Irregular regularities

    One of my favorite things so far is both the routine and spontaneity of each day. I wake every morning to two things: 1) the Muslim call to prayer, which I promptly fall back to sleep after, and 2) the rising sun. Most days I get up with the sun, do some meditation and yoga, then figure out my day.
    In the morning I always hear the neighbors and their little baby crying crying crying. I can tell they have more than one child as the baby’s cry is always whinny, sounding like it is being tortured by an older sibling who needs some attention. I also hear a man calling out in the streets selling all sorts of vegetables. I can’t understand Hindi, but Accram told me he was saying “potatoes, onions, ginger”.
    Accram, the manager of the hotel is up early every morning, usually at 5:30am for the call to prayer. But heads to the new property where in the basement there are several cows that need to be milked twice daily.
    As you walk down the streets in the morning most of the shops have not yet opened and I enjoy the quiet. Once the day has begun men line the streets outside their shop constantly badgering me to come inside and have a look. It is the most infuriating daily experience as you can NEVER move through the streets unnoticed. No matter what you do; ignoring, pretending not to hear, smiling politely, nodding politely, walking swiftly, giving succinct responses, they still holler at me and try and get me to come inside their shop and buy whatever it is they are selling. It is exhausting!
    One particularly grumpy day I had again ignored an invite for chai with one of the shop owners. After the refusal I caught myself in my grumpy state and wondered what it was about. Most of it was still adjusting to a new climate, time zone, culture, ‘a whole new world‘, not to quote Aladdin or anything. On my return the same man saw me and said “do you have time for chai now”? I thought to myself “I do”. So I sat down with . . . I cant remember his name, and had a cup of chai on the porch of his shop. It was actually enjoyable. Out of many things we talked about I remembered this “ if you are too sweet people will eat you up. If you are too sour, people throw you away”. I like the phrase and decided to keep reminding myself of this when a) I am too sweet that people take advantage of me and b) when I am sour and just need to touch base with what is bothering me ;)
    One of my other daily routines is watching the dozens upon dozens of hawks that sail about in and around my hotel. I watch them fly. I watch them perch on a roof top. I watch them watching all that is around them. They are so graceful and beautiful. I have already taken a million pictures of them with my super new and fantastic camera J I also watch all of the people that live in the buildings around me. Sometimes they are painting a wall, sometimes washing clothes, sometimes a young boy running along the edge of a roof top!! Yes I am a creeper, even in India, Hahahahha J Someday the little kids see me and yell out “halloooo”! It is adorable!
    In the evening I usually pop into the brother hotel/restaurant and see some of my friends there. Last evening I met a Canadian woman who has been traveling for 5 months. She started in Greece, went to Turkey, Lithuania, Tanzania, Ghana, Nepal, and is now finishing her journey in India. Back home she works with autistic children. Cool connection. She reminded me of Tabitha.
    When the sun goes down I retire to my hotel room. The other night as I was brushing my teeth I could hear some drumming in the distance. It grew louder and louder. It was getting closer and closer. To the point where I knew it had to be just down below the hotel. I came out of my room to the balcony and sure enough there was a group drumming away in the night. It was so incredible, so powerful. I love drums. Their intensity and beat grabs a part of me and I am rendered helpless to its rhythm. The drumming was in celebration of the Muslim holiday Mohorum. Who knew? Not me! But I enjoyed it just the same. The past two nights now the group has come through the streets drumming. It sounds fabulous !
    As dusk hit’s the Lake Palace hotel lights the torches bordering the beautiful Taj Hotel. We have a spectacular view from the roof top patio at my hotel. The sun goes down behind the mountains and shortly after you can again hear the call to prayer echoing throughout the neighborhood. Another day has passed in beautiful Udaipur, with its beautiful people, and their daily routines. It is a beautiful life.

Chocolate, banana, peanut butter pudding

    One of the amazing things about traveling is the people you get to meet. Particularly in India it is easy to meet people. As a white woman I most definitely stand out in a crowd. If not only due to the different dress and style I have, but also the fact that every local Indian’s head will turn towards you and watch you at any given moment. Anywho, lots of people, and always meeting people!
    One morning I decided to venture out and away from my usual breakfast haunts and try somewhere new. I had seen a French bakery/café on the other side of the lake and wanted to go and get a proper coffee this one morning. When I arrived all of the tables were occupied. I perused the menu as I waited for a table.  One of the men working there came over and suggested that I have a seat in the back, courtyard area. He led me there and one seat was available at a table, where a woman was sitting having her breakfast. I had wanted to a seat in the front, by myself. I hummed over it a little, went back to the front to check to see if anyone had vacated their table, they hadn’t. So I went back to the courtyard and asked if I could share the table with the young woman that was sitting there. Best decision ever!!!
    The young lady’s name was Autumn and she was from Israel. Apparently many young Israeli’s travel to India after high school and after their time in the army. We sat together, had cappuccino, talked about Canada, Israel, the army, tree planting; life in general. It was fabulous. The most remarkable thing about our conversation was how open and candid it was. Because we were in India, because we were perfect strangers, and because there were absolutely no pretenses, false or otherwise we were able to have an incredibly genuine and enriching conversation. So amazing!
    One thing I learned about myself from our conversation that morning, well actually two things; 1) how much I absolutely LOVE Canada, and 2) how much I love tree planting. I could have gushed about those two topics all day long.
    Breakfast with Autumn was not only delightful but so enjoyable that we decided to meet again, the next day for coffee. Even though we only had a few days together morning coffee became a bit of a ritual. Every morning around 10am we would meet and have fantastic conversation and just share about life. I think it is safe to say that we just adore each other. It was definitely the highlight of my day, even though it rivaled milking the cows ;)
    On Saturday we met at a new café, Jheel’s, which Autumn raved about. it’s a good place to rave about. Not only do they have proper espresso’s, Americano’s, and lattes, but they have specialty coffees as well, such as Hazelnut or caramel flavored coffee, and chocolate bar shakes!!! Yes, you read it correctly! I haven’t had the gumption to order a chocolate bar shake just yet, but I did try a sip of Autumn’s toblerone shake; delicious J On top of Jheel’s fabulous coffees and shakes, it is also a rooftop restaurant/café, so you get a beautiful view of the city. What more is that now that I am a regular the main server, Rhuba, brings me free chai after free chai! Yesterday he even passed me a small plate of onion baji’s, Mmmmmm J To top it all off Rhuba, a very sweet man, has the most bad-ass mustache I have seen. Pretty darn sweet [ not to make anyone jealous or threatened ;)]
    Saturday was Autumn’s last day in Udaipur so we made a day of it. After coffee and breakfast we went on a boat tour around Lake Pichola; the main lake that all the hotels and tourism is based around. It was a nice afternoon activity. We also did some local shopping, I bought myself a nice, new blouse, for very cheap.
    As we couldn’t bear saying our goodbye’s then Autumn and I decided to meet up at my favorite restaurant Millets of Mewar for a last supper. That evening over chocolate, banana, and peanut butter pudding we had our last moments together. It was hilarious how sentimental we were over a three day friendship, ha ha ha ha J We are hoping to connect during December, when we are both in Goa.
    Thought it was important to mention a) how nice it is to step outside of our comfort zones b) venture out to visit and try new places and c) how great new friends and connections are. Thanks Autumn :D

Social Justice alive and well :)

    Life takes many twists and turns. Some you anticipate, some you do not! For example; I anticipated going to University and obtaining an undergraduate degree. I did not anticipate studying International and Comparative Studies, traveling to Guatemala, Honduras, and Nicaragua, learning about the lack of rights, and human rights abuses in these countries. I didn’t expect to wind up volunteering for a summer with L’Arche, an organizational which supports people with developmental disabilities and then making that into a career/job for almost five years. Lastly I did expect to someday go to India however I did not anticipate coming here, to the city of Udaipur, and falling right into niche of how I want my passions, interests, and hopes and dreams to continue being an integral part of my life.
    I will explain. I believe I mentioned in some earlier posts about a restaurant here in town called Millets of Mewar, or as I am now calling them M.O.M. My first attraction to the restaurant was the gluten-free options they advertised. My second attraction was that they offered mineral water bottle refills. A great option as it costs me less, but also reduces waste of plastic water bottles. My third attraction was the sustainable walks they do in town. Showcasing the reuse of materials and local resources. Very different from the mainstream tourist industry of bedazzled shoulder bags, carved elephants, and other artisan items. In speaking with the owners of  M.O.M they also promote biodiversity, using alternate grains such as Millet and Amaranth. Not only wheat and rice, although they use these grains in their restaurant as well.
    I regularly frequent this restaurant as not only do they promote so many different facets of social justice, but they also have delicious food. One evening I was there early; journaling before my friend was to arrive. One of the co-owners, Anoop (the name of a very good friend of mine in Ontario), approached me for some feedback about the restaurant. I gave him my thoughts and opinions about the things I liked about the restaurant. I started blathering on about my undergrad and some of the things I studied. I mentioned ‘food politics’ and the importance of bio-diversity. I also mentioned Dr.Vandana Shiva. I knew she was from India and quite an active and prominent player in terms of food politics, bio-diversity, and making food accessible to all the mouths in India. Anoop asked me “do you want to meet her?” I sat there immobile, then questioned “what?” Anoop responded “Dr.Shive has been working with us and our efforts here in the restaurant, and around the city. She is speaking in Delhi on the 15th and 16th of December. Would you like to come and meet her?” Still stunned, but a huge grin beginning to form across my face. In face I think my face become solely a smile. Eyes, nose, cheeks, and forehead vanished as my smile took over it all! I finally stuttered out “uhhhh ya!!!!!” Anoop quickly sent me an email with the dates and his contact information. Fabulous. I think I was beaming for the rest of the evening.
    There have been many times that I have felt that I wasted my time in my undergrad. Not so much that the information I learned isn’t valuable or relative. But that I didn’t take that information and use it in terms of a career. I have struggled with being a care-giver after my undergrad. Thinking that I should be doing something more with myself, with my gifts, my talents, my knowledge, etc. I was constantly going back and forth about what it all meant and whether or not it was important. Also weighing out the value in terms of me, the individual, but also what service I am offering the world/ human kind in a larger sense. When I would read Henry Nouwen, or Jean Vanier, I would think about what I am contributing in a larger sense and remind myself that this work was just as important as any paper I could be writing while doing my Masters degree, or any actions I could be taking working for a non-profit. It was definitely a struggle.
    About three and a half years ago my dear friend and one of my role models passed away. She was heavily involved in Social justice and, it seemed, that she lived it as part of her everyday life. In her home, in her work, in her studies, in her community. In many ways she was the epitome of social justice. After she passed  I remember feeling that I couldn’t let the social justice part of me die. I had to keep active in it and keep it relevant. At the time I was living in Vancouver, I was working as a care-giver for people with disabilities, although for a private company, not with L’Arche, which was my first love.  Besides this and choosing to ride my bike and sky train, as opposed to having a car, I wasn’t doing much else in terms of social justice. I was living a fairly simple life in the mountains, near the ocean, in B.C. I was trying to live ‘the dream’ but really wasn’t doing a very good job of it. With my friends’ death it became clear that I wasn’t doing all that I could be doing, but I wasn’t quite sure what it was that I wanted to be doing, or how to go about doing it.
    Fast forward three and a half years later and all of a sudden I can see that I am still living that social justice life. No, it doesn’t look like how I thought it would look. In my mind it was supposed to look like me sitting at a desk, working for a non-profit, helping people, that don’t have a voice, or power, or acknowledgement in their lives. But now I see that my life of social justice is choosing to buy local, fair trade, organic. It is my choice to be a care-giver to people with mental or physical disabilities. It is my choice to spend my summer planting trees in the cut blocks of Alberta’s forestry industry, or in Canada’s tar sands. It is in my choice to go back to school for acupuncture, and bring that medicine to those who cannot afford it or do not have access to it. It is in my choice to keep reading, learning, and finding alternatives in everyday life.  To keep living that dream, the social justice dream, and, not to sound too corny, to make that the reality.

Homesick Headache

Homesick; me????? It can’t be possible. But it is true. I think I didn’t understand the meaning of ‘homesick’ until yesterday afternoon. I always thought people who get homesick are well . .. babies. I thought they were scared or fearful individuals who couldn’t cope with change, didn’t like diversity or difference, and just missed their mommies. I can now say that this isn’t true, and I miss my Daddy. Hahahahha!
    What I have now come to understand as ‘homesick’ is not so much that you want to leave and go home immediately, because I don’t. Its just a deep longing for a very specific type of love that you have felt.
    India is beautiful, magical, majestic even. Everyday amazing, coincidental things just happen. You meet someone new, or discover a new area of town that had just the thing you were looking for. Or you see a new place that, if possible, tops your charts of the most beautiful thing you have ever seen. It is incredible and you are constantly amazed!  The newness is so exciting and exhilarating. But at the end of the day, when you come back to your hotel room and you look around. You don’t see anyone you recognize. There is no one there to greet you. No one there to give you a big hug. No one for you to share your day with. Its still just you and India.
    I think the phrase “no man is an island” is entirely apt here and now! In the past when I travelled I NEVER got home sick. I barely even missed home. I was so happy to be away from Canada, doing my own thing, experiencing the world, seeing new sights, faces, and places. It was great. I felt more alive and happy than I ever did in Canada. The thought of going back to Canada was draining for me. I never wanted to return back to the motherland. Somehow the difference I was experiencing abroad fed me more than anything else. You can understand my confusion now, with a) naming ‘homesick’ to myself and b) figuring out how to process and cope with it. It is very unfamiliar and uncomfortable to some extent. Its like I don’t recognize or know this feeling and in turn, this part of me.
    It made me think about my first day of school. Your parents take you there, they make sure you know who your teacher is, and that she is aware of who you are and that she needs to take care of you. You are in a mix of hundreds of other newbies to school. It is crazy and noisy and chaotic. The bell rings and your parents say their goodbye, let go of you hand and leave you alone. Alone in this new place, with these new people, in this new and unfamiliar place. For a second you panic “oh no, they left me. They really left me. What am I going to do?” For that brief second or two you feel so helpless and experience a sense of deep dread. After those moments of worry and fear another little person, in your same predicament, walks over to you, smiles, and asks if your teacher is the same as theirs. You nod, and they reach over and grab your hand. Now you have a buddy and now you can get through all of the newness, all of the difference, all of the change.
    I think the feeling of homesick comes and goes when you are travelling as sometimes you have people who reach out and grab your hand and sometimes you have to wait until you are shuffled into your classroom, take your seat, and wait to meet some new friends at recess ;)

Milk Maiden

    So I have started milking cows! I cannot say that when I left for four months to India that I knew I would be milking cows, but I am! I have become friends with the manager of the hotel that I am staying at. His family owns that hotel, another hotel down the road, and a more upper (utter) crust hotel that they have been working on for ten years! In the basement of the more upper crust hotel they keep cows. Apparently Accrams’ father likes the cows. So they keep them around. One day, as Accram and I were chatting he mentioned the cows and asked me if I would want to go milk them. I excitedly agreed and we arranged that I would milk them the following day at 5pm! Woo hoo!
    The next day at 5pm I was ready to go! I went into the basement of the hotel. I must admit I was quite intimidated. All of a sudden it was me, alone, with the cows. Accram was meeting me there shortly. I barely stepped foot into the basement area. I stood there, by myself, and said “hello cows. I am Stephanie”. They didn’t seem too bothered or interested in me. Just kept about their business; chewing their cud, eating grass. A few minutes went by and I grew a little concerned. Not knowing what to do, what to say, where to step, or not step. Avoid the cow dung ;) Soon enough Accram showed up with two metal pails, ready to show me the ropes!
    First he cleans the utters with water. He made mention that Hindus do not do this. They just milk the cows right away. Accram found this point humorous; the difference between Hindus and Muslims. After the utters are clean, then we can milk. Just for the record I have been doing this for at least five days now, and I am still getting the hang of it! it’s a little tricky. My first time was very uncomfortable and I felt very awkward. Extremely awkward. The first cow, the brown one, I tried to milk doesn’t really like me. Accram says she thinks I am a doctor, past trauma I assume, so she keeps her distance and is shy. This makes it difficult for me to attempt to milk her as she moves around a lot! So I decided to step back and just observe. Accram finished with the brown cow. Then we let the littlest of the calves, I want to call her Betsy, feed from her Mom.
    Then we move on to the older, white cow, who I am now calling Lavender. She recently gave birth to a little calf who is blind. The blind calf is about two and a half months old. The poor thing is still so helpless. She tried to move around and constantly stumbles. I do mean constantly. Hopefully her sense of smell kicks in and he learns to cautiously take steps. The white cow is patient and calm. I tried to milk her. I did terribly! I fumbled, much like the little blind calf, I couldn’t get any milk to come out. When I did my direction was off. Accram showed me how to hold my hand. Still couldn’t get it. I stood back and watched. Accram makes it look so easy. He uses both hands, not one like me, milks the cow, fills up the bucket and is on to the next one!
    The last cow, the black one, has her calf feed a little bit first. I don’t know if it stimulates the milk to drop down, or what, but she feeds first. Then Accram cleans the utters, then milks her. To date I have not cleaned the utters, and I am fine with that. The black cow is very difficult to milk. Even Accram thinks so. I believe he has tendonitis in his hands from milking this one particular cow. On the one hand the black cow is easier to milk because her utters are larger. However, I don’t know if there is more muscle, or tissue, but she is extremely difficult to milk. It takes a lot more pressure and muscle strength from me to milk her. My forearm gets tired soo quickly. Clearly I need to develop this muscle group!
    Everyday I go and try again. I learn a little bit more and bond with the cows. Accram laughs and laughs at me. I must look so awkward, or like I am trying to hard, which I probably am. Ha ha ha! I practice for awhile. Then sit back and watch. Then I practise again until my muscles gets tired. Then sit back and watch again.
    My favourite part of the experience is spending time with the little calves. They are awfully cute. The little one is very jumpy. Whenever I motion forward to pet her she jumps back. Lately she has gotten more comfortable with me and moves towards me. I let her smell my hand, she often licks my clothes. I’m not the biggest fan of calf slobber, but whatev’s?!?!?! I practise my Hindi with them “op ka nom ka hey?” What is your name, I say to the little one. It just licks my pant leg and waits to feed.
    Yesterday, the routine shifted. Accram was to milk the cows at 7am, not 5pm. He rotates this responsibility with his brother Hussein. I set my alarm for 7ish. Got myself together and made my way down to the makeshift barn. To my surprise there were two very elderly Indians there. A couple, I presume. They arrive there every morning to gather all the cow dung, which the woman makes into cow patties. The man lifts the, very heavy, bowl of already prepared cow patties, walks them over outside of the barn and sets them out into the sun to dry.  They do this for the better part of an hour. The woman keeps perfect balance squatting the whole time she makes these patties. She mixes the dung with a bit of broken up straw and debris. It kinda looks like dough, but entirely inedible. This couple must be into their 90’s. It looks like the frail hubby uses all of his strength and energy to lift the bowl up and onto his head before he walks it a few feet over into the sunshine. Its remarkable. I wonder how long they have been doing this??? They use the dried cow patties as fuel for a fire.
    I have names all of the cows now. The little one I call Bobby or Billy. I really wanted to call him Betsy, but found out she was a he. So Billy or Bobby it is. Maybe Bilby, or Bobly. Bobly sounds more appropriate as the little one is so jumpy and frolics all the timeJ Maybe even Bilbo, Bilbo baggins?? This calf could be a Hobbitt??? The next oldest is the blind one, who my friend Michele said I should call Stevie, because he is blind. So Stevie it is!!! He is also a he, so it makes sense. The eldest of the calves I wanted to call Gerard. But found out he was a she so now it is Geraldine. I am still thinking of names for the other two cows. One is quite shy, she is the one that is scared of me, thinks that I am a doctor. Then there is the one with the tough utters. Any suggestions??? Hahahahahhahaha J
    This morning, half asleep, I was doing much better. Definitely getting the hang of it! I am enjoying my time learning how to  milk the cows, spending time with the calves, practising my Hindi, and having Accram laugh at me. Life is good !!!

Call to Prayer

In my opinion India is a foundational place of religion much like Israel. Foundations were laid here in India for a multiplicity of religions; Hinduism, Sikhism, Jainism, and to an extent Islam. Well maybe India isn’t the foundational place for Islam but it definitely thrives here and has an extensive history.
    The ‘call to prayer’ occurs five times a day. Starting at 5:30am and commencing at 8:15pm. I am woken up every morning at 5:30am to the first call to prayer. There are two Mosques in this neighbourhood and I usually hear the one closest to my window. A man that works for the Mosque comes on a P.A system and calls or sings out calling all Muslims to the Mosque for morning prayer. Not all Muslims answer, and not all Muslims go to the Mosque at this time. Nonetheless the call to prayer happens everyday without fail and it is part of the norm here in India.
    Five times a day. Five times a day there is a reminder or focus of faith and religion. I can barely brush my teeth twice a day and that is a matter of hygiene! It gives one something to think about though. How many times a day do we stop and think about the most important thing/s in our lives??? How many times a day are we encouraged to check ourselves out of the daily routine, the daily grind, and remember what we are doing . . .  everything for??
    I understand, and support, the fact that not everyone has or needs a religion. However I do feel that we all hold certain things very dear to our hearts. For me the most important things are family, friends, health, laughter, love, happiness, nature, and a good cup of coffee J If, in my everyday life, I stopped five times a day to remember, reflect, and just sit with how important those things are to me, how would my life be different? Would my life be different? Would I actually stop and feel the meaning of those things? Would I stop and solely think about the importance of those things? Would I stop and practice the importance of those things, perhaps by writing an email, going for a walk in the woods, making a phone call, or popping in to see a friend I haven‘t connected with for awhile? I am not sure. Being in India, many many miles away from some of those very important things definitely makes me think about them much more often. As well as feeling the absence/distance of them more strongly. It also makes me practise the importance of them as well as I do not want to take any of those things for granted. Family and friends aside I have only been away for twelve days and I am already in withdraw and dearly missing my beloved Rocky Mountains.
    I do not know much about Allah, or Mohammed, or the Muslim religion in general, but I do appreciate their daily reminder to come back to the things that are important. For them, religion, and God, are important. So much so that they are called to it multiple times a day.
    I think I will take a page from Islam and the call to prayer and attempt to be called back to the things that are most important to me at least five times daily!


*** Last evening I had a very poor nights' sleep. I had many nightmares, which made me restless, and did not provide a restful sleep. This morning's 5:30am call to prayer was not only very unwelcome but exceptionally loud and disturbing. I guess we can't be humble, graceful, and full of gratitude everyday :S

A Temple, a Palace, and a ladoo

    I just had the BEST ladoo and samosa of my life!!! Lets review the day: I met up with a travelling companion to have some breakfast. I chose a restaurant in the neighbourhood which specialized in local, organic, and healthy meals. This included vegan and gluten free options, great for me. In speaking with the part-owner it is his aim to provide sustainable options to tourists. For example millet. A grain full of nutrition, not mono cropped, and which uses a fraction of the water rice and wheat do! Incredible! Hence the title of the restaurant Millets of Mewar. I had an excellent ladoo here the day before with raisins . .. Mmmmmm.
    After this it was off the Jagdish temple, which was beautiful. The architecture INCREDIBLE!! When we left the temple we were approached by a lady and her 12 year old daughter. They invited us to their humble home for a cup of chai. The daughter knew a little English and the Mother much more. I must admit as we walked to their home I became increasingly more suspicious as there was no one on the streets leading up to their home, and we seemed to be getting further and further from anything recognizable. It turned out well enough. We were invited into their one bedroom home where the four of them sleep at night. The mother was very keen on educating her children; a daughter and a son. She had a notebook in which travellers write down messages for the kids to practice reading. In addition to having a full time job this mother also sold puppets from their home. Her goal was to send both her kids to the university in London, England. Her daughter to be a doctor and her son in central intelligence. The American CIA. Amazing goals!
    We left there after a lovely dinner invitation to go to the City Palace. One of the main tourist attractions in the area. It was insanely crowded. For the 10 days after Diwali most Indians go on vacation around the country, which means everywhere is CROWDED. The entrance fee was more than I had anticipated and again there was a substantial fee to bring my camera in. I thought I could get away without paying the camera fee, so I put my camera in my side bag and hoped no one would notice.
    Once inside the line-ups were HUGE! People were buzzing about everywhere. It was early afternoon so it was hot and sticky. There were also metal detectors and a bag search before you entered the palace proper. So I turned around and left. I figured an afternoon nap, some water, and shade would do me far better than sightseeing at the present moment.
    I went back a few hours later and to be perfectly honest the City Palace really wasn’t that great. It looks a lot better from the outside. Even though it was close to close the lines were still very long, it was still hot and sticky, and people were pushy! I zipped through the entire palace in about 30 minutes. The audio tour is an hour and a half! Hahahahha, clearly this wasn’t of great interest to me. I walked back to my side of town; over the bridge. I stopped into Millets of Mewar and filled up my water bottle for 5 Rupees as opposed to buying a new bottle for 15 or 20. Then sauntered down a newly discovered road to get some fruit. It was here that I stumbled upon the most delicious looking samosas! So I caved and bought . . . Two. I had one there and brought one back to my hotel with me. I also tried a piece of their barfi, which I wasn’t too impressed with, being a barfi connoisseur and all ;) As I went to pay the owner said “ladoo“, and quickly went into his display to get me a ladoo. Oh my goodness!!! Absolutely INCREDIBLE! It was denser than the ones I am used to. But the flavour was supreme! I could have eaten many more, but I stopped myself. Oh man!!! If I could make ladoo that delicious everyday it would all be over!!!
    If life couldn’t get any better I went and bought some fresh almonds, pistachios and dried figs. Amazing I am really liking and my neighbourhood, and getting to know it very well J