The main reason people come to Aurangabad is its proximity to Ellora and Ajanta, two incredible examples of rock-cut architecture where the artist cuts the sculpture OUT of the rock. In this case basalt. They are the finest in the world of this type and were recently named by UNESCO as World Heritage Sites.

The road to Ajanta? That won’t be named anything except where maybe you were involved in a life-altering wreck of car, lorry, motorcycle, scooter, bicycle or yak.

I was on that road on Saturday, March 30th, riding in a car driven expertly by Gluogh. Three-and-a-half hours out, three-and-a-half hour back. The road was so incredibly bad and coupled with all the drivers of all said vehicles (and all seen), there were times when I thought “yep, this is it. It’s been a nice life.” and then Gluogh slows down or speeds up or sneaks behind a dastardly lorry and life resumes as normal again. Until the next time.

Here is a link to a one minute-ish video of what I’m talking about. I plan on writing more soon but my wi-fi is going bye-bye soon.

Time is starting to play games with me. That’s to be expected when traveling. What seems like yesterday was a facial paint slap-stain taken a week ago. And what seems like years ago was the anti-Patridge Family bus ride I endured for nearly ten hours last Wednesday night. Come on get nauseas. Normally, the trip to Aurangabad is a one hour plane flight from Mumbai. But since the primary jet flown on that route is grounded internationally, the best way to go from point M to point A is an overnight bus. The plus? It has BEDS. The minus? Each bed is approximately 5’6″ long.

Lots of fetal position “sleeping”, though there wasn’t much of that at all. Which brings up time itself while doing the actual traveling, not just reflecting. If you’d said “Dave, you’ll be traveling ten hours with no sleep”, I’d think you were nuts for suggesting it and I would be nuts to do it. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my life (especially after my trip in 1990 when I thought it would truly never end) is that things, all things, will end. A refrain of “This too shall pass” has never been more applicable than when you are barreling down some unseen road in the middle of the night in a country that is so amazing you put up with all cavernous potholes, the sudden stops and lurches and the whining of an engine that sounds like it’s stuck on acceleration and you imagine your family finding out about your ghastly incineration months later when the dental records finally come back.

Yeah. Like that.

But, then you jump when the captain taps you on the shoulder (did you fall asleep?) and tells you it’s your stop. And the ride is over. THIS ride, is over. And you take a deep breath, say ‘thank you’ and haul your stuff out of the bus.

My ride was supposed to be there to pick me up at 6:30 but I didn’t know what they looked like, what the car was that they were driving, nothing. So, as happens, I got swept away in the welcoming arms of a local tourist agent, doing his job of offering car services, hotel rooms, sightseeing tours, but first a chai, would you like a chai? Yes, I would. I sat down, a little stunned at the encroaching heat, the cacophony of horns, shrieks, revving engines, motorcycles, motorized tuk-tuks and I’m sure, somewhere out there, a dog barked. Once the chai was drank, the imploring of my new friend continued unabated. I kept putting him off, telling him someone was coming to pick me up. The tidal wave of sales pitches continued to crash down on me. The thing is, I feel for the guy. He’s out there workin it at 6:30 in the morning in hopes of landing a guest to he can make some money. And despite my rejections, the pleas never stop. Hell, they never slow down. So I do what I need to do more often here: Just walk away. No apologies, no surrender. Just go. I hauled my big-ass back pack and my day pack off their chairs, said thank you for the chai and walked…and that’s when I met Shiva. Shiva, my ride, who shows up all happy on his 125cc Hero motorcycle and says with a smile “You David?” “YES! I’m David!” I am so PSYCHED to see Shiva. And then…and then I look around for someone with a car. Cuz I gotta 230 pound body to go along with 30 pounds of two backpacks and it’s been approximately 37 years since I took a ride on the back of a motorcycle. “Get on?” I ask with furrowed brow and quaking knees. “YES! Get on!” So I get on, flattening the back wheel I’m sure, speeding off into the gathering dawn, trusting a young man named Shiva to get me safely to where I’ll be for four days. And he does.

Welcome to Aurangabad.

In 1990 I traveled to Greece to hang out with my buddy Flicka, who was living there to learn the language. His great-grandfather grew up in Areopolis (“The City of War”), a little village in the deep south on the Peloponnese Peninsula and that’s where Flick had been living for nearly six months. After I arrived in Athens, Flicka asked me if I’d like to travel around the Peloponnese for the month I’d be there and take in such historical sights as Tripoli, Sparta, Olympia and others. In other words, be a tourist. Nothing wrong with that. Then he said we could stay in Areopolis for the month and dive deep into Greek culture, meet all the characters of that little town, have language lessons and, basically, come away with a better understanding of life in a country so far away from our own. In a heartbeat, I chose the latter. And my life has been forever better because of it.

I grew up in Corvallis, home of Oregon State University. My mom and dad were very active in many pursuits besides their work and family. One of the campus organizations they supported was Crossroads. Now, from what I remember, Crossroads helped international students ease into the new world of university living and studying at a school abroad. To facilitate this, they solicited volunteers from the community to connect with a student. We hosted students from Taiwan, Iran and Sweden, but it was our first from India who made the biggest impression on me. Harpreet was her name. In a 10-year-old’s eyes, she was the epitome of exotic. She was demure yet confident, kind, wore beautiful, vibrant clothes and had a wonderful, bright smile that complemented her exquisite dark skin. And she had a thick, black rope of a braid that extended past her waist. This intrigued my younger sister and me greatly. To enhance her legend (or to just make two children laugh), we would go to the local YMCA to swim and she would let us pull her around the pool by her braid. We were gentle and amazed. She would come to dinner dressed in bright, colorful saris, went to Hoo Doo Ski Bowl to touch snow for the first time and was so vital to my education that we humans are basically the same, worthy of love and respect regardless of anything that initially makes us different. I am so thankful that my parents exposed us kids to young men and women from other parts of the planet to prove just that. And I believe it is from that parental kindness that I am now benefiting.

A few months ago, I put it out to the Universe that I wanted to go to India. It was time. A few days later, I watched as three groups of people of Indian descent came to the Moth StorySLAM I was producing. I started talking to one family, the Talekars, and before you know it, they were inviting me to their home in Mumbai in case I needed a place to crash. The mother, father and daughter (Pradnya) were all visiting the son in San Francisco and decided to travel to Portland for holiday together. I made it a point to email Pradnya first thing the next morning to reinforce the connection because you never know, right? We emailed sporadically over the next few weeks and before you know it, today I’m waking up on the 14th floor overlooking the Arabian Sea (well, it’s there…you just can’t see it for the thick, mustard haze).

The patriarch of the family, Satish, is a well-known lawyer in this state and they have a spare bedroom in their office in Mumbai. That is, specifically, where I am. And you have not been treated as a guest until you are a guest of an Indian family. Oh my gosh. So much kindness. But it is only beginning.

After asking if I’d like to learn more about rural India, Pradnya developed an itinerary for me that combines my desire to see the country while being in a small town, like in Greece 29 years ago. After another day in Mumbai, I will board an overnight bus to Aurangabad, the Talekar’s home city. The bus is of the sleeper variety so yes, there are beds running down each side of the interior. It’s a ten hour ride to Aurangabad. From there, I will be shuttled to the father’s home village of Bhoom for a few days and from there, off to the mother’s village of Shelgaon. And from there, back to Mumbai for a couple of nights before flying to Kathmandu and beginning my trek.

A few snaps from my first week in this incredible country.

For those smart enough to not have a Facebook account.

So, on the suggestions of non-Facebook followers, I will start linking any video blogs to my YouTube channel. Here is the Happy Holi! video. Thank you!!

Okay, so now it’s actually up.

Alright, so I did another vlog, for better or worse, so that means heading on over to my Facebook page. The joy!

Please see my Facebook page as this does not accept video. 😦