Heaven on Thailand

It's actually been a month since Bret and I came back from Thailand, but we're already wondering when we can go back. While Thailand was amazing for the beaches and food and helpful service, at four months into our stay in India, more than anything Thailand was everything that India is not:
We swam in clean (!) ocean water, drank imported Belgian beer, walked through streets without piles of trash burning, wore a bikini on a beach without having to deal with ogling men hovering nearby -- well I did, at least-- ate seafood every night without the fear of being violently ill the next day, enjoyed customer service from waiters and staff who were actually nice and helpful, and were offered a cheap Thai massage every time we left our bungalow (no, this does not happen on my way to work from Visantha Valley).

As you can probably guess, as my trip is winding down I'm getting more and more excited for everything that places like Thailand -- and California! -- have to offer. I can't wait for sushi, burritos, big salads from the Google cafes, fresh air, clean water, quiet streets, paneer-free meals, bagels, really good coffee... okay still another month to go-- I really shouldn't get carried away.

Good reads on India

It's been fun to read fiction that takes place in or somehow relates to India while I've been here. Here are some recommendations -- a few I read before I left but are great. I left off the worst book related to India I've ever read (thanks to my book club!)-- The Hullabaloo in the Guava Orchard. Avoid that one, but read the others! This is also a chance for you to check out Google Book Search, which is my new favorite distraction...

• A Fine Balance
• The Reluctant Fundamentalist
  
• The Inheritance of Loss
• The God of Small Things
  
• The Translator
• Midnight's Children
• Interpreter of Maladies
• The Namesake

Lenhart ladies invade India

Apologies for my delinquency in posting, but we've been busy over here. Last week, my mom and Colleen visited and got to experience India first hand. My mom loved commenting on her 'over-stimulated olfactory, auditory and visual senses.' We had a great all-day tour of Delhi by Nigel, an 87-year-old former British officer who guided us through obscure corners of the city with (sometimes questionable) historical significance. We wandered through the biggest cremation site in Delhi and watched bodies get doused with water from the Ganges in preparation for the funeral pyre.

At a large Sikh temple, they handed out bright orange kerchiefs to the foreigners who arrived without a turban or scarf to cover their heads in the Sikh tradition. In Old Delhi, it was entertaining to follow my mom through the winding alleys trying to capture every single cow, basket of spices, pile of trash, smelly latrine and shopkeeper with her camera.

Taj Mahal

Colleen looking glamorous in front of the most famous monument to Love; Bret and my mom amazed by their moonboot shoe covers enforced at the Taj Mahal to protect the white marble.

Hanging in Hampi

Last month, Shannon, Ashley, Allison and I ventured out on an overnight train for an all-girls weekend. We spent time at the the very holy (and consequently completely dry) town of Hampi. However, the town's dry status didn't stop us from smuggling in some red wine and jamming the cork into the bottle to drink it. The town feels magical -- it sits on a river among green hills scattered with huge boulders. Hampi is poor (not necessarily more so than the rest of India), but seems to be surviving thanks to a steady stream of tourism from both foreigners and Indian pilgrims. The guest houses and restaurants all proclaim 'Recommended by Lonely Planet!' in paint on the sides of the buildings. Our weekend consisted of visiting about a dozen temples including a couple world heritage sites, drinking lots of masala chai from the roof top of our 'bring your own toilet paper' guest house and wandering around the surreal landscape.
Another highlight was watching the local temple elephant get her daily bath.



I also spent a lot of time playing with Jemina, the 10-year-old girl who was employed by our guest house to help cook, clean, collect water, and run all the errands for the owners. Not surprisingly, they didn't flinch during my lecture to them about child labor. 'Her parents across the river send her to us. What can we do?' was their reply. I thought about checking out right then just to demonstrate my disapproval, but realized a better option was to just distract her from her work-- we danced to the Lion King on my ipod, counted to ten in Hindi and drew pictures in my journal.