Quarter break was like waiting for Santa to come on Christmas morning. It couldn't come soon enough, and the odds were pretty good that you would get at least one thing you requested from Santa.
After a mild set back in the acquiring of our taxi, we were on our way. We were full of dreams and aspirations when we got to Dehradun to catch our train to Dehli.
I could not wait to get out of the Woodstock walls and head to the city. Despite getting to the train station and realizing half of the train was woodstock, I kept my hopes high. We did some mild street performing that involved me doing the worm on some dirty sidewalk with an audience of Indian men all for the sake of 10 rupees.
We boarded the train and started to situate ourselves for the journey. Then, as luck would have it, I realized I was actually seated next to a student. Luckily, he was not in a class of mine, nor would he ever be since he was a senior. This gave me hope that he would not pick up on the crazy that is my life when I'm not Miss Shannon.
We arrived in Dehli and with a combination of rickshaw and motorcycle got transported to our free accommodations. A friend of ours brother lives in Dehli and was generous enough to allow four crazy Americans to sleep on his floor. We crashed pretty quickly as our train to Agra was leaving around 6 am the next morning.
Our next train adventure was a little more adventuresome than the previous... As we were pulling into one of the stations, Ingrid questioned whether this was our stop. Anwar assured us that this was not. There weren't too many people getting off the train, so it seemed logical. Then as the train is starting to depart, Anwar decides this is in fact our stop. We gathered our belongings and scurried to the door. I had to turn back because I realized Lindsay's hair band got left behind. Even more comical, it was actually wrapped around her seat somehow. This was all happening as the train is slowly leaving the station. Moments later, we all had successfully jumped off a moving train.
The retelling of this story is pretty comical and unrealistic depending on who the storyteller is and who the audience is. All you need to know is that I jumped off a moving train and have now acquired the status of bad ass.
We then spent the day with our cleverly-master-of-the-taj-photo-shoot tour guide. He told us some what I assume and hope are detailed facts about the Taj Mahal. His most valuable skill was his aggressiveness when it came to demanding that we take all of these made for post card tourist photos. He rocked.
After a mild set back in the acquiring of our taxi, we were on our way. We were full of dreams and aspirations when we got to Dehradun to catch our train to Dehli.
I could not wait to get out of the Woodstock walls and head to the city. Despite getting to the train station and realizing half of the train was woodstock, I kept my hopes high. We did some mild street performing that involved me doing the worm on some dirty sidewalk with an audience of Indian men all for the sake of 10 rupees.
We boarded the train and started to situate ourselves for the journey. Then, as luck would have it, I realized I was actually seated next to a student. Luckily, he was not in a class of mine, nor would he ever be since he was a senior. This gave me hope that he would not pick up on the crazy that is my life when I'm not Miss Shannon.
We arrived in Dehli and with a combination of rickshaw and motorcycle got transported to our free accommodations. A friend of ours brother lives in Dehli and was generous enough to allow four crazy Americans to sleep on his floor. We crashed pretty quickly as our train to Agra was leaving around 6 am the next morning.
Our next train adventure was a little more adventuresome than the previous... As we were pulling into one of the stations, Ingrid questioned whether this was our stop. Anwar assured us that this was not. There weren't too many people getting off the train, so it seemed logical. Then as the train is starting to depart, Anwar decides this is in fact our stop. We gathered our belongings and scurried to the door. I had to turn back because I realized Lindsay's hair band got left behind. Even more comical, it was actually wrapped around her seat somehow. This was all happening as the train is slowly leaving the station. Moments later, we all had successfully jumped off a moving train.
The retelling of this story is pretty comical and unrealistic depending on who the storyteller is and who the audience is. All you need to know is that I jumped off a moving train and have now acquired the status of bad ass.
We then spent the day with our cleverly-master-of-the-taj-photo-shoot tour guide. He told us some what I assume and hope are detailed facts about the Taj Mahal. His most valuable skill was his aggressiveness when it came to demanding that we take all of these made for post card tourist photos. He rocked.
He was awesome, but he couldn't quite get the timing right on this one.
No, I don't know him.
Tourists
Ready, set..... fail.
We may have all felt like this at one point or another...
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