<?xml version="1.0" encoding="iso-8859-1" ?><rss version="2.0"><channel><title>washingtonpost.com - India</title><link>http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/travel/archive/abroad/asiamideast/india?nav=rss_travel/archive/abroad/asiamideast/india</link><description>India</description><language>en-us</language><ttl>15</ttl><image><title>washingtonpost.com</title><width>140</width><height>20</height><link>http://www.washingtonpost.com</link><url>http://media.washingtonpost.com/wp-srv/hp/image/wp_web.gif</url></image><item><title><![CDATA[Something's Fishy in Bombay]]></title><link>http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/articles/A1021-2005Mar25.html?nav=rss_travel/archive/abroad/asiamideast/india</link><guid isPermaLink="true">http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/articles/A1021-2005Mar25.html?nav=rss_travel/archive/abroad/asiamideast/india</guid><pubDate>Thu, 31 Mar 2005 20:42:34 GMT</pubDate><description><![CDATA[As an Indian cookbook author, I frequently travel to Bombay to explore the depths of its cuisine, especially its irresistible seafood restaurants. Not only is there much to explore, but the prices are reasonable.]]></description><author></author></item><item><title><![CDATA[Running Into Thin Air]]></title><link>http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/articles/A9666-2005Jan14.html?nav=rss_travel/archive/abroad/asiamideast/india</link><guid isPermaLink="true">http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/articles/A9666-2005Jan14.html?nav=rss_travel/archive/abroad/asiamideast/india</guid><pubDate>Thu, 31 Mar 2005 20:42:34 GMT</pubDate><description><![CDATA[I sat in the near-freezing night air at about 12,000 feet, wrapped in a sleeping bag, and pondered the misery that had enveloped me. A glorious star-filled sky failed to ease my discomfort. I had walked out of the dark barracks, which slept about two dozen adventure runners, to offer them some relief from my incessant coughing, which had kept us up for most of the night. It was the first evening of the annual five-day Himalayan 100 Mile Stage Race, and it had started badly.]]></description><author> Dave Ungrady</author></item><item><title><![CDATA[First-Class Passage Through India]]></title><link>http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/articles/A59488-2004Sep3.html?nav=rss_travel/archive/abroad/asiamideast/india</link><guid isPermaLink="true">http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/articles/A59488-2004Sep3.html?nav=rss_travel/archive/abroad/asiamideast/india</guid><pubDate>Thu, 31 Mar 2005 20:42:34 GMT</pubDate><description><![CDATA[Trying  to plan a first visit to India is an overwhelming experience, a small taste of the way the visit itself will feel. The list of four-star sights is as long as an elephant's trunk. Are the top draws at least clustered in any one part of the country? No. Are parts of India empty or just too poor and miserable to bear, so you can write them off? No. Wherever you go, wonders await. But time and money are always short. What to do?]]></description><author> Joanne Omang</author></item><item><title><![CDATA[26 Days in Calcutta]]></title><link>http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/articles/A17970-2004Apr16.html?nav=rss_travel/archive/abroad/asiamideast/india</link><guid isPermaLink="true">http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/articles/A17970-2004Apr16.html?nav=rss_travel/archive/abroad/asiamideast/india</guid><pubDate>Thu, 31 Mar 2005 20:42:34 GMT</pubDate><description><![CDATA["That's the end." <br>The third-oldest daughter in a family of seven children had just finished a 25-minute summary of Jane Austen's "Pride and Prejudice." She had done so in her home in the "bustees" -- the dense Calcutta slums -- while Rosalie Giffoniello and I sat on two plastic chairs,...]]></description><author> John Auchard</author></item><item><title><![CDATA[TAJ MAHAL 101]]></title><link>http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/articles/A19410-2004Feb6.html?nav=rss_travel/archive/abroad/asiamideast/india</link><guid isPermaLink="true">http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/articles/A19410-2004Feb6.html?nav=rss_travel/archive/abroad/asiamideast/india</guid><pubDate>Thu, 31 Mar 2005 20:42:34 GMT</pubDate><description><![CDATA[WHAT:  The    Taj Mahal  in Agra, India, about 125 miles southeast of Delhi in Uttar Pradesh state.]]></description><author></author></item><item><title><![CDATA[Indian Summer]]></title><link>http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/articles/A28950-2002Oct1.html?nav=rss_travel/archive/abroad/asiamideast/india</link><guid isPermaLink="true">http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/articles/A28950-2002Oct1.html?nav=rss_travel/archive/abroad/asiamideast/india</guid><pubDate>Thu, 31 Mar 2005 20:42:34 GMT</pubDate><description><![CDATA[A man can't repeat the great journey of his youth, but, with a dash of courage and some good luck, he can share it with his son.]]></description><author> Michael Powell</author></item><item><title><![CDATA[Shiva on The Beach]]></title><link>http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/articles/A38717-2000Mar19.html?nav=rss_travel/archive/abroad/asiamideast/india</link><guid isPermaLink="true">http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/articles/A38717-2000Mar19.html?nav=rss_travel/archive/abroad/asiamideast/india</guid><pubDate>Thu, 31 Mar 2005 20:42:34 GMT</pubDate><description><![CDATA["I wouldn't worry," he said over dinner, "it has been my experience that if you stand still in any one place in Asia for more than 17 seconds, someone will appear and offer you exactly what you have been looking for." A year back, an expatriate Swede living in Bangkok had ridiculed my concern about arriving at Angkor without a hotel reservation and then spending the night stumbling around streets chock-full of land mines. What arrogance, I thought.]]></description><author> John Auchard</author></item><item><title><![CDATA[Healing at the Source]]></title><link>http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/articles/A49735-2000Jan30.html?nav=rss_travel/archive/abroad/asiamideast/india</link><guid isPermaLink="true">http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/articles/A49735-2000Jan30.html?nav=rss_travel/archive/abroad/asiamideast/india</guid><pubDate>Thu, 31 Mar 2005 20:42:34 GMT</pubDate><description><![CDATA[I certainly had to hand it to Reggie, he was light on his feet. And for 90 straight minutes, those feet probed purposefully all over my front and back sides as I lay--naked, spread-eagled and greased with fresh coconut oil--on the floor of a thatched hut. Reggie, wearing a traditional outfit of white cotton with blue apron, went about his task, delivering his body weight to various places on my body by the judicious grasping of a rope suspended from a rafter.]]></description><author> Marshall S. Berdan</author></item></channel></rss>