"im out here a thousand miles from my home,
walkin' a road other men have gone down,
i'm seeing your world of people and things,
dear paupers and peasants and princes and kings."
-bob dylan, song to woody guthrie

This, my final full day in Ahmedabad, and perhaps my final full day in the state of Gujarat, curtains to a close peacefully, and I'm still smiling, buttressed by a day full of potent memories.

According to a booklet given me by Equations, a tourism analysis group that attended the World Social Forum in Mumbai, India's tourism share in the global market has remained more or less steady for the last fifty years at a share of 0.3% of global tourism, the biggest industry in the world. Put another way, for every one person that chooses India for their travel experience, over 300 decide to go elsewhere.

For me, this is on one level difficult to believe, given India's potency for the traveler - but it is also confirming. For all the throngs that surround me, I have seen less than ten other tourists since I arrived in Gujarat, and not even one while walking around. As a result, I often feel like the only foreigner in Ahmedabad. People will call out what English they know as I pass (my favorite being: "what's on the program" or "Hello. What's your name?" as a biker flies by at 20mph). There is much to be learned just from losing yourself on these streets. A child of no more than 8 years old saw me and smiled, saying "New Zealander" as I exited a rickshaw. I smiled and said Yes, remembering that I was wearing a shirt declaring as much, and feeling no need to correct him. So many children here seem to fill with happiness just to catch a glimpse of a foreigner here - it pains me not to know some Gujarati.

The farther you go from the tourist track, the more greetings you'll receive, in areas rarely frequented by outsiders. I tried to tell one young man that I was just going for an aimless walk, but he insisted on giving me a motorbike ride back to the center. His English was commendable, and after dropping me off, he told me afterwards that he had to go today to take a test so he could officially have a driver's license.

Later on, I would have a characteristic Gujarati lunch, a thali. No wonder Indian food seems spicy in American restaurants! The counterbalancing side dishes are rarely included. It is an amazing art, to which I am a novice I must admit, to balance the spiciness of Indian food with some parts lime, some parts pickled mango, and some parts curd. But with practice it's quite enjoyable. Dining on Indian food summons the paradoxical and simultaneous temperments of arsonist and firefighter. I don't think there's anything that compares with this rollercoaster of tastes. Hey I'm a collegiate grad, so let's make an analogy: I daresay walking is to scuba what Western food is to Indian food.

After a filling meal, I made my way to the obligatory pilgrimmage for anyone who visits Ahmedabad - Satyagraha Ashram, the humble grounds from which Gandhi developed the principle of ahimsa, or non-violent resistence. For 15 years he worked here, leaving in a monthlong protest march to the sea, vowing never to return until India was given its national independence. Here is a man whose achievements I think anyone can admire and in some sense worship. Sure, he is not the superman he is often made out to be, but his life as a whole was one most remarkable and selfless. To visit the grounds and see where this man lived was a very rewarding experience. It was a tiny four roomed house, surprisingly open and indefensible. As if in response to my reaction, on an outer wall hung a placard:

"I do not want my house to be walled in on all sides and my windows to be stuffed. I want the cultures of all lands to be blown about my house as freely as possible. But I refuse to be blown off my feet by any."

Inspired I returned to the nearby bookstore, and with the equivalent of one dollar, purchased a book of Gandhi's responses to various subjects. Of course, he is famous (and misunderstood) for his rebellious acts of sixty years ago, where his words ring with very contemporary significance, particularly those on nuclear weapons. India's current political views are now remarkably at odds with those of Gandhi (not to mention those of most of its populace, as my readings of Amitav Ghosh are purporting.) But Gandhi really is a fascinating mind for other subjects as well - his words on everything from love and birth control to the debate of man and machine make hiim a worthy read on more than one might expect.

After my visit to the ashram, I returned by rickshaw to the center. Legs dangled from rooftops above as sunset approached, and I recalled an old fort that visitors could climb to watch the sun submit into the horizon. I made my way there, to Badra Fort, passing through a diverse and dusky marketplace. With perseverence I found the staircase to the upper level, where I was smilingly begrudged that the uppermost terrace was closed. The worker who told me this pointed outside. Following his aim, I spotted a greyish monkey. At first I didn't believe it; I had to confirm with another man, but in as much as gather, the unbelievable was true. Just a few years ago, tourists could ascend to the top, but now, Badra Fort, dating from the 15th century and built by the original Shah of Ahmedabad, had been overrun by monkeys. This is not to be scoffed at, I spotted at least one that weighed as much as I did, and was much more maneuverable at that. I had to laugh to myself as I gazed down to the market below while the monkeys watched me as they munched on flower necklaces. Centuries had passed, and now Hanuman had taken this place.

With a contented retreat, I took another rickshaw back to the hostel, where my payment was received by the driver with the classic Indian head bob - it's like a shake of "no" only moving quicker and with more sideways neck rotation. It's not unlike the trendy bob-head dolls you might have seen. For all I can gather it usually means thank you, even though in an American context it would only be seen accompanying a mocking scowl or a nose-thumbing gesture. It's used commonly here, yet I still haven't taken to it myself, so deeply engrained do I feel that I would be giving an undue insult.

Before heading upstairs, I stopped for a couple chais to bring about a second wind, and here you have me at this tiny restaurant, writing up the day and pondering the statistics again. Since I am here, 300 other people have chosen somewhere else to visit. It's in the Eye of the Beholder, I suppose. And I suppose it makes the experience all the more potent for me, not to be ushered along a beaten path among hundreds of other travelers. But I can't help it, to those who have chosen elsewhere, I give you the Indian head-bob, and from this uncanny overlap of world culture, I'm not sure which definition I mean.