The straw and the camel's back

I am so terribly sorry for my blog reticence of late. Things here at the Mrs. World pageant in Amby Valley India have been so crazy and jam packed with activities and work that I haven't been able to get to any of the more mundane things that pepper my normal civilian life: comic books, video games and movies.

I think that's worth a mention, I haven't seen a full movie in almost two weeks. That's downright scary for me, I think. I've been tipped off to a couple of good Hindi films that I'll have to check out. One is called "Black" and it stars Amitahb Bachchan, the John Wayne of India. It's supposed to be amazing, and I think it's the only Indian film out right now that doesn't have any singing or dancing in it. I read a blurb on a billboard for the film that read, "This one could actually win an oscar".

Man, I hope that I'll have time in Mumbai (Bombay) on the back end of this trip. Our show will be over tomorrow, but my plane doesn't leave until March 2nd. I got a chance to see Mumbai very briefly the other day when I went into town to pick up my boss, Carol. Jeff, my other boss wanted us to get some shots of Ghandi's house and the "gateway to India". We barely had time to get out of the car before we had to hop back in again.

It's so difficult to explain how crazy this place is. Both India and Amby Valley. And there's such a disparity. When I arrived in Mumbai, it was four in the morning. We had five people with "Mrs. World" signs waiting for us. There's no better feeling than that, I think. You always see those guys and it's nice, for once, to have it for you.

The place where the event is hosted is owned by Sahara, which is this amazinly huge company owned by one man. There's nothing that his reach doesn't touch. They own an airport, possibly an airline, many hotels, AmbyValley itself as well as countless other ventures. They even manufacture the clothing they sell in their gift shops. It's an insane mix of Bill Gates and Walt Disney.

So, this is the level of hospitality we recieved at the airport. I think ten people all together, gathering our bags, helping us through customs, etcetera. I couldn't have been more pleased. The entire place smelled like hickory smoke and everyone was wearing sarees and kurtas and speaking a hundred different languages. Not much different than LA actually. I'm pretty used to being the one honky in a sea of brown, so I was pretty comfy.

Our drive to the hotel was amazing. Everything was amazing at first. Now, I'm pretty used to the auto rickshaws and familes of five riding a vespa scooter, but when we got there I was clicking "snaps" (as they call pictures) like mad.

A couple things about India driving. One, they drive on the left side of the road. I've been here two weeks and I still can't get used to it. There's something so disturbing about seeing the person on the left hand side, our driver's side, sitting backwards and talking to the people in the back seat. Secondly, they honk a lot. Apparently, the law is that whoever is in front had the right of way. That means you have every right to cut across ten lanes of traffic without so much as a blinker. This also means that in order to pass you have to honk. Which means people honk all the time. There are even signs on the big trucks that read, "Please Honk", "Honking OK".

So, we got into the Sahara Star Hotel, and again the hospitality was amazing. We were welcomed with flowers and a dab of red paint for our foreheads. I heard that they do this to their gods, so putting it on our heads is a form of worship. That's fine with me.

Our van out didn't leave until 2 PM and I couldn't sleep much so at 9am I came down to the lobby to check out the digs. I asked the concierge if there was anything interesting to see within walking distance. He had to talk to a guy, who had to talk to two guys who had to talk to more guys. This is a very common practice here with the Sahara people. Everyone is so eager to help that it takes forever for anything to get done. So, before I knew it, I was piled into a car with a driver, a guide and Mrs. New Zealand.

She told me we were going to the local markets and that she didn't want to go to the "nice" shops, but wanted to see the nitty gritty. That's fine with me. She, I've found, is one of the wildest women here. Wild in terms of just being cocksure and off the cuff. If you want an answer that will make you blush, ask her a question. She told me a story about her last trip to India and how she tried to defacate on the street to be more like the locals, but couldn't perform due to stage fright. Classy classy lady.

So, we tooled around jet lagged and bewildered. The street, which was only a tiny two lane road was packed with cars and auto rickshaws. And people, so many people. India has what, a billion people? And they must all have been there in Mumbai that day.

So many wild things. Men with bicycles converted into knife sharpeners. Children wandering the streets. Toothless beggars with children under both arms. And all the while I'm following around this aging beauty queen and our guide.

We got back just in time to meet up with the rest of the gang, Keith and Suzan, both producers for our company as well as a couple contestants. Our bus which was this enormous thing with huge windows, and was probably quite a spectacle for the people of Mumbai. And that's how we entered Amby Valley, in a glass popemobile with ten beautiful women and three goofy americans clicking snaps all the way.