best friends.  I have three girls and one boy.  Many people suggest that he is my favorite because he's a boy.  Truth is, I don't have a favorite, and if I did, the gender wouldn't be a factor.  He is the youngest, and I had a few dark hours, while he was struggling to come out, in which I thought, well, he was in trouble.  Guy taught me a few lessons, and he still does.  Every day.

Last week, in Rishikesh, India, we celebrated his fifth birthday.  He's independent, witty, has a sharp sense of humor, and loves to take things apart and put them back together.  He is a good friend and foe to his sisters, and my best friend.  He speaks Hebrew, Mandarin, and English.  And he has a lot to say in each.  Happy birthday Guy!  And many more!

Posted at 07:54PM Feb 25, 2008 by Amiram Hayardeny in Personal  |  Comments[2]

Email

I receive occasional questions about life in Beijing.  Some asked for a direct email address.  I added a button which will automatically open your default mail program and set the recipient as me.  imbjren@gmail.com is the official email address for this blog.  It stands for I Am Beijing Ren - Chinglish for "I am a Beijing Man".  I will do the best I can to provide answers.  The answers I believe deserve a wider audience, will be published.

Posted at 11:30PM Feb 20, 2008 by Amiram Hayardeny in Personal  |  Comments[1]

Airport Observation

Let me start with a disclaimer.  When I compare Continental Airlines' last year to this year, I must say that the improvement is spectacular.  Last year, when I came to check my two older daughters in to their flight home to Newark, we had to wait in three different lines, accepts contradicting instructions from multiple attendants, none of which were correct, and we ended up upset, tired, and frustrated.  This year, it was a pleasure.  The attendants knew what they were doing, they had the forms ready, and the process nailed.  It was a pleasure.  And a short reminder.  If you get stuck on the airline's automated attendant, just keep hitting *10 again and again, until that stupid program gets the point that you really would like to talk to a human being...

Still, when we first showed up, a distinguished looking guy, wearing a suit and tie, and in short, looking like he belongs, he knows, he deserves our respect and trust.  He came and asked politely if he could help us.  We said we're checking in UMs (Unaccompanied Minors).  He instructed us to go to the general check-in line.  Lucky for us, an attendant saw us and pointed us in the right direction.  She did even better, she watched over us until we were finished checking in.

But I couldn't help thinking how conditioned we all are to receiving instructions from people who seem to belong.  All you need a cheap suit and tie, glasses might help, and you'd be able to send people almost anywhere.  Scary thought.

But then something else happened.  We had realized that we may have an excess weight problem.  Not me this time, the girls' luggage.  I've had some experience with excess weight, none good.  But miraculously, divine intervention got us off the hook.  Literally.  The check-in counter attendant found out that the girls have asked for a kosher meal.  And that it wasn't available, and that it is, after all, the airline's responsibility to provide a kosher meal, even to the daughters of a complete heretic...  While the attendant was busy worrying about the kosher meal, the excess weight went through without a problem.  And by the way, the kosher meal was eventually found and served later.

Immediately, I remembered two excess weight stories from this and last summers.  In the first, when my wife and I and our two children moved to China we have had about thirty kilos of excess weight in the luggage, for which the crazy airline wanted to charge $33.00 per kilo for a nice round figure of about $1,000.00, well over the price of the airfare...  Well, the luggage have been hauled away, and the argument became heated and nasty.  Until the point when my brother said a simple sentence to the attendant: "I insist that the luggage is re-weighed".  He then went ahead and asked the poor lady to bring the luggage back from the black hole, and put it back on the scale for verification.  That was the end of it.  We didn't pay a penny.

The next summer I came to the airport on my own, with the entire family's luggage.  I had to go back to work, and they stayed for another week.  I knew I had an excess weight problem, but I was hoping that I can somehow avoid a large payment.  Having been a demoted airline gold club member, I pretended not to have known that my gold membership expired and went on to check in at the Business and First Class lines.  When the attendant took my passport and ticket, she immediately saw that I was no longer a member.  A short exchange took place in which I admitted guilt and innocence at the same time.  She checked me in, making me promise that next time I go to the cattle class check-in line.  But while focusing on the gold membership and the wrong check-in line, the excess weight luggage went into the black hole, to be seen again only in Beijing.

Conclusion: diversion.  If you need for someone to not pay any attention to one thing, make sure to provide something else for him to focus on.  A good way to avoid paying for excess weight would be to claim assertively that you have ordered a biotic meal with freshly brewed soybean milk, and that you're allergic to the regular vegetarian food served on airplanes.  With this story, you would probably be able to sneak in a live and barking Doberman...

Posted at 11:27PM Feb 20, 2008 by Amiram Hayardeny in Personal  |  Comments[1]

Back Home – Beijing

Taking off in Delhi, and landing in Beijing is a lot more than the mere five hours in the air.  I was talking about a time machine before.  If the two week trip was traveling in time in a relatively slow fashion, the flight from Delhi to Beijing is like a fast forward button on the time machine's control panels...

In fact, boarding the Air China 767 transferred me instantaneously to present time.  Let me get to that later.

For starters let me take back everything I said about the Delhi airport.  Remember?  

“I'm  not sure that this place actually deserves the title “airport”, considering that the remote airport of “Sde Dov”, just outside Tel Aviv, which serves three small airplanes a day, has a tenfold better services, equipment, and immigration officers to accommodate the incoming traffic.  And Sde Dov is a very local airport, with no international traffic whatsoever.  Face it, if you want to be considered an international airport, you have to recruit a few more immigration officers to complement the existing three...”.

Let me replace this entire paragraph with one word.  Shameful.  A line to get in the terminal, a line to get the suitcases scanned, a line for check in, a line for immigration, a line for security, a line for boarding.  All lines are booked solid, with hundreds of people and few attendants.  Ah, forget it.  I visited two dozen airports in the US (at least), and another two dozen in Europe and Asia.  Delhi is not only the worst.  It the worst with a huge gap from the runner up.  It looks like a tornado went through the place and left a few thousand people searching in the rubbles for their surviving belongings.

The Air China 767 was a safe haven, an island of sanity in an otherwise complete lunacy and chaos.  It was quiet, clean, and it spelled “HOME” for us.  Apparently, we all missed our home, our beds, our food.  We missed our routine. One funny incident though.  Right before the plane started the engines, the lights went out for a few seconds.  And I realized I was expecting the generator to kick in momentarily.  After only two weeks, I got used to brownouts.  Amazing.

Landing in Beijing we realized that we were proud of our airport.  Clean, organized, well lit.  Many immigration officers sitting in a quiet hall the size of a football field.  The difference was as amazing as it was surprising.  We drove home on the right side, and our three lane highway was populated with cars.  You know, these four wheel vehicles with a motor in front, that goes about sixty miles per hour.  The missing elements, elephants, cows, water buffalos, monkeys, dogs, tuk tuks, rickshaws, bicycles, and just walking people were not there.  They weren't missed.  It was quite an experience.

The trip was great, with the exception of the Clarks Inn in Delhi which should be excluded from any itinerary at all cost.  India, as the promotion campaign suggests is indeed incredible.  India deserves some order, some quiet, and it definitely deserves a new capital international airport.  The one it has is embarrassing.

Posted at 05:52PM Feb 16, 2008 by Amiram Hayardeny in Personal  |  Comments[6]

Trip To India - Conclusions

I never thought that time travel was possible.  But it is clear to me now.  Time travel is possible, and at the risk of sounding a little freaky, I'm willing to say, I have traveled back in time, and then back to the present.

It seems to me that we have landed in Delhi at least a millennium ago.  Yet, the calendar suggests that it's been only two weeks.  Two weeks.

Delhi, at least half of it, is a modern city.  Indeed its streets are loaded with vehicles of all kinds, beasts and humans.  It's not completely uncommon to see an elephant walking heavily on the side of the road. If Delhi represents 2008, it only takes a few hundred miles train ride to go back in time a couple of  thousands years ago.

India is about a third of the size of the US.  It has roughly more than three times the size of population.  Roughly eighty percent of the Indian are Hindu, and about 60% are farmers.  Many are illiterate, and many are Harvard style educated.  English is spoken all around by some.  Food is amazing, spicy, rich.  99% of the people are warm, welcoming, and hospitable.  1% are not.  By all means, not a bad ratio.

Why am I talking about time travel?  Because many of the people are connected to the land, to the river, to the Gods and Goddesses of ancient times, to ways of cultivating the land practiced thousands of years ago.  I love vehicles in general, and cars in particular.  I have seen vehicles here that I can hardly classify as motor vehicles, yet they appear to be everywhere.  I have seen carts pulled by water buffalos, bulls, horses, camels, donkeys and elephants.  I have seen hay stacks the size of small building, sugarcane stacks the size of big trucks.  

I have seen trains which were classified “old” and “crummy” in Israel half a century ago.

I have seen people with big hearts and even bigger smiles.

I visited palaces and forts, and I could easily stand there and imagine the lifestyle, the horses, the gold and the precious stones, the servants and the eunuchs guarding the harems.  Visiting the Taj Mahal, I could imagine workers sitting around producing the most spectacular artwork in marble and stones.

Then you see and feel the British all around you.  In the language, in the structures, in the railways, the newspapers, the TV shows, and of course, the Ambassador Classic.

And Gandhi.  In fact the Gandhis – Mahatma, Indira and Rajeev.

I've seen Hindus, and Muslims, and Sikhs, and Christian.  All living peacefully, at least seemingly.

We traveled in a way not too many people travel in India.  With two small children.  Indeed, we met many travelers along the way.  The “luxurious” type, who come storming in with the tour bus, eat dinner at the hotel and zoom out in the early morning to make a few other attractions.  We saw the “trekkers”, the obviously western people who try hard, but unsuccessfully, to blend in.  They would usually wear the most elaborate turbans, the most unattended hair and clothing, as many pierced body parts and tattoos as they can carry, bare feet, of course, the go from one ashram to another in search of the absolute truth, the divine, Nirvana.  We haven't met anyone like us.  And there's probably a good reason.  

Traveling in India, one must be very careful.  Hygienic facilities and procedures are not exactly what you're used to.  Water sources and food could be contaminated.  Some sites are not very pleasant to the eye: extreme poverty, dirt, living conditions, human suffering – it's not easy to watch.

Should this be a deterrent?  I'd say no.  It is possible to do family traveling in India as long as you plan your trip carefully, that you take into account a few, but very important tips, and that you have a good local travel operator to look after you.  I would not recommend to anyone, with family that is, to travel here independently.  I wouldn't recommend driving here.

For us, the following worked perfectly.

Tips
1. No remote places, no serious walks, no escapism.
2. Major credit card(s).  ATM machines in relatively remote places will be happy to spit out Rupees.  The limits are different in different places.
3. GPRS cellular phone.  Not optional.  Mandatory.
4. Germ-X or similar cleanser to clean hands before a meal if no other options are available.
5. Crackers, pretzels, cookies, dried fruit (fried dried bananas, almonds, peanuts).  We came in loaded, and were very happy we did.
6. Lays potato chips are available everywhere.  If nothing else is available, it's not such a bad substitute for dinner.
7. Bottled water only.  Room temperature only.  Recognized brands only.  No exceptions. Including brushing teeth.
8. DVDs, coloring books, iPods, whatever can entertain children on long drives by car or train.
9. High end restaurants (doesn't necessarily mean expensive), that are recognized for good quality food and cleanliness.  Don't experiment.  It may be costly.
10. The following has been tried successfully time and again.  Passports and wallet close to the body.  A reasonably empty pouch, and a camera case.  Decoys.
11. Research the weather patterns, bring appropriate clothes, and really comfortable walking shoes.
12. People will certainly try to sell you stuff at ten times their worth.  It's understandable given the poverty seen here.  We found out, too late, that everything can be found in the Delhi markets at reasonable, yet negotiable prices.  If you still want to purchase local things, bargain.
13. Beggars are part of the scenery.  If your nature, like mine, is to give, do it carefully and discreetly.  If you don't, you risk being chased by dozens.  Not a pretty site.

For a travel agent we picked Ms. Hanna Lahat from Israel.  She put together a wonderful trip for us.  She tailored  a trip for us, taking into account our style, our kids, our preferences.  She was very receptive to changes to the last minute, and was, to my great surprise, following up on the trip on a daily basis.  If you want a trip tailored for your special needs, Hanna, from Noga Carmel is a great choice.  We certainly intend to use her in the future when we plan another trip.

For more information: http://www.nogacarmel.com/ or email hannal@netvision.net.il.

As for the local operators.  Pettitts executed flawlessly.  From the minute we landed here, they were on top of everything.  Kishan, our driver and guide, is a seasoned tour guide and driver.  He's smart, educated, and witty.   He knows the main roads, but also the secondary and the tertiary roads.  He know the lay of the land, and the lay of the people.  He was always there watching us from afar, like a concerned mother.  On the rare occasion when he thought that a place would be unsafe, he stated so without hesitation, and he also got us out of some hairy situations.

Kishan is knowledgeable, in history, demography, geography of this great country.  Traveling with him was a great experience.  It started as a working relationship, and ended with friendship.  Kishan, you were terrific.

Bobby Matthew, the Delhi managing director was on top of everything all the time.  When things needed adjustments, he made sure that the adjustments would be smooth.  In every town we stopped, a local Pettitts representative would be there to greet us and ask how things were going so far.  It was a model execution of a trip.

On the last day, Guy, our five year old boy got sick.  Bobby and Kishan did everything they could do get a doctor, medications, they were like angels.  For more information: http://www.pettitts.co.uk/  or email: pettits@del2.vsnl.net.in

Bottom line: Hanna Lahat, Bobby Matthew, Kishan, Wikram, Vinod, and many others along the way made our trip an experience of a lifetime.  The few glitches along the way were nothing compared to the what we're leaving here with.

My uncle Eli said many years ago that a person is his memories.  It was a little mysterious and cryptic when he said it to me, but over the years it has become clear to me, that indeed, the memories you collect over your lifetime, define you.  Because they each affect your personality, your attitude, your decision making process, the way you treat people, the way you connect to others, they way you see things, they way you bring up your children.

Like genes, memories have continuity.  My memories will be told to my children and grand children (I can't wait), and possibly forward.  They are precious, they are unique, they are mine.

India is now in my memories, and therefore in my personality.  Thanks for a great addition to my memory collection!

Posted at 11:14PM Feb 15, 2008 by Amiram Hayardeny in Personal  |  Comments[5]

India Trip – Day Thirteen: Back to Delhi... Again

Nine o'clock departure from Haridwar to Delhi.  We weren't prepared for the unbelievable ride.  Not in a good sense.  It's merely two hundred and fifty kilometers.  One hundred and sixty miles.  We left at nine in the morning and arrived at two thirty.  Indeed, we had a thirty minute stop in the middle of nowhere for a drink.  On average fifty kilometers per hours, about thirty something miles per hour.  And we wouldn't even hit that if it wasn't for our very skillful driver, Kishan.  Kishan navigated between trucks, cars, bicycles, water buffalos, and many other vehicles sharing the roads.

We did see some pretty sites along the way.  Veggie cart with the fruits and vegetables nicely organized to appeal to the potential customers.  And believe it or not, the drying cow dung nicely organized along many of the roads we drove by.

In Delhi, waited for us the good old Clarks Inn.  Let me be as straight forward as I possibly can here.  If you want a restful night,  if you want a peaceful stay, if you're looking for a reasonably priced hotel with a reasonable return for your money – Clarks Inn is NOT what you're looking for.  Poorly placed – besides a crowded shopping mall, and at the bottom of a wedding hall, it can't provide a restful stay.

Unusually, we had the misfortune of staying here twice, ten days between.  Both stays started on the wrong foot, and were somehow corrected afterwards.  When we checked in for the first time, we noticed a loud, electric noise coming out of the wall.  We called, complained, and the room was changed to the “presidential suite”, which was indeed large, well furnished, but freezing and had little hot water coming out of the barely dripping shower.  Let me make a disclaimer here.  Unlike what some may think, I'm not the kind of guy who calls reception for every missing towel, or a hair on a pillow.  But I have my bar.  I am particularly sensitive to noise.

Therefore, before we checked in I told the guy at the reception desk, that I don't care for any luxuries, all I want is some peace and quiet before our long flight back home tomorrow.  He nodded, and went ahead to assign us to room 207.  We went up, and were reasonably happy with the room.  An hour later, the furniture in the room started a samba.  From reading about it, I realized that we were exposed to a Dance party, what some call “Trans Music”.  I am not your Dance, House, or Trans expert, but I can count decibels.  I started signing to my wife that we had to get out of there if we want to keep our hearing.  To make a long story short, our room was changed, and as I'm typing this, we're still not sure if the peace shall be kept or not.

Again, this hotel is suffering from schizophrenia.  It has the multiple personality of hotel and wedding hall.  Unable to decide which one it wants to be, the hotel guests are paying the price.  Let me state unequivocally. A hotel cannot be on top of, at the bottom of, or neighboring a wedding hall.  The reason is simple: noise.  Today's weddings generate noise levels of an aircraft carrier at times of war, of trans parties where all participants are barely conscious.

Bottom line: our hotels in India, despite all the warnings were way more than reasonable.  Some were flat out outstanding.  All with one exception had plenty of hot water, internet access - cabled or wireless.  All with one exception were quiet and welcoming.  It was a good experience.  Ten was given to the best hotels we had.  One to the worst.

Clarks Inn in Delhi – avoid at all cost.  I would cancel a trip or fire my travel agent if I had to stay here for an hour.  Zero of ten.  There are some circumstances here that must be stated.  The hotel doesn't have a chance.  It is next door to a crowded shopping mall, and has a wedding hall on the third floor.  It can't possibly serve its guest in a remotely reasonable way.  Don't come here.

Khimsar Fort Hotel in Khimsar Fort – beautiful place, a real fort, very hospitable, nice breakfast.  Rating nine of ten.

Pushkar Resorts in Pushkar – nothing fancy, but very quiet, very hospitable and probably the best hotel in the area.  Rating nine of ten.
 
Clarks Amer in Jaipur – nice room.  The eighth floor has guests rooms, a restaurant and a bar all next to each other.  If you like drunk people laughing and having a good time while you're trying to sleep – this is the place for you.  But again, the room was very nice and our rating is eight of ten..

Clarks Shiraz in Agra – small but reasonable room.  Nothing to write home about.  Excellent breakfast.  Needs a complete overhaul.  Six of ten.

Laxmi Villas in Bharatpur – Ten.  Stay even if it's out of the way.  Outstanding.

Maidens Hotel in Delhi – The room was spacious, and the hotel looked like it just went through major renovation.  Ten of ten.

Country Inn in Haridwar – Compared to the neighboring guest houses, the Country Inn is fabulous.  I'm not sure that an overnight stay in Haridwar is justified.  But if you must, Country Inn is not a bad choice.  Prepare yourself for life in a railway station, as the railway tracks are about twenty feet away from your room window... Seven of ten.

Enlightenment of the day: Adjust your expectations, if you're still pissed, call reception and demand what you pay for.

Posted at 11:36PM Feb 14, 2008 by Amiram Hayardeny in Personal  |  Comments[3]

India Trip – Day Twelve: Rishikesh

After a continental breakfast we left for Rishikesh.  We had a couple of knots in our collective stomachs due to our experience in Haridwar the day before.  The knots quickly untied.  As we finally saw the other side of India.  The calm, peaceful, basic.  We met a nice local tour guide, who received strict instructions from Kishan, our driver, to take us to places to our liking, and to avoid leading us to the local predators.  Apparently there were none.

We walked over the Ram Jula, a bridge put up by the India government in 1985.  Ram Jula is a hanging bridge that serves people, bicycles, motorcycles and the occasional cow.  But no cars.  From the bridge one can see a breathtaking view of the foothills of the Himalaya mountain range.  The Himalayas.  It is absolutely beautiful.  We were told that the Everest is merely a few hundred kilometers away.  Imagine that.

Indeed, the place is chosen by all the Ashrams for a reason.  It is as peaceful and quiet as you can imagine.  We crossed the bridge to find ourselves in a different planet.  Quiet, peaceful.  Welcoming people, smiling, forthcoming, quiet and simply put – nice.

The experience would have been just a great one.  But in comparison to the previous day, it was a touching, exhilarating.  Rishikesh is a great place to be.

We went to a few temples, and a few Ashrams.  It is the off-season now, so most of the Ashrams are pretty empty, with some exceptions.  We have learned that many of the Ashrams accept people for   Yoga practicing and learning for six months periods.  Free of charge.  Room and board at no charge at all.  Apparently, rich people are supporting the Ashrams with operations money.

As we have learned (and saw) henna is widely used here.  Henna is used by men who want to avoid white hair, and by brides and grooms before the wedding ceremonies.  In Rishikesh, we have seen the art of henna applying from very close.  The results are pretty, but we chose not to experience it first hand, literally...

Naturally, we headed to the Rishikesh market.  We found the most pleasant market yet.  Nice people, very colorful.  In short, we were grateful for Rishikesh.

And again, we will never forget this man, who so gracefully, without a spoken word, made us feel welcome and embraced in Rishikesh.  Don't miss it. 

Posted at 08:53PM Feb 13, 2008 by Amiram Hayardeny in Personal  |  Comments[3]

India Trip – Day eleven: Haridwar

Again, I salute the India Rail Company for leaving, and arriving on time, and for serving coffee, tea and corn flakes in the early morning.  We arrived in Haridwar and checked in to the Country Inn hotel.  The hotel is probably the best in Haridwar, but will compare favorably only with Holiday Inn Express.  They have a restaurant with the pretentious name of “Mosaic”, serving “multi national foods”.  We visited the restaurant three times, and in all instances, we were the only customers.  In fact, the attraction was so outstanding, that the entire kitchen crew and the waiters came to greet us, and pretty much danced around us throughout the meals.  Yet, they must have served something that didn't agree with us, because we chose to eat crackers rather than going there again.  Other restaurants were out of the question.

We went to Haridwar for the ceremony of “Puja”.  The ritual which involves putting a boat of leaves filled with flowers and a lit candle in the water of the Ganges river.  By far, Haridwar was our worst experience in India, and I clearly recommend to anyone interested: if you don't have to be here, there's nothing lost by not showing up.  I say it clearly, bluntly.  No reason to come visit here.

Haridwar is filthy, crowded with an army of beggars, with poverty stricken children, mutilated people, and religion merchants who force their merchandise on you every single step of the way.  It is an unpleasant visit to the point that I was ready to quit.  Dorit insisted we stayed for the actual Puja ritual which takes place after sundown.  We did.  I don't think it was worth it.

Some observations, however, are worth mentioning.  The river is strong, pure, clear and very big.  Apparently, the water can be diverted between a few channels.  The shallow stream is occupied with many Ghats – the staircases that go into the water for people to take the holy dip.  People throw coins into the water, they also throw earrings, rings, and little pieces of gold.  All as offerings and gratitude for a prayers which were answered.  Little kids, half dressed, walk the river feeling for items with their feet, occasionaly picking up coins and other items which they quickly conceal in their shirts.  Others, the more advance done, walk around with a small piece of glass, which serves as a diving mask, and a stick with a lump of tar at the end.  When they spot something, they stick the tar stick in the water and retrieve it.

The visitors, mostly pilgrims, wait patiently for the ceremony to start.  All the while, dozens of official looking people walk around with fat books of receipts, and collect.  They offer to take anything, but prefer, as they say, notes, with multiple zeroes.  If you take the time to compare these well looking, healthy people, to the starving others, the comparison is very, very unfavorable.

Regardless, we thought that the children would have a nice experience floating leaves, flowers and a candle downstream.  Indeed, they did.  There was something to it that I can't explain.  Lets hope that if there's any bad karma anywhere, we had it go downriver...  It was a timely gesture for Guy, who is celebrating his fifth birthday tomorrow.  If only he would agree to float his green, moldy pacifier down the river as well, it would have been perfect...

We left Haridwar with a feeling that we should have concluded our trip earlier.  The connection between organized religion and poverty, dirt and human misery, made us want to flee.

But, thanks to our driver and guide, Kishan, we didn't.  We stayed and went to visit Rishikesh the next day.  Let me use this opportunity to thank Kishan for his perseverance.  If we left India after our visit at Haridwar, it would have been a bitter end to an otherwise great trip.  Rishikesh was a correcting experience.

Back to the Country Inn we went to the room to get ready for dinner when a growing noise of something large approaching, and a slight but noticeable shaking of the room made us think we're in a middle of an earthquake.  It wasn't.  It was a train.  As it turns out, the rails are just outside the hotel, twenty meters at most from our room window.  Nothing serious, but it did bring a couple of memories.

The obvious one is "My Cousin Vinnie", who's experience with the Alabama railway system is very well recorded in the film.  The other was more personal.  Years ago, before Shiri was born, Dorit and I went to the Grand Canyon.  Our travel at the time was more frugal than it is today.  We chose the Howard Johnson's.  As soon as we checked in, we thought that the motel will collapse burying all inhabitants under its ruins.  It was a train.  But as we learned later, not just any train.  It  was a freight train the size of a few football fields, with five engines in front.  It was loud and powerful.  And it came every ten minutes on average.  Our night was, well, interesting...

But both Guy and his father (that's me) are fascinated with trains.  So we didn't mind it much, except when it came at four in the morning...

Posted at 08:05PM Feb 13, 2008 by Amiram Hayardeny in Personal  |  Comments[1]

India Trip – Day Ten: Back to Delhi

We left Agra in the morning after a royal breakfast at the Clarks Shiraz.  Not a great hotel, in need of a major overhaul, but the breakfast was spectacular.  In fact, Agra is the same: in need for a major overhaul, despite having the world's number one wonder of the world...

The ride was uneventful.  Our guide, Kishan, whom we fondly call “Shirkhan” after the character from the Jungle Book, told us that all industry in a radius of about fifty kilometers was shut down, so the Taj Mahal enjoys no pollution, and therefore more picture-perfect days.  In any case, right after the fifty kilometer line we've started seeing some small and large factories.  The largest we've seen was a factory for processing of sugarcane.  Trucks come in from many miles away, to unload the raw sugarcane.  They went in a long line.  Coming from Israel, where no sugarcane is to be found, I always find it fascinating (and flavorful).

Driving into Delhi is hell.  If you're anywhere around the world, complaining daily about your drive to the office, about the traffic jams, the smoke and smog, the horns, the noise, the attitude and the driving – I challenge you to come drive in Delhi.  Trust me, you will miss home after three minutes.

We stayed at the Maidens Hotel.  Beautiful, built by the British over fifty years ago.  The room was spacious, comfortable, hot water, heat, everything.  Recommended.

We pretty much collapsed, knowing that the next day, we have another long train ride, this time to Haridwar.

Posted at 07:42PM Feb 13, 2008 by Amiram Hayardeny in Personal  |  Comments[2]