Travel Talk - Ladakh (India) and Bhutan

Third and last presentation for the year after Jordan and Russia - Travel Talk: Ladakh (India) & Bhutan. Am so elated it was well received. Interestingly the group has not had any presenters on Bhutan in a long time so that generated a lot of interest. My next slot is for Feb.....topic Afghanistan! So excited. 2018 calendar is already filled up for the group...wow.

Every session is a learning experience, with the participants sharing rich and interesting travel experiences.... After the presentation ended at 6:30, a small group ended up staying until 9 today, one never gets bored with these conversations! A member who is now retired was a English language instructor and lived in Japan for many years. So the learning for today is about Haiku, a short form of Japanese poetry and that it is characterized by 17 syllables, in three phrases of 5, 7, 5.

Airport Woes

I was traveling back to DC from Vientiane via BKK and here is how amusingly conversations went with various airlines personnel.


SCENE 1

Check-in counter at Wattay Intl Airport, Vientiane: Ma’am, your luggage will be checked in until BKK only
Me: But I connect on Qatar later tonight, cant the luggage be transferred?
Check-in counter at Wattay: Sorry ma’am. Thai Smile does not provide transfer services. You will need to collect your luggage at Suvarnabhumi airport and check in again
Me: !!!!! Does this make sense? I don’t need to get into Bangkok
Check-in counter at Wattay: Please check with Thai Airways personnel in Bangkok.

SCENE 2

Me: Sir, I need to have my luggage transferred. I was asked by Thai Smile to contact Thai personnel
Information center in BKK airport: Ma’am you need to clear immigration to collect your luggage
Me: (Oh….I didn’t know that – in my mind). Thank you, but I don’t want to clear immigration. I want the luggage to be transferred. I prefer to stay in the airport terminal.
Information counter in BKK airport: Please go speak to Qatar Airways personnel on level 2.

SCENE 3

I walk 15 mins, clear security to get to transfer area on level 2. I find no one at the Qatar counter.
Thai Airways counter: Ma’am can I help you?
Me: Please! I just need to have my luggage transferred, having arrived from Vientiane on Thai Smile.
Thai Airways counter: Oh sorry ma’am, but Thai Smile does not provide the service
Me: I thought Thai Smile was part of Thai Airways?
Thai Airways counter: yes, ma’am but we are yet to sign some MOUs
Me: (HA HA HA – in my mind). OKAY……I cannot find anyone from Qatar in the transfer area
Thai Airways counter: They will come 3-4 hours before flight time. You see, today is a Saturday
Me: Doesn’t the airport have any paid service to have the luggage transferred?
Thai Airways counter: No ma’am sorry
Me: So how do I speak to a Qatar representative?
Thai Airways counter: Maybe you can find someone in the departure terminal
Me: (God, please give me patience!). But that means I must clear immigration???
Thai Airways counter: Yes ma’am. There is no other option
Me: Okay, I can get a visa on entry. But what if I couldn’t, then how should I get my luggage?
Thai Airways counter: In that case ma’am, I need to check with my manager
Me: Can you check now assuming I cannot get a visa?
Thai Airways counter: You will need to wait ma’am. The manager is not around currently.
Me: Thank you very much, I will get a visa.

So, I end up paying for a visa (using the fast track as the regular line was way too long) just so that I can collect my luggage. Cost apart, such a waste of time and effort. Well, Thai Smile, you definitely didn’t make me smile! Maybe BKK airport could think of something similar like the Marhaba in Dubai. Even if expensive, atleast the service is available. I hope the drama quota for this trip is over, please!

Now it’s a different matter altogether that I was not going to let the visa go waste. So, I take the airport link train to get to the city for 3 hours to do some quick shopping at Platinum. This doesn’t rate very well on the cost benefit analysis though, just saying.....

My first impression of a city….actually two cities

YANGON – While a green Myanmar is not a surprise, I was a bit surprised that a buzzling city would have so much greenery (atleast going by many cities in India where greenery is vanishing). Its lush everywhere, not just in some parts of the city. And the rain only added to the beauty. Very friendly people, as a first timer I was reminded of Thailand. The Burmese equivalent of Sawadika is mingalaba, used both for hello and goodbye. Just a little less musical. The ‘thanaka’ (traditional Burmese cosmetic paste made from ground bark) is used widely, I would have thought working women may not prefer to wear it to office. But surprise, many women employees from the govt that attended a training hosted by us came with the paste applied on their cheeks. Mostly it is a perfect round, occasionally the shape of a leaf. I have seen petite women in South East Asia, but in Myanmar they are ‘petite petite’, with a delicate waistline that will put the sexiest of mannequins to shame. The traditional attire is not a rarity, most women wear the longyi, and in such lovely colors and designs. Yes, it’s just a variation of the Indian lungi. But the mean wear the typical lungi that I am familiar with in India, with a rounded knot in the center. It also doubles up as formal, most government employees and many men I saw on the road wore the longyi. There are nice boutiques that custom make longyi for women, next time next time!

Rain or shine, rather I should say even if no rain nor shine, everyone carries an umbrella during the rainy reason. It’s not the fancy flimsy foldable ones, but the sturdy long ones with a curved handle. The surprise element of this trip for me was that people carry lunch to office in the 2 or 3 level traditional ‘tiffin carrier’!!! In Chennai, I have not seen one in ages - they are long gone into the paran (attic), and have given way to smarter lunch containers (called Tupperware!). Many in Chennai would be embarrassed to carry this to office, but not them. Road side eateries are common, and there are vendors at every traffic signal. Mind you, the signals are long so there is sufficient time to buy the flowers and paan! You drive around downtown, and you can instantly identify the Tamil women, because of the bindi and the features. I did not get a chance to try, but a colleague told me that the idlis from the many chettiar shops in downtown are famous. It was interesting to drive past the Kali Amman temple, a gurudwara, Arya Samaj temple and the Thambara Reddiar school! The school though no longer functions as a school apparently. Sighting monks is not a rarity, but I saw lady monks for the first time. They wear pink robes. Due to the heavy rains, I was just happy walking round the Kandawgyi lake and visiting the Shwedagon pagoda, rest of the sightseeing will have to wait. The pagoda is lit up all night, and is imposing. I was excited to see so many monks in the pagoda, but was amused that they were doing exactly the same thing as everyone else – taking pictures on their mobile!

 

NAYPYIDAW – By the way, this is the capital if you did not know (I did not know). A city built from scratch. Built for the future I guess, with segregated zones for offices, residences and hotels. Has 20 lane roads (10 on one side), but you can see very few people and very few cars in the city! There is no shortage of space, so the hotels are mostly sprawled out. Its ok if you are on holiday, but on work it’s not very comfortable with buildings spread out. Didn’t see much of the city except for the Hilton and the Auditor General’s office. But the hotel is definitely worth staying over the weekend, could combine it with a 3.5 hr drive to Mandalay. I was a bit paranoid (no surprise there) as it was constantly raining, and we were flying in small aircraft (ATR 72?). It’s the only thing that makes me uncomfortable, everything about travel is okay except for the flights! But as the aircraft flies low, one can see the green fields below. Such a beautiful sight.

Afghanistan Demystified – End of a chapter

Late 2008. Things changed in Kabul. When I now compare 2006 to 2014, it’s a stark difference. But while living there, the changes were so gradual that they went unnoticed, except for the unfortunate big incidents. One such incident resulted in my move from a thriving private house to a protected Bank residence, though the saving grace was that my cook continued his services in the new place. By then, my cook had become an expert at making South Indian dishes. While the lunches and dinners continued, I stopped hosting revelries to avoid unwanted attention. I don’t remember when we transitioned to a full fleet of bullet proof vehicles or when cars began to wait on me while I did my meetings at the client offices. The local shopping became restricted, and I was thankful to be able to go to Finest and Spinneys for my groceries even if only for 15 minutes, for these had good print DVDs of English and Hindi movies! The restaurant list got shorter. I missed going to Rumi and Sufi for their ambience, but my favorite brunch place, Wakhan Café, remained on the list.

With so many wonderful things said about Afghanistan, I am afraid of giving a skewed impression and suggesting that it was all fun. It certainly was not. It was a ‘work hard, play hard’ routine, where the line between the two blurred quickly. It was a brutal cycle of project preparations, negotiations and supervisions, meetings, report writing, and much awaited breaks. There was a constant sense of urgency - everything had to be done ‘yesterday’. Work peaked to crazy levels sometimes, but I never felt saturated.  The tremendous support from my colleagues and the camaraderie we shared kept me going.  If I was desperate for a coffee or had the irresistible urge to vent out to my colleague, the in-house Flower Street café was the refuge.

As a South Asian lady with no grey hair (then) working in a conservative society, my biggest challenge was to be taken seriously by my clients. I worked very hard to earn their respect and in my tenure, I consider the confidence my clients placed in me in a short span of time as my proudest achievement. I had huge respect for my clients who worked under difficult circumstances to bring positive change to their country. I believed I had the easier job. So even during my breaks, I ensured I was reachable. There were times I amusingly thought to myself that I didn’t work for my orgn, but for my clients. I knew my clients were happy with the service, as conceited I may sound saying so, and that gratification did wonders to my self-esteem. Professionally and personally, I grew.

My family was privy to everything I did in Afghanistan. I excitedly shared with them the little details about my life, work and travels. I was sometimes afraid of boring them with the stories, except that they saw it as being part of my journey. I missed the opportunity to bring them to Kabul while I lived in a private house. But during the breaks, I traveled with them like there was no tomorrow. While in Afghanistan, I sadly lost my dad, but happily welcomed my niece into this world. The media continued to project an inflated picture of the situation in Afghanistan, and with every bombing the pressure from extended family and friends was mounting. I learnt the art of damage control.  But my immediate family remained staunch in its support of my decision to be in Kabul. Without their backing, I would not have lasted so long - I was the second longest serving staff on assignment in Kabul.

I had my distressing moments too, of security incidents with associated lock down and bunker time. And it was miserable when I could put a face to the name. The bad ones are best not described. People remained resilient through the deteriorating security situation and I was no exception. Ironically, I never felt fear, rather I became immune to these incidents and got back to routine quickly. At worst, the insecurity meant not being able to get to scheduled meetings. There was once I had to work out of temporary work premises due to a security incident, and I was amusingly referred to as an IDP – internally displaced person. But then I was already an IDP – internationally displaced person! I had to keep my humor intact to get through these situations. My thinking was simple. Either quit or stay, but don’t fuss. I had to leave Kabul after a terrible incident in January 2014 but continued my work with frequent visits to the city. Personally though, the worst was to happen in May 2015, and sadly it saw the loss of two friends and the end of a beautiful chapter. Nevertheless, I continued working remotely, before saying a final good bye in September 2016.

A friend who left Kabul before me once told me she experienced ‘withdrawal symptoms’, and advised me not to stay long. I thought it must be a joke. But when I moved out of Kabul in March 2014, it hit me. Most expat Kabulians live in a bubble. I had forgotten for some time how it was to live a normal life. I only experienced normalcy when I visited my family. Outside Afghanistan, I missed the high wire environment, and anything less intense felt mundane. I simply missed being in Kabul jaan! Over the years, I came to fall in love with this country and its people; it was my home away from home. The experience will always remain special and some day in the future, I hope to go back as a tourist to a peaceful Afghanistan.

As I conclude, I feel compelled to recollect some experiences from the many field trips I was part of. Visits to potato farms and small businesses were inspiring, seeing how rural initiatives grew from their modest beginnings to revenue generating enterprises. Cherished experiences of meeting village community members, especially women, to hear about the positive impact of projects. Witnessing community treasurers diligently maintaining accounting records. Visits to remote schools that had basic infrastructure. It was a humbling experience to be welcomed by school students standing in line under the blazing sun, holding the Afghan flag and singing the national song. But the one sight that remains etched in my memory is of a young boy of about six years with pink sun-burnt cheeks and a UNICEF bag hanging around his neck. All these children walked quite a distance to the nearest school. Most often I may have taken it for granted, but these were moments that made me realize how privileged I was to be part of my organization – an organization that is partnering with countries like Afghanistan for a better tomorrow. For good reason, I am reminded of the book I was given when I joined in 2001.  It is titled ‘Our Dream – A World Free of Poverty’. It did not make much sense then. But now it does.

Afghanistan Demystified – All Things Beautiful

10 years of working on Afghanistan and almost 8 years of living in Kabul! ‘How was it?’ It’s a question I am often asked, sometimes with awe but more often with apprehension. It’s a question that brings myriad thoughts and emotions to my mind, as well as a glowing sense of pride and satisfaction. I cannot point to just one aspect that made this journey wonderful, so where do I begin?
     

Afghanistan was an enigma, a distant place somewhere beyond the mountains, and knowledge of it was restricted to what little I had read in school books and newspaper articles. I remember reading the Kabuliwala (an original Bengali short story by the Nobel Prize recipient Rabindranath Tagore), and watching on television the unfortunate bombing of the Buddha statue in Bamyan. When the opportunity of an assignment in Kabul came knocking, the desire to do something different sparked in me. It was a line of profession for which I had neither aspired nor trained for. I was content living and working in my hometown Chennai. But the chance to experience a new culture, to learn new skills, and visit home every 2 months was a lure. So, I found myself sitting in an interview where I was asked questions about the public sector. My answers were mostly in the negative (using the Indian ‘nod’ as many of my colleagues say), but I impressed upon my interviewers that I would learn. Passion is not something I lacked, and maybe it showed. Thus, I made the move from a seemingly normal city to a fragile state in July 2006. In all those years in Chennai when I used to frequent the restaurant ‘Kabul’, I had the remotest idea that one day I will go to live in the REAL Kabul!

I owe my beautiful, and almost poetic existence in Kabul to many - my colleagues, friends, housemates, clients, and to the drivers, facilities and security staff in the office. This is not a token acknowledgement, those who have lived in Kabul know too well it is that spectrum of support system absolutely needed to survive there. The settling in process took no time at all as I had help to carry out the tiniest of tasks, such as even changing a light bulb. I empathized with those who did these tasks as there was no expectation in return except for a genuine tashakor (`thank you` in Dari, the local language). Small change was purely voluntary if one could spare it. Talking of thank you, one of the distinct things about Afghanistan is its way of greeting. It goes on for a full two minutes, exaggerations aside, starting off with salam (greetings), chitor asti? (how are you?), and sehat khoob as? (is your health ok?), before continuing in a long but endearing flurry of niceties that end up completely losing you. In all those years, I never figured out entirely what they said. But I was polite, I smiled and returned the greetings. Another linguistic and cultural peculiarity that stood out was the liberal usage of the term ‘jaan’ (meaning `dear`). The first time a colleague addressed me as ‘Asha jaan’, I cringed. For an Indian, it has a different connotation, being a term of affection reserved only for a romantic partner. But I came to appreciate that Afghans use the term for everything that is cherished. It became part of my vocabulary too. 

I arrived in Kabul at a time when the security situation was, relatively speaking, not bad; I drove around in a soft skin vehicle, shopped at the local grocery store, went to the Butcher street for fresh vegetables, enjoyed Friday dosa brunch at Delhi Durbar, had a long list of go-to restaurants and frequently walked the length of Chikan Street shop-hopping for shawls, rugs and trinkets. Le Bistro sold beautiful paintings, but I found them atrociously expensive. The small shop across the restaurant had a few, painted by the owner.  They were not great, but good enough for a souvenir. I took a taxi once, just once. Interestingly almost every taxi in the city was a Toyota Camry; it influenced my decision not to go for it when I did buy a car after leaving Kabul. The Camry had lost its charm. The shar-e-naw market, a must visit, was deceptive in its appearance. It surprised me with the merchandise it offered especially the shoes that were worthy of a ramp walk! I replenished my stock of dry fruits from a regular store, and while the shopkeeper weighed and packed them, I wouldn’t stop popping the long green kishmish into my mouth. I also did the obvious – read and watched ‘The Kite Runner’; and became a proud owner of the book ‘Afghanistan over a Cup of Tea’ by Nancy Dupree, and hand woven kilims, carpets and donkey sacks! Carpet buying was an enlightening experience, I had not realized I could sound knowledgeable by discussing the knots in a carpet. 

I enjoyed short walks up the small hill close to my home in Wazir Akbar Khan neighborhood. I frequented the UN guest house, a favorite hangout for its pool and squash court, and more so for its Wednesday salsa nights. A one-off day trip to Qargha lake combined a tour of Babur gardens and a sneak peek of the Kabul golf course. I visited a gurudwara too in faraway Karte Parwan area. I wished to witness the legendary Buzkashi (the Afghan national sport, like polo – but using a goat or calf carcass instead of a ball!), but never got a chance.  I recommend with caution the Mandawi market – the largest wholesale market in town that combines cacophony and chaos effortlessly. Disorder is the order of the day in this place and  it takes talent to maneuver around. There is nothing that cannot be found here – spices, copper vessels, clothing, and the ubiquitous Afghan elderly gentleman in his characteristic turban and beard. On the innumerable trips I made across the city, I watched with curiosity the street side shops by the Kabul river and the flock of pigeons by Shah-du-Shamshira mosque, but failed miserably in my attempts to get a good picture from the moving car; it was a no-go zone on foot. Even in the days of flexible movement, attending weddings locally was not allowed. When a colleague got engaged, special permission was granted to attend the celebrations. I was thrilled to be part of the ceremony, sitting with the women folk on one side of the venue, while the men sat on the other side. Interestingly, each side had its own dances. Contrary to popular notion, I saw that Afghans loved their dance and music, if Attan – the national dance of Afghanistan accompanied by the drum - is one example to go by.

Many middle aged Kabulians remembered my city as Madras, the old name for Chennai. More than once I was asked if I had met the famous Amitabh Bachchan (popular Indian actor) or some random actor from the 80s, and I speculated if Bollywood was frozen in the 80s and 90s in their minds. No wonder Ariana cinema mostly showed movies from this time, many unheard of. That many Bollywood actors (particularly the Khans) could trace their ancestry to Afghanistan was a revelation to me. The dynamic younger generation was eager to demonstrate its English and Urdu skills, thanks to which I never picked up Dari (one of the two official languages and a variety of Persian) beyond the basics. I must speak of the country’s hospitality; no Afghanistan story is complete without it. Always overwhelmed by the quantity of food served, I wondered if my Afghan hosts expected me to eat all of it.  But amid all the kebabs and meat offerings, there was a generous vegetarian spread that I came to relish. The Kabuli pulav, eggplant dish and the bolani remain favorites. Seasonal fruits are something to die for; I have seen boxes and boxes of fruits checked in on flights out of Kabul. Somehow the honeydew melon never tastes the same anywhere else. The nation swears allegiance to green tea that is equaled only in its royal accompaniment of dry fruits. I was convinced that green tea is a magic potion, how else to explain for very few overweight people in a largely meat eating population! Too bad I never developed a taste for it. The food culture clarified why Afghans did not understand the concept of vegetarianism, and I convinced no one with my explanation.

In 2006, I remember Kabul was pockmarked with some badly bombed buildings, but despite its dilapidated condition the Darul Aman palace’s erstwhile grandeur was apparent. Outside of Kabul, the landscape is a magical creation of valleys, streams and rugged mountains that left me in awe. It will be a vain attempt to try to describe the breathtaking beauty. I got thrice lucky with Bamyan, traveling to where the imposing Buddha statue once stood and the brilliant blue waters of the tranquil Band-e-Amir lake glitter. A stunning aerial view from behind the ‘statue’ is totally worth the trek up the mountain. I also trekked up a cliff to see the ruins of Shahr-e-Zohak and its mud-brick towers. I had my first experience of flying in a 16-seater aircraft, landing on a narrow strip of land that was the runway. Staying at the basic ‘Roof of Bamiyan’ hotel on one trip, an early morning breakfast on the roof with the valley and the mountains in view, and the chill April winds caressing the skin was nothing less than a 5-star experience. Coming back from my last trip to Bamyan, I packed and went to the makeshift airport, sat there fidgeting for a few hours, only to be told to return as the flight from Kabul didn’t make its journey due to bad weather – this happened for 3 days in a row! Road travel was not an option, and I could have been stranded there for days. By the 3^rd day, I was on the verge of literally crawling up the walls of my hotel room, if it were not for the long evening walks in the valley that kept me sane.

I traveled to Mazar-e-Sharif twice. A road trip in 2007 took me through the Salang tunnel, and I stopped by in Tajqorghan to buy enormous pomegranates – they were a beautiful crimson red. While on a field visit, I excitedly walked the road/rail bridge that connects Uzbekistan across the Amu Darya river, and visited Mazar’s famous Blue Mosque. I also made short trips to the provinces of Parwan, Kapisa and Panjshir, but Herat and Badakshan remained elusive. It was a different group of colleagues on every trip and we always had a great time bonding. Driving through the rustic countryside always promised random sights of the kuchis (nomads), people on donkeys and occasionally, discarded machine tanks. Living and traveling in Afghanistan demystified the place for me.

Ten years is a long time to summarize in words; there are still many details that merit mention. The warm Afghan nan straight out of the tandoor from the street corner bread shops - they were priced dirt cheap! On a winter evening, they would quickly vanish in the car even before I got home. Congregating at the Indian restaurant Anar for cricket matches. Early morning city tour sitting in a bullet proof SUV, although a rarity. Boys playing cricket or football, or flying kites in the city. Getting used to the walkie-talkie radio and it’s call sign. Carrying my shawl everywhere, even in warm-warmer-hot Chennai, having got so used to it. The view of the distant snow peaks from a sunny Kabul and the colorful blooming roses. Gawking wide-eyed at the fruits growing in the office garden, all at hand’s reach but never having the heart to pluck any. Fairy tale winter experiences – witnessing the first spell of snow, sauntering around office in heavy snow taking pictures and breaking off icicles for no reason. Shopping at the Galleria, Istalif and Zardozi. My hopeless search for a Kabul city map. Being audience to several mesmerizing performances in office by the students of Afghanistan National Institute of Music – I felt like royalty. Extended brunches and lounging at the Serena with my besties. Office happy hours. Ladies’ lunches. Movie nights. Farewell parties. Yes, when you spend so many years in a place, you bid many goodbyes grudgingly. The list is infinite. I captured my experiences in a few random articles, and the 1,000s of photos I shot and still treasure.

I lived in a sprawling 4-level house with eight others, communal living if I may. We had a cook Zulmai (Zi for short), a maid and a gardener (our gentle Baba, the cook’s father), who together took care of us very well. The sizable lawn grew beautiful flowers, especially roses, and saw many badminton games. During the days of power shortage, I remember huddling around the bukhari (traditional wood or saw dust burning heater) with my housemates many winter evenings having animated conversations, accompanied by generous servings of hot pakoras and masala chai. Not to mention my struggle to converse in Dari – Baba, bukhari roshan! Baba, masheen chalaan! – meaning to light up the heater or start the generator. These were my famous winter lines. The mini projector was introduced in the home and we ran our very own N Talkies! Outside home, the social scene was a culture shock initially. In Chennai, my friends were from my school and college, and there was a sense of familiarity. In Kabul, I constantly met with strange faces from around the world. I found the

ultra-social personalities overbearing, although they were helping me adapt. Also, because I lived in Afghanistan, I did not think my conversations had to always revolve around aid and development. I came to dislike networking in all forms. So, I stayed a recluse the initial months. But over time, I shed my inhibitions and learned to be comfortable amongst unfamiliar crowds. Even better, I created my own little world with a close group of friends I made for life. We shared similar interests and together, we spent the weekends cooking, watching movies, making holiday plans and sharing photography tips, heading reluctantly back to our dwellings only at the stroke of 12 midnight – it was curfew time! We planned and organized grand Diwali parties, Iftar dinners and musical events at my place. We celebrated everything in equal fervor. We truly celebrated diversity, and life. Those were good days.

Travel Talk - Russia and the Trans-Siberian train journey!

My 2nd presentation with the group after Jordan. This one took a lot of effort and time preparing, having to sort through 7000 pictures (yes, 7000!) to pick about 50. But truly worthwhile. The presentation was well received, and the audience stayed on till the end. There were travelers who had done the Trans Siberian in the 80s, so was interesting to hear their perspective. But more than anything, very excited to have been able to share experiences from my SOLO trip.

Travel Talk - Jordan

The travel group I am associated with hosted Travel Talk: Jordan, which I had the opportunity to present :-) I am not someone who is comfortable speaking in front of a crowd, but I surprised myself by being totally at ease. Thanks to a lovely audience that stayed through till the end and provided positive feedback. Totally made my day. The 8 hours of preparation was worth it. The process helped me relive my holiday, sort my photos and use my travelogue. After experimenting with a number of groups after moving to DC, I fit in here just perfect! It is humbling to know that I am one of the least travelled persons in the group. 

 

 
Very proud to share two feedback comments:

"Congratulations, Asha. Great presentation. Your mode of travel is interesting to those of us who mostly travel with (small) tour groups. Your slides were very professionally done and your commentary entertaining."

"Excellent presentation -- Your journey brought back so much fun memories of my own and you provided very useful insights and tips to those of us who are independent travelers. Thank you, Asha, for sharing and can't wait for your 2nd presentation!!"