The Lakeless Palace Hotel

When Meg and I began the trip, we realized that as romantic as our round-the-world journey to exotic places sounded, there was a very real chance that a year of spending every almost every waking hour together, sharing rooms with a squat toilet and no door and wearing the same underwear repeatedly might eventually start to douse the fiery flames of passion between us. So we decided to schedule occasional "date nights" where we'd break our normal routine and tight budget and splurge for the right spectacular special occasion.

The Taj Lake Palace Hotel in Udaipur, India was the perfect 1st date night. Google it and you'll see why. A white-marble former Maharajah's palace built to appear as if it floated on a lake in India's most fairy-tale city. Five-star accommodations, a boat-trip straight to check-in, the former site of a 007 movie (Octopussy, side note: would Ashcroft ever let that movie title exist now? Didn't think so), everything was in place for our first date night on the road. We made our reservation, reconciled ourself to spending more on one night there than we would our next 2 months of lodging combined, and we were psyched! We reserved a "deluxe lake view" room and bought fancy Indian clothes for the occasion. Our anticipation grew as we got off the bus from Ahmedabad. As we loaded our bags into a rickshaw to make our way to the lake, we were bubbling with excitement. And as we walked up the steps to get our 1st view of the lake and the Lake Palace, we were sooooo ready.

But as we looked across to the Lake Palace, we realized there was a slight problem. There was no lake! Just a big huge field of grass surrounding a forlorn white palace stuck in the ground. Kids were playing cricket next to it. Camels and elephants were wandering around it. Cars were driving up to it. But no water anywhere.

Apparently the monsoon has not been good to Udaipur the last few years, and in 2003, the lake finally dried up. The Lake Palace Hotel apparently hasn't quite gotten around to updating its website, lowering its prices, or renaming its "lake-view rooms", but an extremely angry phone call from us led to a fun exchange:

Rahul: Uh, yes, I'd like to cancel my reservation for the lake-view room at the Lake Palace Hotel?
Operator: May I ask why sir?
Rahul: Uh, there's no lake.
Operator: Yes sir, that is very true sir. I will cancel your reservation.

Now we're staying at a pretty little guest house that costs $2/night. Udaipur's still a gorgeous place, and soon we'll start a four day journey into the Ghar desert on camelback. Life is good. But the search for date night continues.

--rahul

Requiem for the Steelers

When I was 4, I'd wake up every morning, run downstairs, and read the sports section of the New York Times. I'd pore through the stats, read what little I could of the stories, memorize the standings. I didn't have a team that I loved yet though. My parents didn't care about sports in the least, came from India and Kansas, had just moved us to New Jersey. So while all the kids around me rooted for the Giants or the Jets, I harbored no geographic sports loyalties. I was a four year-old without a team.

So in 1979, when I was watching my favorite television show, Mr. Roger's Neighborhood, and Lynn Swann, wide receiver for the Pittsburgh Steelers came on a guest, my world was rocked. Not only was I seeing a black person hang out with Mr. Rogers, but he was an athlete, an icon, a legend in the football world. At that moment, I swore undying allegiance to the Steelers. Forever.

Over the next few decades, I held true to my epic commitment, suffering through the years of Bubby Brister, Neal O' Donnell, and (shudder) Kordell Stewart. The losing seasons, the mediocrity, the occasional flashes of brilliance only to be doused by the harsh reality of the NFL playoffs.

When Meg and I began this trip, I knew that I'd have to give up at least part of my addiction to sports. No longer would I be able to listen to every game on the radio or obsess over injury reports. Football was impossible to follow outside of America. I had to let go.

I tried (with limited success) to switch my allegiance to cricket, a far more accessible game in India. But ultimately any game that involves a "tea break" will never be able to replace football in my heart. So when I heard that the Steelers AFC championship game would be broadcast live in India at 5am this morning, well I knew what I had to do.

So I awoke early, found Indian ESPN, and watched. Lost hope at halftime, regained it in the 3rd quarter and suffered deeply at the end of the game when our rookie quarterback played, well, like a rookie. The mighty Steelers lost, alas, and I'm underslept and grumpy in a foreign land.

But my love for the Steelers will carry on, and by next December, when they're battling in the playoffs again, I'll be dragging Meg out to a bar in Honduras somewhere to watch them. As much as I want to immerse myself in the countries that we visit, I'm going to carry around this little piece of America with me everywhere we go. At least next time, we'll be in the same time zone.

--rahul

The photos are here! The photos are here!

A perfect end to a perfect day

Hey there everyone! We're in Bangalore, India, kickin' it with Rahul's family and trying to avoid any riots that spring up (there's a California evangelist holding a massive rally here and the Hindus are pissed). All's well.

Our photos from Bali, Bangkok, and the beginning of India are up! Here's how we recommend viewing them:

1) Click on the Photos link on the right side of the website.

2) Click on one of the sets that we've organized (i.e. Bali).

3)Click on "view as slideshow."

4) During the slideshow, click on individual photos to see captions and stories.

Woohooo! Let us know if you have any problems.

Running to Stand Still

With five days left in Indonesia, we decided that the time had come to go to the beach. We narrowed our choice of islands to 2: 1) the fabled Gili Islands (translation in Bahasa: Island Islands), a paradise of "palm-tree fringed, white sand beaches" or 2) Nusa Lembongan, a less-celebrated island with "beaches" (but whether they are "white sand" beaches or "littered-with-syringes" beaches, we don't know). The Gili islands featured "world-class coral reef diving." Nusa Lembongan boasted "snorkeling." The choice may seem clear-cut to you. Those of you who know us well, however, know that there was one key element left to consider: karaoke. An impassioned perusal of the Lonely Planet revealed that Nusa Lembongan was home to Ronnie's Billiard Warung, a "local's pool hall that plays loud music and karaoke." The case was closed. The die was cast. The decision had been made. We chartered the next available boat to Nusa Lembongan.

Upon arrival, our first impressions were, well, disappointing. The beach we landed upon was rocky; the accomodations, uninspiring; our first meal, unremarkable. But we were unphased, awash with anticipation of the endless nights of Balinese ballads in store for us. We knew once we found karaoke we would be able to revel in our little tropical paradise, beaches be damned. But our first day, we could find not a single soul who had heard of Ronnie's Billiard Warung. Curse you, Lonley Planet! You have forsaken us in our time of need, led us to this homely island with the false promise of karaoke.

We tried not to despair. We failed. We tried to keep perspective on how lucky we were to be spending this quality time together in an exotic land. Not good enough. We were nothing without karaoke. And so we committed our next 5 days to finding Ronnie's Billiard Warung. Here's how it went:

Day 1 - Hearing rumors of a far-flung part of the island called "Mushroom Bay", we embark on a hike to see if that might be the new location of Ronnie's Billiard Warung. Locals tell us the road to Mushroom Bay is "very very far", so we decide to hike through farmland and forests till we find it. For the next couple hours, the trail disappears, farmers stare at us confused and cows low at us in disgust. We finally come upon a beautiful beach, frolic in non-rocky water at sunset, and marvel at the high-end acommodation on this side of the island. But no Mushroom Bay. And more importantly, no karaoke.

Day 2 - We upgrade to a cozy new place to stay, somehow staying within our $20/day budget. Take advantage of the "snorkelling" we had heard about, and decide to make our way to the local village to continue the search for karaoke. Suddenly, in the distance, we hear a woman's voice, amplified by a massive speaker system, singing! We see a group of people gathered, dressed in bright colors and fabulous headgear. We are excited. Surely these are the telltale signs of karaoke! But as we draw closer, we realize that we're at a temple, not some backwoods divey bar. The villagers invite us to sit and explain to us that we are witnessing their semi-annual ceremony to celebrate metal. A festival of metal! But while we dreamed of the metal of Guns 'n Roses and Queensryche, our local villagers were more focused on the importance of the metal in their scooters and generators, and though we were fortunate to witness their solemn prayers to their vehicles and appliances, we walked home in the darkness with no karaoke.

Day 3 - Renewing our cross-country bushwacking, we cut through the jungle and finally found Mushroom Bay, which turned out to be a haven of European tourists. We stand in awe of the $250/night villas and the funny french people and eventually swim past some cliffs to our own private little hidden beach. We cuddle up in the sand, enjoying a cinematic beach moment, but are quickly bowled over by the pounding surf tossing small boulders at us on the beach. And as it turned out, even the french people knew that Mushroom Bay was not the home of Ronnie's Billiard Warung, and it did not have karaoke.

Day 4 - Our feet cannot carry us to karaoke fast enough. We must mount bicycles and thus train for the Nepali MS 150 while we accelerate our search for karaoke. We ride to all corners of Nusa Lembongan, asking every local villager we could find for karaoke, but no one can help us. We find a rickety suspension bridge and ride over to neighboring Nusa Ceningan, up a 1000 foot climb, down a screaming descent, past a group of stoned fishermen, through a score of seaweed farmers. But no one, no one can lead us to karaoke.

Day 5 - And finally, on our last day on the island, we go for a run at 6am, desperately hoping that fate will lead us to the waning hour of an all-night karaoke party. We come across a group of 8 year-olds on their way to school, who despite the nasty humidity and their clean, pressed uniforms were more than happy to jog along with us for a while. As the sun rises, we get to run through the backroads of a beautiful island surrounded by giggling schoolkids. It is the last of many amazing moments on Nusa Lembongan. The schoolchildren can not take us to Ronnie's Billiard Warung. They, too, do not know where we could find karaoke. So an hour later, as we sit on the boat that takes us back to the mainland, we stare back at the island that has been our home for the last few days, revelling in the random adventures we've found and wondering what ever came of Ronnie's Billiard Warung. We have not found karaoke. So we climb up to the deck, flip on the Ipod, play U2 for an hour and sing into the wind. Bono is no Ronnie, but he's still pretty damn good.

Welcome to Bali:

• where if you pay with too large a bill, people give you change in vitamin C tablets
  
• where a 6 liter bottle of water costs more than four 1.5 liter bottles
  
• where five Balinese people fit on one moped, but rahul and I need two
  
• where every man you meet is named Ketut
  
• where a massive Indonesian lunch costs 35 cents--and that's the inflated white person price
  
• where the McDonald's McRib sandwich is dubbed the "Beef Prosperity" (not that we're eating at McDonald's or anything...really!)
  
• where a Balinese baby's first word is surely "transport?"
  
• where it takes you five days to realize that the ant traps you've been stepping on everywhere are actually important offerings to Hindu gods
  
• where if you don't make it to the market in time for the "traditional good-luck morning price," you've still got a shot at the "traditional good-luck afternoon price" or "traditional good-luck happy hour price"
  

We're actually in India now, wrapping up 4 days with Rahul's family in Bombay (and Rahul's 1st tryst with the euphemistically named "traveller's sickness") and getting on a 24-hour train ride to Bangalore (gosh, what will we do with all that time on the train?)

T.G.I.F.

We made it! We're in Bali and we've officially entered the phase of life where weekends lose all meaning. Nowadays, the tough decisions we face are whether to get the 17th century Javanese traditional body massage followed by a tumeric, sandalwood and yogurt scrub with fragrant blossom bath or the couple's full colonic irrigation. I'll leave it to your imagination to decide which one we chose.

After two whole days of culture and cuisine (read: shopping for sarongs and never looking for a museum), we're heading to an island that has banned all motorized vehicles. Tomorrow's goal: become less pasty.

5-7-5

We fly in 4 hours and our creative juices were sapped away by mundane tasks like calculating how many pairs of underwear we need for a year (answer: 3, that's 3 total, we're sharing). Thus, we have asked our dear friend Kimmy to compose a haiku to celebrate our departure. Kimmy, hit it:

Adventure is nigh
The great blue world beckons us
We are off! Stay tuned...