Just a quick entry, internet here in Leh is only by satellite and really expensive. After a night in Manali Benji and took our chances and boarded a state bus to Leh- a 2 day journey with an overnight stop at over 4000 meters. Along the bumpy bumpy ride was some of the most gorgeaus scenery I've ever seen- crystal clear mountain lakes, high peaks with even higher ones behind, a dupatta of snow spread across mountain shoulders, incredible changing landscapes from rushing river valleys to deserts to magenta mineral rocks. Unbelievable. Leh is an outpost of Buddhism with tons of Tibetan refugees and suprisingly few Israelis compared to Manali and Delhi.
I've been a bit sick from the altitude and the journey, which included the 2nd highest motorable pass in the world at 5360 meters (that's 17585 feet for you Americans), but after spending an inordinate amount of time sleeping in the past 2 days, I'm finally feeling stronger. Tomorrow we're going to visit the former Buddhist capital in Shey, and a big monastery nearby, and then Saturday a day trip to a mountain lake by jeep. Such beauty. It really feels like we're at some place of enormous historical significance in terms of geology and plate tectonics (I'm a nerd, I know)- this is where the subcontinent collided with Asia, and it really shows. The Himalayas are simply breathtaking (kinda literally, actually, with such less oxygen in the air!).
Sunday we leave for Srinigar, and then onto Dharamsala for the Dalai Lama's birthday. What should I get him for a present?
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Friday, June 22, 2007
Sarnath to Delhi
Greetings from Delhi, where I am exploiting cheap internet in the major tourist strip, which is so much more pleasant that Colaba in Bombay. This morning I even had a bagel! And pita, hummus, Israeli salad, and croissants.
But first, catching up: Sarnath was a nice break from the bustle of Varanasi. Unfortunately, too hot to really enjoy. We saw the stupa where the Buddha gave his first sermon, and a pitiful little zoo in the Deer Park. Large granite plaques in a dozen languages displayed the text of this teaching around a shrine of the bodhi tree, apparently all financed by a devout Sri Lankan Buddhist. I feel such pride whenever I see Sri Lankan stuff- kind of a funny association. (In college, the fall after my summer in Sri Lanka, I was sitting in front of two guys chatting during a rehearsal for the South Asian culture show I was in for three years. One of them mentioned something about being from Sri Lanka, and I turned around and said "Really? I thought I was the only one." Clearly the lines are blurry for me when it comes to Sri Lankan identity.) Nicely laid out gardens and a Jain temple also surround the area, but we were harrassed by a set of beggars who were particularly pathetic and heartwrenching. Somehow I feel validated in not giving them anything if the other visitors don't either, but it still nags at me.
The overnight train to Agra was also really hot and difficult to sleep, so once we arrived at our guest house in Taj Ganj, the main tourist area just besides the big mama herself, I crashed for several hours. In the afternoon we visited the "Baby Taj," another mausoleum/monument built for members of the royal family of the Mughal rulers about 400 years ago. Beautiful marble work and carving, and manicured gardens. From there we crossed the Yamuna River to see a ruins site with a view of the back of the Taj Mahal. Apparently this was a site where Shah Jahan intended to build a 'black taj' with a bridge across the river to the main structure, and there was an Indian newscrew filming a piece about it. As we were the only tourists suckered into paying the entrance fee for this garden with the view (as opposed to walking along a path just beside to go to the riverbank and see it for free), the journalists interviewed us, and supposedly we're going to be on tv! IndiaToday- he mentioned at least half a dozen times that it's the country's biggest news network. Just when you least expect it, celebrity sneaks in, yet again. ;-)
Besides the celebrity thrill, the Taj, even from behind, is absolutely stunning. What they say is true. The white marble with all its variations caught the sunset hues and seemed to emit a sort of glow. And the sheer size of it is simply spectacular. Yesterday we'd intended to go at sunrise, but decided to try to catch up on sleep instead, and go around 10am. The lane leading to the main entrance is full of shops selling "postcards, one rupee! taj figurine, good price madam, come look at my shop, one rupee postcards! ok, you come back later. ok ok," but as soon as we got to the entrance itself, all the sound fell away and there's just this feeling of serenity and elation. Clutching each other's hands, we stepped through the archways and ta-DA! There she is. The Taj Mahal. The Taj flippin Mahal. She took my breath away. She was worth every paise of the 750 rupee entrance fee (only 20 rupees for Indians. Scandalous!).
Leading up to the main structure are a series of lawns with manicured shrubs and trees, and in the center is a raised marble platform (evidently this is called a 'plinth'), where everyone wants to get THE SHOT of her, including the classic optical illusion pose where you appear to be holding the top of the dome. The plinth is surrounded by pools and in front of the main structure is a longer reflecting pool, all of which are sadly cloudy with dirt and algae, providing a good surface for underwater grafitti. Somehow we just didn't mind, though, because her beauty makes everything else irrelevant... except for the heat.
Approaching the main structure, there's a shoe wallah for Indian tourists, but foreigners are given mesh booties to slip on over your shoes, so we looked like we were going into surgery or something. Pretty funny. I guess they think that foreigners don't like to be barefoot? But considering the heat of the ground, I wasn't complaining. Walking up the stairs to the main level we were assaulted with the smell of locker room and feet, and I was afraid that her beauty would be marred by the stench. Luckily once we emerged, the air was (relatively) fresh again, and we could take her in from up close. Brilliantly detailed stone inlay and marble carving, elegant Arabic calligraphy, all impeccably perfect. Inside is a marble cut lattice gate surrounded the tombs of Mumtaz and Shah Jahan, perhaps the most famous couple in the world as their love is immortalized in this gorgeaus edifice, and more Arabic calligraphy from the Koran describing paradise and the judgment day. Apparently more than a monument to his favorite wife, Shahji also wanted the building to mimic the throne of heaven as described in an ancient Sufi text. All of the symmetry and courts and lawns were built according to the text's specifications. Either way, I cannot explain enough just how spectacular she is.
As the day went on and the heat broke with a cloud cover, the place was thronged with Indian tourists, and we were transformed into celebrities again. "May I take your picture, miss? Picture with you miss? We can have a photo together?" I really wonder what these people tell their friends about who we are in the pictures...
Anyway, spent the rest of the afternoon inside to stay out of the heat, just as we are today in Delhi. Took the train last night sitting next to a pack of religious devotees in matching orange robes. They were wearing amulets with their guru's photo, and I was interested to hear more about their beliefs and practice, but when I asked the man next to me what the significance was of orange, he just glanced at me, looked across the aisle to the rest of his crew, said something to them in Hindi, they laughed, and ignored us the rest of the ride. Um, weird. Not so encouraging of religious tolerance, friends. But behind us were very friendly and curious girls who restored my good faith, yet again, in the people of this vast and varied country.
We met a nice Aussie couple who are traveling overland from India to London on the train platform and came to the tourist strip with them to find a hotel. All over the street signs are in Hebrew and Korean as well as English. Hardly any Hindi at all- if you were a martian and dropped here from outer space, it would be tough to figure out which country this is. But I'm certainly appreciative of the presence of Israeli food. Tonight we'll check out the Delhi synagogue and/or Beit Chabad for Shabbat, and tomorrow afternoon off to Manali, into the mountains! May be a while before I have access again, but stay tuned.
But first, catching up: Sarnath was a nice break from the bustle of Varanasi. Unfortunately, too hot to really enjoy. We saw the stupa where the Buddha gave his first sermon, and a pitiful little zoo in the Deer Park. Large granite plaques in a dozen languages displayed the text of this teaching around a shrine of the bodhi tree, apparently all financed by a devout Sri Lankan Buddhist. I feel such pride whenever I see Sri Lankan stuff- kind of a funny association. (In college, the fall after my summer in Sri Lanka, I was sitting in front of two guys chatting during a rehearsal for the South Asian culture show I was in for three years. One of them mentioned something about being from Sri Lanka, and I turned around and said "Really? I thought I was the only one." Clearly the lines are blurry for me when it comes to Sri Lankan identity.) Nicely laid out gardens and a Jain temple also surround the area, but we were harrassed by a set of beggars who were particularly pathetic and heartwrenching. Somehow I feel validated in not giving them anything if the other visitors don't either, but it still nags at me.
The overnight train to Agra was also really hot and difficult to sleep, so once we arrived at our guest house in Taj Ganj, the main tourist area just besides the big mama herself, I crashed for several hours. In the afternoon we visited the "Baby Taj," another mausoleum/monument built for members of the royal family of the Mughal rulers about 400 years ago. Beautiful marble work and carving, and manicured gardens. From there we crossed the Yamuna River to see a ruins site with a view of the back of the Taj Mahal. Apparently this was a site where Shah Jahan intended to build a 'black taj' with a bridge across the river to the main structure, and there was an Indian newscrew filming a piece about it. As we were the only tourists suckered into paying the entrance fee for this garden with the view (as opposed to walking along a path just beside to go to the riverbank and see it for free), the journalists interviewed us, and supposedly we're going to be on tv! IndiaToday- he mentioned at least half a dozen times that it's the country's biggest news network. Just when you least expect it, celebrity sneaks in, yet again. ;-)
Besides the celebrity thrill, the Taj, even from behind, is absolutely stunning. What they say is true. The white marble with all its variations caught the sunset hues and seemed to emit a sort of glow. And the sheer size of it is simply spectacular. Yesterday we'd intended to go at sunrise, but decided to try to catch up on sleep instead, and go around 10am. The lane leading to the main entrance is full of shops selling "postcards, one rupee! taj figurine, good price madam, come look at my shop, one rupee postcards! ok, you come back later. ok ok," but as soon as we got to the entrance itself, all the sound fell away and there's just this feeling of serenity and elation. Clutching each other's hands, we stepped through the archways and ta-DA! There she is. The Taj Mahal. The Taj flippin Mahal. She took my breath away. She was worth every paise of the 750 rupee entrance fee (only 20 rupees for Indians. Scandalous!).
Leading up to the main structure are a series of lawns with manicured shrubs and trees, and in the center is a raised marble platform (evidently this is called a 'plinth'), where everyone wants to get THE SHOT of her, including the classic optical illusion pose where you appear to be holding the top of the dome. The plinth is surrounded by pools and in front of the main structure is a longer reflecting pool, all of which are sadly cloudy with dirt and algae, providing a good surface for underwater grafitti. Somehow we just didn't mind, though, because her beauty makes everything else irrelevant... except for the heat.
Approaching the main structure, there's a shoe wallah for Indian tourists, but foreigners are given mesh booties to slip on over your shoes, so we looked like we were going into surgery or something. Pretty funny. I guess they think that foreigners don't like to be barefoot? But considering the heat of the ground, I wasn't complaining. Walking up the stairs to the main level we were assaulted with the smell of locker room and feet, and I was afraid that her beauty would be marred by the stench. Luckily once we emerged, the air was (relatively) fresh again, and we could take her in from up close. Brilliantly detailed stone inlay and marble carving, elegant Arabic calligraphy, all impeccably perfect. Inside is a marble cut lattice gate surrounded the tombs of Mumtaz and Shah Jahan, perhaps the most famous couple in the world as their love is immortalized in this gorgeaus edifice, and more Arabic calligraphy from the Koran describing paradise and the judgment day. Apparently more than a monument to his favorite wife, Shahji also wanted the building to mimic the throne of heaven as described in an ancient Sufi text. All of the symmetry and courts and lawns were built according to the text's specifications. Either way, I cannot explain enough just how spectacular she is.
As the day went on and the heat broke with a cloud cover, the place was thronged with Indian tourists, and we were transformed into celebrities again. "May I take your picture, miss? Picture with you miss? We can have a photo together?" I really wonder what these people tell their friends about who we are in the pictures...
Anyway, spent the rest of the afternoon inside to stay out of the heat, just as we are today in Delhi. Took the train last night sitting next to a pack of religious devotees in matching orange robes. They were wearing amulets with their guru's photo, and I was interested to hear more about their beliefs and practice, but when I asked the man next to me what the significance was of orange, he just glanced at me, looked across the aisle to the rest of his crew, said something to them in Hindi, they laughed, and ignored us the rest of the ride. Um, weird. Not so encouraging of religious tolerance, friends. But behind us were very friendly and curious girls who restored my good faith, yet again, in the people of this vast and varied country.
We met a nice Aussie couple who are traveling overland from India to London on the train platform and came to the tourist strip with them to find a hotel. All over the street signs are in Hebrew and Korean as well as English. Hardly any Hindi at all- if you were a martian and dropped here from outer space, it would be tough to figure out which country this is. But I'm certainly appreciative of the presence of Israeli food. Tonight we'll check out the Delhi synagogue and/or Beit Chabad for Shabbat, and tomorrow afternoon off to Manali, into the mountains! May be a while before I have access again, but stay tuned.
Monday, June 18, 2007
From Jewish healing to India's Jerusalem
After my last entry, I had the most bizarre Shabbat dinner of my entire life. I went back to the Pardesi synagogue in Jewtown, where there was only one woman and 4 men. Coincidentally, and really strangely, one of the men was a white guy from Beachwood, Ohio, who apparently runs some business from India and has been living in Cochin. He was carrying a bag from the Cleveland Clinic, which provided a strong clue to start playing the Jewish geography game. Also turns out one of his daughters was at Brandeis the same time as me, and I went to elementary school with his nephew. That was an auspicious and wacky way to start Shabbat, and then I went to dinner at an Indian couple's home, Yosef and Yosefa. They are both Bene Israel Jews, not actual Cochini Jews, but as far as I'm concerned, they count as Cochini Jews because, well, they are Jews, in Cochin. Yosefa grew up in Israel, but in an Indian community. They are both fluent in Hebrew, Marathi, Hindi, and English, and also some Malayalam, the language of Kerala.
Yosef is a holistic doctor who combines traditional Indian medicine with Jewish mystical healing. The house is full of Kabalistic symbols and yud-hey-vav-hey (most sacred name of God) signs, and tons of books on natural medicine, meditation, alternative therapies, etc. I told him about my interest in reiki- his variation to the long distance healing done with symbols in reiki is to place photos of his patients inside of a speaker box playing an mp3 of the entire book of psalms, and he boasts very good results. He tried to guess my zodiac sign, at first thinking Capricorn- I told him I'm a Virgo and asked why he thought Capricorn- he said because Capricorns are the most beautiful. Good save, doc. Then he diagnosed my health status based on that, and recommended a regimen of food to correct it. Virgos suffer from digestive problems, lower back pain, and pain in the right leg. Well, two out of three ain't bad. No white flour, 5 liters of water a day, only raw nuts, lots of fresh and dried fruit.
Then I told him that more than any of those, headaches are my biggest problem. He nodded knowingly and said, "I have a cure for you, but you won't do it." Obviously that piqued my interest, so he explained that I should drink my own urine, working my way up from a diluted mixture to the full concentration, and drinking this every morning for a year would absolutely remove all of my headaches, and keep me just as young and healthy and beautiful as I am now. Besides Hindus drinking cow urine, he pointed out that this is even mentioned in the Talmud, and Rambam himself drank his own piss. Ummmmmmm we'll see. I suppose the reasoning makes some sense- that the body has a certain vibration, and blockages in that cause pain and disease, so taking urine to balance out the vibrations and clear blockages is the best way to heal.
He also told me about Zodiac love matches (apparently two Virgos aren't such a disaster after all, which is good news for me and the Benj), so anyone wanting to know about their match potential, let me know and I'll pass on the info for the good doctor. All in all, a fascinating night.
Saturday before the break of dawn left for the airport to get to Varanasi- from leaving the hotel in Cochin to settling down in Varanasi was a travel time of 15 hours! Varanasi has a tiny airport- only one baggage claim, and it's just a straight conveyer belt, not a loop. And the power went out. This was a harbinger of a recurring theme to come. Everyone has warned of scams and touts in this city, so I was careful about choosing a taxi but was won over by Tariq, a hotelier with striking green eyes. We shared a taxi with an Indian father and son, and discussed the racial tensions in the US versus caste issues here- our affirmative action, their low caste reservations. The son referred to Martin Luther King Jr. as America's Gandhi, I liked that. So interesting to have these conversations, but kind of daunting to know that they are judging all of my country based on what I say.
The streets of Varanasi were flooded with muddy water from the rains- not even the monsoon here yet, and already flooded roads- bicycles were submerged 1/3 of the way up the wheels, people were wading through water holding their shoes above their head. Quite the first impression- the city has absolutely crappy roads, very dirty and busy and bustling, not so different from Bombay, just less crowded (but feels like not by much). Cows, goats, dogs, all the usual characters, plus cycle rickshaws with elaborate decorations on their convertible tops. Finally found a decent hotel outside of the Old City- within its bounds, the alleys flood and are pretty filthy, and all the hotels I saw were exceptionally cruddy. I kinda think that Varanasi is very nasty. The Hotel Buddha, where we ended up, is really nice- even with a balcony, room service, and a tv, for 400 rupees a night (about $10). Benji's bus from Nepal got in around 8, and we reunited after a month apart. :-)
Yesterday we ventured out to the ghats- the stairs leading down to the Holy Ganga. Walking there I felt the same sort of excitement as the first time I visited the Kotel, the Western Wall in Jerusalem. Like Jerusalem, there is an Old City full of tiny lanes and alleys with water channels for draining. Like Jerusalem, the religious are distinguishable by garb: white or orange dhotis and robes, and string sash tied around Brahmins (the priestly caste, highest of the ranks). Like Jerusalem, there is a distinctive hairstyle for the religious as well: sadhus (holy men/ascetics) have incredible dreadlocks, and other devotees wear the hair closely shorn except for a tuft at the back, which is meant to provide a hook for the gods to hold when they are plucked up to heaven. Like Jerusalem, it is very auspicious to die in the city. Like Jerusalem, an object is worshipped and honored as something divine itself, practically like the Kotel. And like Jerusalem, stone stairs everywhere give a feeling of an ancient time past, but still carrying on.
At the Ganges, I found the water to be a lot less polluted than I expected, although officially it's still considered fetid. The Mahim creek in Bombay looks, and smells, MUCH worse. Still, people bathe, swim, boat, fish, wash clothes and more in the river. I was surprised that I handled the cremation ghat as well as I did- it's just such a part of the way of life here. The bodies are carried to the river on a bamboo stretcher wrapped in cloths, dipped into the Ganga, and then set on the funeral pyre. The fire is supposed to purify the soul before it passes on to heaven. Children under 10, pregnant women, sadhus (holy men), those bitten by snakes (a sign of Shiva) , and lepers are not burned, they are just released into the Ganges.
At 7:00 every evening, an aarti (worship/offering) is performed on a small stages all lit up with flood lights and Christmas lights hung to look like umbrellas. Hindu priests on each stage perform the very stylized ritual of circling around with incense, oil lamps, feather tails, and other holy symbols as an offering to Maa Ganga herself, giver of life to Hindus. Amplified music accompanies- tabla and harmonium, and devotional singing. We managed to snag seats on a balcony between rich pilgrims and Brahmin priests, who were able to describe all the different stages of the ritual. Beautiful, intense, sensory overload.
Today we left at 5am for a dawn boat ride on the Ganges, where we saw hundreds of people performing morning sun pujas, doing laundry, and swimming. (At the internet cafe, just now an old man is pulling himself across the floor because his legs are too weak to stand upon, into the family home behind the storefront. This is India.) At dawn the city looked truly beautiful and sacred, but as soon as we left the Old City and went out to the large Hindu university and other temples and silk looms, we were taken out of the holy space into a typical crowded, dirty Indian city. Such dichotomy and juxtaposition, but again, this is India. Especially.
This evening we had a private music performance at the shop of a rather charismatic gentlemen who kept on telling us how "amezing amezing is the music, good feeling for in your hearts isn't it, music is connection between peoples of my country and your country, amezing amezing." Video of the performance on YouTube soon.
Tomorrow we'll visit Sarnath, a few km away, where the Buddha gave his first sermon after reaching enlightenment. And tomorrow night, on to Agra. Taj Mahal, here I come!
Yosef is a holistic doctor who combines traditional Indian medicine with Jewish mystical healing. The house is full of Kabalistic symbols and yud-hey-vav-hey (most sacred name of God) signs, and tons of books on natural medicine, meditation, alternative therapies, etc. I told him about my interest in reiki- his variation to the long distance healing done with symbols in reiki is to place photos of his patients inside of a speaker box playing an mp3 of the entire book of psalms, and he boasts very good results. He tried to guess my zodiac sign, at first thinking Capricorn- I told him I'm a Virgo and asked why he thought Capricorn- he said because Capricorns are the most beautiful. Good save, doc. Then he diagnosed my health status based on that, and recommended a regimen of food to correct it. Virgos suffer from digestive problems, lower back pain, and pain in the right leg. Well, two out of three ain't bad. No white flour, 5 liters of water a day, only raw nuts, lots of fresh and dried fruit.
Then I told him that more than any of those, headaches are my biggest problem. He nodded knowingly and said, "I have a cure for you, but you won't do it." Obviously that piqued my interest, so he explained that I should drink my own urine, working my way up from a diluted mixture to the full concentration, and drinking this every morning for a year would absolutely remove all of my headaches, and keep me just as young and healthy and beautiful as I am now. Besides Hindus drinking cow urine, he pointed out that this is even mentioned in the Talmud, and Rambam himself drank his own piss. Ummmmmmm we'll see. I suppose the reasoning makes some sense- that the body has a certain vibration, and blockages in that cause pain and disease, so taking urine to balance out the vibrations and clear blockages is the best way to heal.
He also told me about Zodiac love matches (apparently two Virgos aren't such a disaster after all, which is good news for me and the Benj), so anyone wanting to know about their match potential, let me know and I'll pass on the info for the good doctor. All in all, a fascinating night.
Saturday before the break of dawn left for the airport to get to Varanasi- from leaving the hotel in Cochin to settling down in Varanasi was a travel time of 15 hours! Varanasi has a tiny airport- only one baggage claim, and it's just a straight conveyer belt, not a loop. And the power went out. This was a harbinger of a recurring theme to come. Everyone has warned of scams and touts in this city, so I was careful about choosing a taxi but was won over by Tariq, a hotelier with striking green eyes. We shared a taxi with an Indian father and son, and discussed the racial tensions in the US versus caste issues here- our affirmative action, their low caste reservations. The son referred to Martin Luther King Jr. as America's Gandhi, I liked that. So interesting to have these conversations, but kind of daunting to know that they are judging all of my country based on what I say.
The streets of Varanasi were flooded with muddy water from the rains- not even the monsoon here yet, and already flooded roads- bicycles were submerged 1/3 of the way up the wheels, people were wading through water holding their shoes above their head. Quite the first impression- the city has absolutely crappy roads, very dirty and busy and bustling, not so different from Bombay, just less crowded (but feels like not by much). Cows, goats, dogs, all the usual characters, plus cycle rickshaws with elaborate decorations on their convertible tops. Finally found a decent hotel outside of the Old City- within its bounds, the alleys flood and are pretty filthy, and all the hotels I saw were exceptionally cruddy. I kinda think that Varanasi is very nasty. The Hotel Buddha, where we ended up, is really nice- even with a balcony, room service, and a tv, for 400 rupees a night (about $10). Benji's bus from Nepal got in around 8, and we reunited after a month apart. :-)
Yesterday we ventured out to the ghats- the stairs leading down to the Holy Ganga. Walking there I felt the same sort of excitement as the first time I visited the Kotel, the Western Wall in Jerusalem. Like Jerusalem, there is an Old City full of tiny lanes and alleys with water channels for draining. Like Jerusalem, the religious are distinguishable by garb: white or orange dhotis and robes, and string sash tied around Brahmins (the priestly caste, highest of the ranks). Like Jerusalem, there is a distinctive hairstyle for the religious as well: sadhus (holy men/ascetics) have incredible dreadlocks, and other devotees wear the hair closely shorn except for a tuft at the back, which is meant to provide a hook for the gods to hold when they are plucked up to heaven. Like Jerusalem, it is very auspicious to die in the city. Like Jerusalem, an object is worshipped and honored as something divine itself, practically like the Kotel. And like Jerusalem, stone stairs everywhere give a feeling of an ancient time past, but still carrying on.
At the Ganges, I found the water to be a lot less polluted than I expected, although officially it's still considered fetid. The Mahim creek in Bombay looks, and smells, MUCH worse. Still, people bathe, swim, boat, fish, wash clothes and more in the river. I was surprised that I handled the cremation ghat as well as I did- it's just such a part of the way of life here. The bodies are carried to the river on a bamboo stretcher wrapped in cloths, dipped into the Ganga, and then set on the funeral pyre. The fire is supposed to purify the soul before it passes on to heaven. Children under 10, pregnant women, sadhus (holy men), those bitten by snakes (a sign of Shiva) , and lepers are not burned, they are just released into the Ganges.
At 7:00 every evening, an aarti (worship/offering) is performed on a small stages all lit up with flood lights and Christmas lights hung to look like umbrellas. Hindu priests on each stage perform the very stylized ritual of circling around with incense, oil lamps, feather tails, and other holy symbols as an offering to Maa Ganga herself, giver of life to Hindus. Amplified music accompanies- tabla and harmonium, and devotional singing. We managed to snag seats on a balcony between rich pilgrims and Brahmin priests, who were able to describe all the different stages of the ritual. Beautiful, intense, sensory overload.
Today we left at 5am for a dawn boat ride on the Ganges, where we saw hundreds of people performing morning sun pujas, doing laundry, and swimming. (At the internet cafe, just now an old man is pulling himself across the floor because his legs are too weak to stand upon, into the family home behind the storefront. This is India.) At dawn the city looked truly beautiful and sacred, but as soon as we left the Old City and went out to the large Hindu university and other temples and silk looms, we were taken out of the holy space into a typical crowded, dirty Indian city. Such dichotomy and juxtaposition, but again, this is India. Especially.
This evening we had a private music performance at the shop of a rather charismatic gentlemen who kept on telling us how "amezing amezing is the music, good feeling for in your hearts isn't it, music is connection between peoples of my country and your country, amezing amezing." Video of the performance on YouTube soon.
Tomorrow we'll visit Sarnath, a few km away, where the Buddha gave his first sermon after reaching enlightenment. And tomorrow night, on to Agra. Taj Mahal, here I come!
Friday, June 15, 2007
Cochin chimmery chim chim, chim chim chiree
Arrived last night in Cochin/Kochi to discover that a French woman I shared lunch with in Hampi is staying at the same guest house! When we parted ways last week she said "Maybe I'll see you in Kerala," and I thought, shya, fat chance. But there she was! Seems that there are more tourists here than I've seen in a week. It was already after dark when I arrived, so we talked with the hotel owner for a while- his name is Pious, seems like a lot of pressure- and then went to dinner at another hotel restaurant around the corner in the quaint Fort Cochin area. We joined two Aussie chaps staying at our hotel as well. One is 23 and had just been traveling for the past year... I can't imagine that kind of stamina. His older brother has Devo-esque glasses, silver caps on a few teeth, and a mohawk. Awesome.
The guest house has simple single rooms for Rs 150- about $3.70. I decided to go for this cheaper option than the apparently nicer rooms upstairs because this week has turned out to be pretty pricey, especially with the backwaters tour. So what does one get for 150 roops? A hard cot, smelly bathroom, and a ceiling with half of the panels missing, revealing the stained foundations behind. And a few lizards here and there. But it's not as bad as that sounds... there were lizards at my family's house in Mumbai also. And this place is still better than the room in Ernakulam where I stayed after the great 30 hour epic travel journey of June 2007, at least it has a western toilet and a rooftop terrace.
This morning I set off determined to Jew it up in Jewtown. Yes, that's right. Jewtown. Allegedly, Jews arrived on the southeastern coast of India around 2000 years ago, fleeing the exile after the destruction of the 2nd Temple in Jerusalem. Other versions say Jews arrived in 587 BC, fleeing Nebuchadnezzer's occupation of Jerusalem, and yet another claims Jews arrived as traders from Israel in the 11th century BC. Another legend says that the last remaining Jewish prince swam to Cochin with his wife on his shoulders from another settlement farther north on the coast. Either way, as we have been wont to do, the Jews quickly became successful traders and merchants, and until the Portuguese came to do their thing in the early 1700s, they even had their own ruler. Those friendly Portuguese brought the inquisition with them and starting persecuting the Jews in Goa, so the local raja of Cochin granted them a village beside the royal palace in Mattancherry, which is now what we know as Jewtown. Apropos of my previous posts about race and caste and hierarchy, the same held true in the Jewish community. Black Jews worked as spice laborers, and they intermarried with Indians. Brown Jews are presumed to be slave converts (I don't know what that means, it's just what the guidebook says), and White Jews, also known as Pardesi Jews, were on top. Who came up with this idea?!
There still remains a synagogue and a few stars of David built into gates or window frames, but really the only marker of its past are the signs that proclaim its name. I expected that there would be signs in Hebrew for Israeli tourists like there are in Goa and elsewhere, but none of that either. Sadly, the synagogue was closed today (that's what I get for using guidebooks from 2002 and 2003, I guess), but I'll go back for Shabbat tonight and see if there's a minyan. The community has significantly dwindled over time, and I've been told by previous travelers that the remaining elder members are private and don't like to share their story so much anymore. We'll see if I can charm them a bit more.
Also closed was the Dutch Palace, which holds a museum of all sorts of archaeological stuff from the surrounding kingdoms, as well as temples only open to Hindus. So... my jaunt into Jewtown was not as successful as planned. I did get to see the Jewish cemetery from a roof viewpoint across the street- raised graves like I've never seen in a Jewish cemetery anywhere else. Unfortunately it's too far to get a look at any engravings on the tombstones. Jewtown now is full of antique shops and the typical jewelry, handicrafts, and clothes stores. Since it's the offseason, activity was low, and lots of the shopkeepers gave out plaintive cries to "come see my shop, madam, even looking only." Heaps of relics, statues, figurines, etc are displayed in windows and alleys, and I'm sure I could easily go bankrupt shopping there. And of course, there are also prolific spice and oil shops, offering all sorts of ayurvedic potions and giving off lovely smells of sandalwood and clove.
Afterwards I crossed the water on a ferry, very much like the waterbusses of Venice, and I'm now back in Ernakulam, where I bought train tickets for the next leg of the trip. Tomorrow I fly to Varanasi via Delhi, and Benji and I will reunite on Sunday (hopefully, provided his busses from Nepal work out ok), and then on the 20th we're taking an overnight train to Agra. I am so flippin excited to see these places!
Over and out, I'm Jolly Berger.
The guest house has simple single rooms for Rs 150- about $3.70. I decided to go for this cheaper option than the apparently nicer rooms upstairs because this week has turned out to be pretty pricey, especially with the backwaters tour. So what does one get for 150 roops? A hard cot, smelly bathroom, and a ceiling with half of the panels missing, revealing the stained foundations behind. And a few lizards here and there. But it's not as bad as that sounds... there were lizards at my family's house in Mumbai also. And this place is still better than the room in Ernakulam where I stayed after the great 30 hour epic travel journey of June 2007, at least it has a western toilet and a rooftop terrace.
This morning I set off determined to Jew it up in Jewtown. Yes, that's right. Jewtown. Allegedly, Jews arrived on the southeastern coast of India around 2000 years ago, fleeing the exile after the destruction of the 2nd Temple in Jerusalem. Other versions say Jews arrived in 587 BC, fleeing Nebuchadnezzer's occupation of Jerusalem, and yet another claims Jews arrived as traders from Israel in the 11th century BC. Another legend says that the last remaining Jewish prince swam to Cochin with his wife on his shoulders from another settlement farther north on the coast. Either way, as we have been wont to do, the Jews quickly became successful traders and merchants, and until the Portuguese came to do their thing in the early 1700s, they even had their own ruler. Those friendly Portuguese brought the inquisition with them and starting persecuting the Jews in Goa, so the local raja of Cochin granted them a village beside the royal palace in Mattancherry, which is now what we know as Jewtown. Apropos of my previous posts about race and caste and hierarchy, the same held true in the Jewish community. Black Jews worked as spice laborers, and they intermarried with Indians. Brown Jews are presumed to be slave converts (I don't know what that means, it's just what the guidebook says), and White Jews, also known as Pardesi Jews, were on top. Who came up with this idea?!
There still remains a synagogue and a few stars of David built into gates or window frames, but really the only marker of its past are the signs that proclaim its name. I expected that there would be signs in Hebrew for Israeli tourists like there are in Goa and elsewhere, but none of that either. Sadly, the synagogue was closed today (that's what I get for using guidebooks from 2002 and 2003, I guess), but I'll go back for Shabbat tonight and see if there's a minyan. The community has significantly dwindled over time, and I've been told by previous travelers that the remaining elder members are private and don't like to share their story so much anymore. We'll see if I can charm them a bit more.
Also closed was the Dutch Palace, which holds a museum of all sorts of archaeological stuff from the surrounding kingdoms, as well as temples only open to Hindus. So... my jaunt into Jewtown was not as successful as planned. I did get to see the Jewish cemetery from a roof viewpoint across the street- raised graves like I've never seen in a Jewish cemetery anywhere else. Unfortunately it's too far to get a look at any engravings on the tombstones. Jewtown now is full of antique shops and the typical jewelry, handicrafts, and clothes stores. Since it's the offseason, activity was low, and lots of the shopkeepers gave out plaintive cries to "come see my shop, madam, even looking only." Heaps of relics, statues, figurines, etc are displayed in windows and alleys, and I'm sure I could easily go bankrupt shopping there. And of course, there are also prolific spice and oil shops, offering all sorts of ayurvedic potions and giving off lovely smells of sandalwood and clove.
Afterwards I crossed the water on a ferry, very much like the waterbusses of Venice, and I'm now back in Ernakulam, where I bought train tickets for the next leg of the trip. Tomorrow I fly to Varanasi via Delhi, and Benji and I will reunite on Sunday (hopefully, provided his busses from Nepal work out ok), and then on the 20th we're taking an overnight train to Agra. I am so flippin excited to see these places!
Over and out, I'm Jolly Berger.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
A canoe, at last.
14 June
I'm always joking around that humankind should use the canoe as a more frequent mode of transportation. And today, I did! My backwater cruise around Alleppey was on a canoe carved from a tree trunk, with a coconut leaf covered roof. Very peaceful and relaxing (i.e. kinda boring) trip through canals and lakes for 6 hours, seeing villages alongside. I saw a few water snakes, lots of kingfisher birds, and occasionally I'd get excited, thinking there was a crocodile ahead, but it was always just a broken coconut shell. Lots of goats and chickens, women doing laundry by beating clothes against stones, people bathing in their bathing-clothes--sarongs worn for modesty, and the washing goes on underneath (there's a great line in Shantaram about over-underclothes for public washing, haha), school kids yelling "one pen! one pen!", motor boats pulling chains of canoes behind, and the occasional other tour boat with Indian tourists waving at me. Such an idyllic setting- again, worlds and worlds from Bombay. (Except for the condoms I saw in the water. Did you know that condoms float?)
But on the flipside, the night before, after my last entry, a young local guy, Dr. Vijay, tried to "make good friendship" with me, and it made me tres uncomfortable. I'm used to the usual "where are you from, miss, madam please your good name, how is India" yada yada, but this guy was just really persistent and pushy. He wanted my number and my email address- he was at the same internet place and actually wrote me a note and dropped it into my cube after the first time I told him I wouldn't give him my info pleading for it, saying that he wants to help me because people will try to cheat me as a foreigner in India. I relented and gave him my email, and then he wrote me a message there asking again for my friendship and offering his services. I decided that maybe I was being too hard on him, despite the fact that he repeatedly stood looking over my shoulder while I was typing, and tried to sit down with me in the cube. Anyway we went to dinner, and he started asking me the typical questions "are you married, do you have a boyfriend" which then led into questions about my sexual activity and am I having sex before marriage and if I'm 25 then I must be having sex because of my- get this- hormonal secretions?!?! I told him that was inappropriate in my country to ask, and also here, and tried to change the subject. Then he kept on asking to come to my hotel, or if I would come to his room. I made up a story that my friends Erin and Batya (haha, thanks for the alibi, guys) were sick back at the hotel and I had to go be with them again. He walked me back to the hotel, which was good because I wasn't sure where I was going, but also a bit creepy. Luckily I made a fine escape, but the whole experience just left me unsettled. There's got to be some sort of balance between curiosity and crossing the line. Do men like this seriously think that just because I'm a western woman I'll have sex with anything that moves? I have a hard time understanding a culture that has held onto arranged marriages, modesty, restraint, etc, that also allows for this kind of behaviour. Maybe, actually, it's reactionary. Maybe the men are so sexually repressed they seek release in the form of white women? Whatever it is, I might be able to understand it some how, but I certainly don't like it, and I wish I knew a better way to handle it.
What's particularly upsetting about this sort of experience is that my inner racist rears her ugly head. While walking with Dr. Vijay we passed two young white men, and I immediately felt relieved just to see them on the other side of the street- like they could protect me if he went to far. Of course, they are not necessarily any more likely to help me than any one else, foreign or Indian, but on some instinctual level I just feel better when I see foreigners. Why is it that I feel more connected to white foreigners than Indians, even if they are not American? Ok, so we use the same kind of toilets at home and share some values, but that doesn't mean they are automatically trustworthy or reliable people.
An American friend of mine in Mumbai once commented that the only Indians who have any sort of reasoning skills are the ones who speak English well. I recoiled when I heard him say that, thinking it was so racist. But I'm ashamed to admit that I can come up with plenty of supporting evidence that shows that English speakers generally are more competent and helpful people. So does that make me racist, too? It's a stereotype, and I suppose that many stereotypes are based in some sort of truth. The problem is when we start using them to make blanket judgments.
Before I left for India I scoffed at the guidebooks' recommendations for backpacker hangouts with western food, thinking that going to those places and eating that food defeats the entire purpose of being here. But... now that I'm here, it's nice to treat myself to pasta or pizza once in a while, and it's easier to have a conversation with a foreigner at a restaurant than an Indian. Maybe it just comes down to a sense of birds of a feather flocking together, but I still fundamentally find trouble with it.
In brighter news- thanks to all of you readers for the shout-outs! Keep 'em coming. ;-)
I'm always joking around that humankind should use the canoe as a more frequent mode of transportation. And today, I did! My backwater cruise around Alleppey was on a canoe carved from a tree trunk, with a coconut leaf covered roof. Very peaceful and relaxing (i.e. kinda boring) trip through canals and lakes for 6 hours, seeing villages alongside. I saw a few water snakes, lots of kingfisher birds, and occasionally I'd get excited, thinking there was a crocodile ahead, but it was always just a broken coconut shell. Lots of goats and chickens, women doing laundry by beating clothes against stones, people bathing in their bathing-clothes--sarongs worn for modesty, and the washing goes on underneath (there's a great line in Shantaram about over-underclothes for public washing, haha), school kids yelling "one pen! one pen!", motor boats pulling chains of canoes behind, and the occasional other tour boat with Indian tourists waving at me. Such an idyllic setting- again, worlds and worlds from Bombay. (Except for the condoms I saw in the water. Did you know that condoms float?)
But on the flipside, the night before, after my last entry, a young local guy, Dr. Vijay, tried to "make good friendship" with me, and it made me tres uncomfortable. I'm used to the usual "where are you from, miss, madam please your good name, how is India" yada yada, but this guy was just really persistent and pushy. He wanted my number and my email address- he was at the same internet place and actually wrote me a note and dropped it into my cube after the first time I told him I wouldn't give him my info pleading for it, saying that he wants to help me because people will try to cheat me as a foreigner in India. I relented and gave him my email, and then he wrote me a message there asking again for my friendship and offering his services. I decided that maybe I was being too hard on him, despite the fact that he repeatedly stood looking over my shoulder while I was typing, and tried to sit down with me in the cube. Anyway we went to dinner, and he started asking me the typical questions "are you married, do you have a boyfriend" which then led into questions about my sexual activity and am I having sex before marriage and if I'm 25 then I must be having sex because of my- get this- hormonal secretions?!?! I told him that was inappropriate in my country to ask, and also here, and tried to change the subject. Then he kept on asking to come to my hotel, or if I would come to his room. I made up a story that my friends Erin and Batya (haha, thanks for the alibi, guys) were sick back at the hotel and I had to go be with them again. He walked me back to the hotel, which was good because I wasn't sure where I was going, but also a bit creepy. Luckily I made a fine escape, but the whole experience just left me unsettled. There's got to be some sort of balance between curiosity and crossing the line. Do men like this seriously think that just because I'm a western woman I'll have sex with anything that moves? I have a hard time understanding a culture that has held onto arranged marriages, modesty, restraint, etc, that also allows for this kind of behaviour. Maybe, actually, it's reactionary. Maybe the men are so sexually repressed they seek release in the form of white women? Whatever it is, I might be able to understand it some how, but I certainly don't like it, and I wish I knew a better way to handle it.
What's particularly upsetting about this sort of experience is that my inner racist rears her ugly head. While walking with Dr. Vijay we passed two young white men, and I immediately felt relieved just to see them on the other side of the street- like they could protect me if he went to far. Of course, they are not necessarily any more likely to help me than any one else, foreign or Indian, but on some instinctual level I just feel better when I see foreigners. Why is it that I feel more connected to white foreigners than Indians, even if they are not American? Ok, so we use the same kind of toilets at home and share some values, but that doesn't mean they are automatically trustworthy or reliable people.
An American friend of mine in Mumbai once commented that the only Indians who have any sort of reasoning skills are the ones who speak English well. I recoiled when I heard him say that, thinking it was so racist. But I'm ashamed to admit that I can come up with plenty of supporting evidence that shows that English speakers generally are more competent and helpful people. So does that make me racist, too? It's a stereotype, and I suppose that many stereotypes are based in some sort of truth. The problem is when we start using them to make blanket judgments.
Before I left for India I scoffed at the guidebooks' recommendations for backpacker hangouts with western food, thinking that going to those places and eating that food defeats the entire purpose of being here. But... now that I'm here, it's nice to treat myself to pasta or pizza once in a while, and it's easier to have a conversation with a foreigner at a restaurant than an Indian. Maybe it just comes down to a sense of birds of a feather flocking together, but I still fundamentally find trouble with it.
In brighter news- thanks to all of you readers for the shout-outs! Keep 'em coming. ;-)
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Alapaloozah
Greetings from Alleppey, also known as Alappuzha, which to me just looks like it should rhyme with Lallapalooza. It doesn't, though- in Malyalam, the mother tongue here, the z actually sounds like r. Right, of course, why would you think I wouldn't know that? Of course I know that.
So I left Munnar this morning after a disappointing visit to the tea factory museum. There's all sorts of historical stuff from the white dudes who set up the plantations- like the wall mounted heads of the game they killed, and their parlor furniture. After that section is the mini-factory where they show you how the tea goes from picking to drying to rolling bla bla bla and at the end, there's no sample. This was the single biggest disappointment. I was looking forward to a tea taste test, like at a winery or brewery. Alas, no luck.
The ride back down the mountains onto the coast was beautiful- this time I was on the side of the bus to see down the road into the valleys, not up onto higher cliffs. So much lushness! And then adorable school kids in matching immaculate uniforms, from the white ribbons on the braids to the knee socks. It's evident which kind of school the kids attend based on their attire- girls with head coverings and/or salwar kameez outfits go to Muslim schools, and girls in pleated skirts with pigtails go to Christian schools.
These Keralans sure take Christiandom seriously. All over the place there are shrines and monuments for saints, especially Joseph and George. Even in Rome I didn't see shrines like this- must be a reaction to prevalance of Hindu shrines. Also great big churches, much bigger and more frequent than the ones in Mumbai, and even in Goa. And there's also a Christian tv channel which broadcasts evangelist preachers saving hundreds of Chinese people, Christian rock music videos, black and white movies with some Christian theme, and also a strange Israeli news show with American anchors.
Anyhoo, tomorrow I'm doing the famous backwaters tour, through canals and lakes that apparently gave this city the label "the Venice of the east." Then onto Cochin.
One humble request before signing off, dear readers- please let me know that you're reading! Leave a comment identifying yourself or drop me an email. I can tell that people are reading frmo that handy counter down there in the corner, but I can't tell who- other than the regulars who have let me know (that means you, Skarpy and Elana). Much thanks.
So I left Munnar this morning after a disappointing visit to the tea factory museum. There's all sorts of historical stuff from the white dudes who set up the plantations- like the wall mounted heads of the game they killed, and their parlor furniture. After that section is the mini-factory where they show you how the tea goes from picking to drying to rolling bla bla bla and at the end, there's no sample. This was the single biggest disappointment. I was looking forward to a tea taste test, like at a winery or brewery. Alas, no luck.
The ride back down the mountains onto the coast was beautiful- this time I was on the side of the bus to see down the road into the valleys, not up onto higher cliffs. So much lushness! And then adorable school kids in matching immaculate uniforms, from the white ribbons on the braids to the knee socks. It's evident which kind of school the kids attend based on their attire- girls with head coverings and/or salwar kameez outfits go to Muslim schools, and girls in pleated skirts with pigtails go to Christian schools.
These Keralans sure take Christiandom seriously. All over the place there are shrines and monuments for saints, especially Joseph and George. Even in Rome I didn't see shrines like this- must be a reaction to prevalance of Hindu shrines. Also great big churches, much bigger and more frequent than the ones in Mumbai, and even in Goa. And there's also a Christian tv channel which broadcasts evangelist preachers saving hundreds of Chinese people, Christian rock music videos, black and white movies with some Christian theme, and also a strange Israeli news show with American anchors.
Anyhoo, tomorrow I'm doing the famous backwaters tour, through canals and lakes that apparently gave this city the label "the Venice of the east." Then onto Cochin.
One humble request before signing off, dear readers- please let me know that you're reading! Leave a comment identifying yourself or drop me an email. I can tell that people are reading frmo that handy counter down there in the corner, but I can't tell who- other than the regulars who have let me know (that means you, Skarpy and Elana). Much thanks.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Also!
I forgot to mention that my rickshaw wallah-cum-tourguide* taught me how to drive the venerable three-wheeler today. The looks on the faces of the people we passed on the road were priceless- a ferengi sharing the front seat with a local, driving! And not just any ferengi, but a GIRL. Good times. Too bad I couldn't get on board for the Rickshaw Ride this time around- I could get used to careening around mountain curves with the little guy.
* Many things here are given this blank-cum-blank moniker: PCO-cum-stationary stand. Bus company-cum-travel agent. Chai stand-cum-tiffin meals. Newspaper stall-cum-communication center. Et al.
* Many things here are given this blank-cum-blank moniker: PCO-cum-stationary stand. Bus company-cum-travel agent. Chai stand-cum-tiffin meals. Newspaper stall-cum-communication center. Et al.
Munnother world...
Greetings from a toxic smelling internet console in Munnar. Apparently the petrol station next door passes fumes right into here, where computers are in funny little individual pods. So this post might be a bit loopy, as I've already been sitting here for the better part of an hour.
So- yesterday afternoon I arrived here in Munnar, in the mountains of Kerala. This place is simply beautiful, as was the scenery on the climb up. The constant drizzle alternates between actual monsoon rain and just the ambient cloud cover because we're so high up. I've toured around the plantations, seeing buds of cardamom and coffee and abundant tea leaves, a dam used for hydroelectricity (go Kerala), and reserved cow pastures full of tall grasses. It's just simply nature at it's best- this is really why Kerala calls itself God's Own Country. At points on the drive up the scene almost seemed like Switzerland- a main street in a village with mountains rising up behind. Gorgeous. And they sell homemade chocolates here... I guess the locals have taken the Switzerland comparison pretty seriously!
And it's such a different world from the rest of India that I've seen so far. First of all, it's cold up here- cold enough that I wore socks and a thermal long sleeve shirt to bed, huddled under a blanket. I haven't slept with a proper blanket since I left the US, I think. The fog and chill are very reminiscent of San Francisco in the summer, and there's just a touch of homesickness along with that. Weather like this just makes me want to snuggle with blankets, a book, and hot chocolate. Masala chai and a musty guest house will have to make do for now... Anyway, what I've seen of the whole state so far is much cleaner, calmer, and more orderly than Mumbai, for sure. Coincidence that this is the longest freely elected Marxist government in the world? I think not. The hammer and sicle symbol is all over the place, and red flags. There's very little to no litter on the streets, a higher level of education and standard of living is evident in the number of doctors' offices, computer shops, big fancy saree showrooms, billboards for travel to the UAE, etc. People are considerably less aggressive- shy smiles emerged any time I drove past school children, tea farmers, anyone on the streets. Rickshaw drivers don't yell to get my attention. It's just so nice!
But also a bit lonely... it's definitely the off season for tourists, and I haven't seen any foreigners since leaving Hampi on Saturday. It's like when my friends in elementary school used to time me to see how long I could go without speaking on the school bus. Luckily there's a TV in my room at the guest house, and last night I watched a bizarre movie for an Indian network: Lies My Father Told Me. It's about a yiddishe grandfather and his family in some turn of the century-ish immigrant community. Really bizarre to see lubavitchers on TV saying brachas in India. So it goes with foreign channels, though- I guess they get the lower-than-b-list American movies to show. Similarly in Sri Lanka, I saw a movie about graduating seniors from college supposedly at the University of Michigan, but it was filmed at Brandeis. Supremely weird to turn on the set and see Rabb Steps from my host family's living room outside of Colombo. (Speaking of which, the situation in Sri Lanka is becoming ever more dire- the attacks are getting closer into residential areas of Colombo and I'm scared for my people there...)
With all this time on my hands I've been reflecting on my time in Mumbai. I can't exactly pinpoint when it was, but at some point my infatuation with the city wore off. At first I was exhilarated but then I just became exhausted. The hour commute to work each way on the sweaty crowded trains, the pushing in any public place, just the sheer masses of people everywhere- this is what Ryan, the IT director at the JCF, a native Mumbaiker, must have meant when he said that "Bombay is the sea of humanity. Good luck." Well, all that swimming gets tiring. Even just the heat and humidity wore me out- I think I underestimated the extent the climate would affect me, and I really should have known better after Sri Lanka. In Mumbai pollution was much more severe, though, which makes it worse.
More than these superficial things, though, I think the socioeconomic contrasts of the city were emotionally exhausting. To see such high tech and lavish malls, high rises, restaurants, boutiques, and SUVs in contrast to slums, beggars, pavement dwellers, cripples rolling themselves down the streets on little wheeled devices like we used to play with in elementary school phys ed, naked babies, etc- it's all so much to bear. The culture of hierarchy and class division is the starkest I've ever seen, and the truth is, I just don't like it. So much aggression- even phone calls sound like acts of violence. I know that part of it is just passionate Indian emotions, but when my blood pressure rises just hearing my boss on the phone, I know something's off. Apparently people feel totally comfortable just yelling at each other, making sure inferior people know their place, treating them with disrespect. I've never lived in a place where I really just disliked the culture, and that makes it hard to like living in the place. Of course my friends were the saving grace, and just the mere experience of being so far outside of myself and my comfort zone, feeling grateful for the chance. I'm glad I had the UDRI to frame my Bombay experience, because otherwise it would have been much more of a chaotic mess for me. But I'm more sure than ever that my preference is smaller cities with more character (like Boston and San Francisco), not huge behemoths and chew people up and spit them out not only without remorse, but in fact, with glee.
Back to this inequality issue: a frequently aired commercial for some kitchen products is a cartoon of an affluent family where the father is in a suit with glasses, the mother is in a fancy saree, the kids are in western clothes, and the whole kitchen is outfitted with top of the line appliances. The family all has light skin. And there on the floor beside the table is the maid, with much darker skin, a dirty and simple saree, and a big bindi on her forehead. I can't imagine that kind of overt display in the US- sure, we all know that white suburban families hire Latinas to be nannies and African Americans to be housekeepers, but we don't make commercials on tv about it. Which is worse, though? Acknowledging it or keeping it under wraps?
Is this system of inequality a product of colonialism or is it intrinsic to India? Hinduism is based in a caste system in which hierarchy and separation are central... but does that mean that people are allowed to be assholes to each other? Going out on a limb here- but maybe part of the reason the British (and the Dutch and Portuguese before them) were able to subjugate such a huge mass of land and people is because this system of hierarchy was already in place. If people were used to being subordinates and accepted this as their place, it wouldn't be so hard to come in as an imperial power and just subjugate the crap out of them. I imagine that a lot of the formalities and courtesies that go along with the system today came from the Brits, but I have serious questions about the underlying principles. I know this is a dangerous line of reasoning and a slippery slope, and I invite your comments, dear readers. I guess the bottom line is, my buying into the popular idea of 'spiritual India' has been shot by my time in Mumbai. I just can't correlate spirituality with overt disrespect and flagrant inequality. Maybe the rest of the country will redeem the fantasy? I'll keep you posted.
So- yesterday afternoon I arrived here in Munnar, in the mountains of Kerala. This place is simply beautiful, as was the scenery on the climb up. The constant drizzle alternates between actual monsoon rain and just the ambient cloud cover because we're so high up. I've toured around the plantations, seeing buds of cardamom and coffee and abundant tea leaves, a dam used for hydroelectricity (go Kerala), and reserved cow pastures full of tall grasses. It's just simply nature at it's best- this is really why Kerala calls itself God's Own Country. At points on the drive up the scene almost seemed like Switzerland- a main street in a village with mountains rising up behind. Gorgeous. And they sell homemade chocolates here... I guess the locals have taken the Switzerland comparison pretty seriously!
And it's such a different world from the rest of India that I've seen so far. First of all, it's cold up here- cold enough that I wore socks and a thermal long sleeve shirt to bed, huddled under a blanket. I haven't slept with a proper blanket since I left the US, I think. The fog and chill are very reminiscent of San Francisco in the summer, and there's just a touch of homesickness along with that. Weather like this just makes me want to snuggle with blankets, a book, and hot chocolate. Masala chai and a musty guest house will have to make do for now... Anyway, what I've seen of the whole state so far is much cleaner, calmer, and more orderly than Mumbai, for sure. Coincidence that this is the longest freely elected Marxist government in the world? I think not. The hammer and sicle symbol is all over the place, and red flags. There's very little to no litter on the streets, a higher level of education and standard of living is evident in the number of doctors' offices, computer shops, big fancy saree showrooms, billboards for travel to the UAE, etc. People are considerably less aggressive- shy smiles emerged any time I drove past school children, tea farmers, anyone on the streets. Rickshaw drivers don't yell to get my attention. It's just so nice!
But also a bit lonely... it's definitely the off season for tourists, and I haven't seen any foreigners since leaving Hampi on Saturday. It's like when my friends in elementary school used to time me to see how long I could go without speaking on the school bus. Luckily there's a TV in my room at the guest house, and last night I watched a bizarre movie for an Indian network: Lies My Father Told Me. It's about a yiddishe grandfather and his family in some turn of the century-ish immigrant community. Really bizarre to see lubavitchers on TV saying brachas in India. So it goes with foreign channels, though- I guess they get the lower-than-b-list American movies to show. Similarly in Sri Lanka, I saw a movie about graduating seniors from college supposedly at the University of Michigan, but it was filmed at Brandeis. Supremely weird to turn on the set and see Rabb Steps from my host family's living room outside of Colombo. (Speaking of which, the situation in Sri Lanka is becoming ever more dire- the attacks are getting closer into residential areas of Colombo and I'm scared for my people there...)
With all this time on my hands I've been reflecting on my time in Mumbai. I can't exactly pinpoint when it was, but at some point my infatuation with the city wore off. At first I was exhilarated but then I just became exhausted. The hour commute to work each way on the sweaty crowded trains, the pushing in any public place, just the sheer masses of people everywhere- this is what Ryan, the IT director at the JCF, a native Mumbaiker, must have meant when he said that "Bombay is the sea of humanity. Good luck." Well, all that swimming gets tiring. Even just the heat and humidity wore me out- I think I underestimated the extent the climate would affect me, and I really should have known better after Sri Lanka. In Mumbai pollution was much more severe, though, which makes it worse.
More than these superficial things, though, I think the socioeconomic contrasts of the city were emotionally exhausting. To see such high tech and lavish malls, high rises, restaurants, boutiques, and SUVs in contrast to slums, beggars, pavement dwellers, cripples rolling themselves down the streets on little wheeled devices like we used to play with in elementary school phys ed, naked babies, etc- it's all so much to bear. The culture of hierarchy and class division is the starkest I've ever seen, and the truth is, I just don't like it. So much aggression- even phone calls sound like acts of violence. I know that part of it is just passionate Indian emotions, but when my blood pressure rises just hearing my boss on the phone, I know something's off. Apparently people feel totally comfortable just yelling at each other, making sure inferior people know their place, treating them with disrespect. I've never lived in a place where I really just disliked the culture, and that makes it hard to like living in the place. Of course my friends were the saving grace, and just the mere experience of being so far outside of myself and my comfort zone, feeling grateful for the chance. I'm glad I had the UDRI to frame my Bombay experience, because otherwise it would have been much more of a chaotic mess for me. But I'm more sure than ever that my preference is smaller cities with more character (like Boston and San Francisco), not huge behemoths and chew people up and spit them out not only without remorse, but in fact, with glee.
Back to this inequality issue: a frequently aired commercial for some kitchen products is a cartoon of an affluent family where the father is in a suit with glasses, the mother is in a fancy saree, the kids are in western clothes, and the whole kitchen is outfitted with top of the line appliances. The family all has light skin. And there on the floor beside the table is the maid, with much darker skin, a dirty and simple saree, and a big bindi on her forehead. I can't imagine that kind of overt display in the US- sure, we all know that white suburban families hire Latinas to be nannies and African Americans to be housekeepers, but we don't make commercials on tv about it. Which is worse, though? Acknowledging it or keeping it under wraps?
Is this system of inequality a product of colonialism or is it intrinsic to India? Hinduism is based in a caste system in which hierarchy and separation are central... but does that mean that people are allowed to be assholes to each other? Going out on a limb here- but maybe part of the reason the British (and the Dutch and Portuguese before them) were able to subjugate such a huge mass of land and people is because this system of hierarchy was already in place. If people were used to being subordinates and accepted this as their place, it wouldn't be so hard to come in as an imperial power and just subjugate the crap out of them. I imagine that a lot of the formalities and courtesies that go along with the system today came from the Brits, but I have serious questions about the underlying principles. I know this is a dangerous line of reasoning and a slippery slope, and I invite your comments, dear readers. I guess the bottom line is, my buying into the popular idea of 'spiritual India' has been shot by my time in Mumbai. I just can't correlate spirituality with overt disrespect and flagrant inequality. Maybe the rest of the country will redeem the fantasy? I'll keep you posted.
Monday, June 11, 2007
30 HOURS OF NONSTOP TRAVEL... AND MORE.
Since my last entry, the majority of my time has been spent on mass transit systems.
The bus from Margao, Goa to Hospet, Karnataka on the "semi-deluxe" bus was possibly the worst ride of my life. Turns out when the ticket guy motioned to the bus when I asked which one it was, we were looking at different busses. The one i ended up on was a glorified school bus, essentially, with bench seats- 2 on the left and 3 on the right. I lucked out and had my own seat, with my backpack tied to a pole at the end. Eventually i figured out how to contort myself so i could lay sideways with my legs wrapped around the pole resting on my bag, but only after I got motion sick from the careening around curves up some big hill. good times. It definitely could have been worse, though. i was the only single woman on the bus, and the only whitey = big spectacle. A young guy befriended me, though, and watched guard whenever I went off into the dark to pee at the numerous stops all throughout the overnight journey.
SWITCHING TO CAPS B/C THIS KEYBOARD IS STICKY. ANYWAY ARRIVED IN HOSPET AT 5 AM AND TOOK A RICKSHAW INTO HAMPI, ABOUT 30 MINUTES AWAY. MY DRIVER, JAY, WAS VERY CHATTY AND I WAS IN SURPRISINGLY GOOD SPIRITS, CONSIDERING THE HOUR AND PRECEDING JOURNEY. HE PUT ON TAMIL AND TELUGU FILM HITS AND I TOLD HIM ABOUT MY BOLLYWOOD ACTING, WHICH HE FOUND EXTREMELY EXCITING. QUITE THE SCENE- HUNCHED IN THE BACK OF A RICKSHAW WITH ALL MY BAGS, LISTENING TO BUMPING MUSIC, BEFORE THE BREAK OF DAWN, DOWN A NARROW ROAD PASSING COW PULLED CARTS PILED WITH HAY. THE LIGHT BEGAN TO BREAK JUST AS WE WERE REACHING HAMPI, AND THE NOTORIOUS ROCK FORMATIONS EMERGED FROM THE DARKNESS- BUT JUST AS SHADOWS AND ROUGH FORMS, WHICH MADE THEM EVEN CREEPIER AND SPOOKIER THAN NORMAL. KINDA LIKE PICTURES I'VE SEEN FROM THE AMERICAN SOUTHWEST, THERE ARE ALL THESE HUGE BOULDERS STACKED AND PILED AND LEANING AGAINST EACH OTHER IN IMPROBABLE, PRECARIOUS POSITIONS. GREAT BIG PILES OF ROCKS ALL OVER THE PLACE, WHICH TOOK ON THE REDDISH GLOW OF DAWN- SO BEAUTIFUL. AFTER LOOKING AT A FEW GUESTHOUSES I DECIDED ON ONE, DUMPED MY STUFF, AND WENT BACK OUT WITH JAY FOR SOME SUNRISE SIGHTSEEING. WE WENT TO A HIGH HILL WITH A KRISHNA TEMPLE ON TOP, HIKING UP PAST SCAVENGING MONKEYS AND THE BIGGEST WORMS I'VE EVER SEEN (SOME SORT OF MONSOON CREATURE THAT EVEN THINKING ABOUT GIVES ME THE HEEBIE JEEBIES), AND TOOK IN THE INCREDIBLE VIEW. JUST GORGEOUS, SPECTACULAR SIGHTS- ROCKS AND TEMPLES AS FAR AS THE EYE CAN SEE. CAME DOWN AND PASSED VARIOUS PARTS OF THE ROYAL CENTER RUINS WHICH THEN I EXPLORED MORE CLOSELY ON THE 2ND DAY, AND WENT TO SLEEP FOR 5 HOURS. WHEN I WOKE UP IT FELT LIKE A WHOLE OTHER DAY, WHICH WAS STRANGE- EXPLORED THE MAIN TEMPLE IN TOWN, THE BAZAAR, AND THE PATH ALONG THE RIVER, REPLETE WITH GHATS FOR LAUNDRY AND SWIMMING. THE HOLY CITY IS FULL OF COWS AND MONKS AND STILL A FAIR NUMBER OF TOURISTS. FRIDAY NIGHT I HAD DINNER WITH TWO DANISH GIRLS WHO JUST FINISHED A FEW MONTHS OF WORKING IN AN ORPHANAGE IN CHENNAI AS PART OF THEIR SOCIAL WORK STUDIES. JUST LIKE UDAIPUR, ALL THE GUEST HOUSES HAVE ROOFTOP RESTAURANTS WITH NEARLY IDENTICAL MENUS, ALTHOUGH LOTS OF ITEMS ARE "CLOSED."
SATURDAY JAY TOOK ME TO SEE THE REST OF THE ROYAL CENTER SITES- SOME IT RIVALS THE RUINS I SAW IN SRI LANKA- JUST MASSIVE EXCAVATIONS, WELL RESTORED, OF BATHS, COURTS, PRIVATE CHAMBERS, STAGES, AND AN EXTRAORDINARY NUMBER OF TEMPLES AND SHRINES, INCLUDING ONE WITH INDIA'S SECOND BIGGEST LINGAM. CRAZY TO THINK THAT MOST OF THIS STUFF ISN'T MORE THAN 600 YEARS OLD, BECAUSE IT ALL SEEMS SO ANCIENT. WE ALSO WALKED OUT FAR PAST THE RIVER PATH I TOOK THE DAY BEFORE, OUT THROUGH A JUNGLE INTO A MORE DESERT LIKE ROCKY AREA WITH AN UNDERGROUND WATERFALL. AMAZING, ABSOLUTELY AMAZING- ROCKS WITH CARVED HOLES LIKE THE GROTTOS IN ROSH HANIKRA IN NORTHERN ISRAEL, BUT DARK- AND THE WHOLE PLACE WAS JUST SO ROCKY AND SURREAL, LIKE I'D IMAGINE THE SURFACE OF THE MOON.
SATURDAY NIGHT I TOOK THE TRAIN FROM HOSPET TO BANGALORE, SHARING A BERTH WITH A BUNCH OF WOMEN AND ONE ADORABLE 5 YEAR OLD WHO HAD THE MOST EXPRESSIVE CHIP-MUNCHING FACES I'VE EVER SEEN. SO CUTE. I'M GETTING BETTER AT SLEEPING ON THE TRAINS, BUT GETTING MORE ANNOYED WITH WAKING UP SO DIRTY, JUST FROM ALL THE PASSING DUST AND POLLUTION. UPON ARRIVING IN BANGALORE, A BUSTLING TRAIN STATION RIGHT ACROSS FROM THE BUS DEPOT, I WAS DISAPPOINTED TO LEARN THAT THE TRULY DELUXE PRIVATE TOURIST BUSSES ONLY LEAVE AT NIGHT. I WAS NOT AT ALL INTERESTED IN SPENDING THE DAY IN BANGALORE, SO I SUCKED IT UP AND TOOK A GOVERNMENT BUS LEAVING AN HOUR LATER TO CALICUT, KERALA. THIS WAS THE NEXT STEP UP FROM THE SHIT SCHOOL BUS- INDIVIDUAL SEATS WITH MORE COMFORT, BUT STILL NOTHING FANCY. AGAIN I LUCKED OUT WITH MY OWN SINGLE SEAT, IN THE VERY FRONT. AND AGAIN, THE ONLY WHITEY, SO LOTS OF EYES- I'M GLAD I WAS SITTING IN FRONT SO I DIDN'T ACTUALLY SEE IT. WE DROVE THROUGH A WILDERNESS SANCTUARY ON THE BORDER BETWEEN KARNATAKA AND KERALA, AND UP AND AROUND MOUNTAINS WITH INCREDIBLE VIEWS OF LUSH GREENERY BENEATH. MONSOON RAINS CAME AND WENT, AND WE ALSO STOPPED FOR LUNCH ON BANANA LEAVES IN SOME STATE RUN PLACE IN THE MIDDLE OF A FIELD SEEMINGLY NOWHERE. WE ENDED UP GETTING IN TO CALICUT AROUND 4, INSTEAD OF 8, AS THEY HAD SAID, SO I DECIDED TO JUST KEEP GOING ON DOWN TO COCHIN, SO I HOPPED ON ANOTHER BUS OF THE SAME VARIETY, AND GOT HERE AROUND 11 LAST NIGHT. NOW I'M OFF TO MUNNAR, A HILL STATION WITH TEA PLANTATIONS HIGHER IN THE MOUNTAINS, AND I'VE GOT TO RUN TO CATCH THE BUS, SO MORE LATER. KERALA IS BEAUTIFUL AND LUSH WITH LOTS OF AMUSING SIGNS FOR THE COMMUNIST PARTY, AND A SURPRISING NUMBER OF ARAB/MUSLIM INSTITUTIONS, SYMBOLS, BILLBOARDS, ETC. MORE SOON!
The bus from Margao, Goa to Hospet, Karnataka on the "semi-deluxe" bus was possibly the worst ride of my life. Turns out when the ticket guy motioned to the bus when I asked which one it was, we were looking at different busses. The one i ended up on was a glorified school bus, essentially, with bench seats- 2 on the left and 3 on the right. I lucked out and had my own seat, with my backpack tied to a pole at the end. Eventually i figured out how to contort myself so i could lay sideways with my legs wrapped around the pole resting on my bag, but only after I got motion sick from the careening around curves up some big hill. good times. It definitely could have been worse, though. i was the only single woman on the bus, and the only whitey = big spectacle. A young guy befriended me, though, and watched guard whenever I went off into the dark to pee at the numerous stops all throughout the overnight journey.
SWITCHING TO CAPS B/C THIS KEYBOARD IS STICKY. ANYWAY ARRIVED IN HOSPET AT 5 AM AND TOOK A RICKSHAW INTO HAMPI, ABOUT 30 MINUTES AWAY. MY DRIVER, JAY, WAS VERY CHATTY AND I WAS IN SURPRISINGLY GOOD SPIRITS, CONSIDERING THE HOUR AND PRECEDING JOURNEY. HE PUT ON TAMIL AND TELUGU FILM HITS AND I TOLD HIM ABOUT MY BOLLYWOOD ACTING, WHICH HE FOUND EXTREMELY EXCITING. QUITE THE SCENE- HUNCHED IN THE BACK OF A RICKSHAW WITH ALL MY BAGS, LISTENING TO BUMPING MUSIC, BEFORE THE BREAK OF DAWN, DOWN A NARROW ROAD PASSING COW PULLED CARTS PILED WITH HAY. THE LIGHT BEGAN TO BREAK JUST AS WE WERE REACHING HAMPI, AND THE NOTORIOUS ROCK FORMATIONS EMERGED FROM THE DARKNESS- BUT JUST AS SHADOWS AND ROUGH FORMS, WHICH MADE THEM EVEN CREEPIER AND SPOOKIER THAN NORMAL. KINDA LIKE PICTURES I'VE SEEN FROM THE AMERICAN SOUTHWEST, THERE ARE ALL THESE HUGE BOULDERS STACKED AND PILED AND LEANING AGAINST EACH OTHER IN IMPROBABLE, PRECARIOUS POSITIONS. GREAT BIG PILES OF ROCKS ALL OVER THE PLACE, WHICH TOOK ON THE REDDISH GLOW OF DAWN- SO BEAUTIFUL. AFTER LOOKING AT A FEW GUESTHOUSES I DECIDED ON ONE, DUMPED MY STUFF, AND WENT BACK OUT WITH JAY FOR SOME SUNRISE SIGHTSEEING. WE WENT TO A HIGH HILL WITH A KRISHNA TEMPLE ON TOP, HIKING UP PAST SCAVENGING MONKEYS AND THE BIGGEST WORMS I'VE EVER SEEN (SOME SORT OF MONSOON CREATURE THAT EVEN THINKING ABOUT GIVES ME THE HEEBIE JEEBIES), AND TOOK IN THE INCREDIBLE VIEW. JUST GORGEOUS, SPECTACULAR SIGHTS- ROCKS AND TEMPLES AS FAR AS THE EYE CAN SEE. CAME DOWN AND PASSED VARIOUS PARTS OF THE ROYAL CENTER RUINS WHICH THEN I EXPLORED MORE CLOSELY ON THE 2ND DAY, AND WENT TO SLEEP FOR 5 HOURS. WHEN I WOKE UP IT FELT LIKE A WHOLE OTHER DAY, WHICH WAS STRANGE- EXPLORED THE MAIN TEMPLE IN TOWN, THE BAZAAR, AND THE PATH ALONG THE RIVER, REPLETE WITH GHATS FOR LAUNDRY AND SWIMMING. THE HOLY CITY IS FULL OF COWS AND MONKS AND STILL A FAIR NUMBER OF TOURISTS. FRIDAY NIGHT I HAD DINNER WITH TWO DANISH GIRLS WHO JUST FINISHED A FEW MONTHS OF WORKING IN AN ORPHANAGE IN CHENNAI AS PART OF THEIR SOCIAL WORK STUDIES. JUST LIKE UDAIPUR, ALL THE GUEST HOUSES HAVE ROOFTOP RESTAURANTS WITH NEARLY IDENTICAL MENUS, ALTHOUGH LOTS OF ITEMS ARE "CLOSED."
SATURDAY JAY TOOK ME TO SEE THE REST OF THE ROYAL CENTER SITES- SOME IT RIVALS THE RUINS I SAW IN SRI LANKA- JUST MASSIVE EXCAVATIONS, WELL RESTORED, OF BATHS, COURTS, PRIVATE CHAMBERS, STAGES, AND AN EXTRAORDINARY NUMBER OF TEMPLES AND SHRINES, INCLUDING ONE WITH INDIA'S SECOND BIGGEST LINGAM. CRAZY TO THINK THAT MOST OF THIS STUFF ISN'T MORE THAN 600 YEARS OLD, BECAUSE IT ALL SEEMS SO ANCIENT. WE ALSO WALKED OUT FAR PAST THE RIVER PATH I TOOK THE DAY BEFORE, OUT THROUGH A JUNGLE INTO A MORE DESERT LIKE ROCKY AREA WITH AN UNDERGROUND WATERFALL. AMAZING, ABSOLUTELY AMAZING- ROCKS WITH CARVED HOLES LIKE THE GROTTOS IN ROSH HANIKRA IN NORTHERN ISRAEL, BUT DARK- AND THE WHOLE PLACE WAS JUST SO ROCKY AND SURREAL, LIKE I'D IMAGINE THE SURFACE OF THE MOON.
SATURDAY NIGHT I TOOK THE TRAIN FROM HOSPET TO BANGALORE, SHARING A BERTH WITH A BUNCH OF WOMEN AND ONE ADORABLE 5 YEAR OLD WHO HAD THE MOST EXPRESSIVE CHIP-MUNCHING FACES I'VE EVER SEEN. SO CUTE. I'M GETTING BETTER AT SLEEPING ON THE TRAINS, BUT GETTING MORE ANNOYED WITH WAKING UP SO DIRTY, JUST FROM ALL THE PASSING DUST AND POLLUTION. UPON ARRIVING IN BANGALORE, A BUSTLING TRAIN STATION RIGHT ACROSS FROM THE BUS DEPOT, I WAS DISAPPOINTED TO LEARN THAT THE TRULY DELUXE PRIVATE TOURIST BUSSES ONLY LEAVE AT NIGHT. I WAS NOT AT ALL INTERESTED IN SPENDING THE DAY IN BANGALORE, SO I SUCKED IT UP AND TOOK A GOVERNMENT BUS LEAVING AN HOUR LATER TO CALICUT, KERALA. THIS WAS THE NEXT STEP UP FROM THE SHIT SCHOOL BUS- INDIVIDUAL SEATS WITH MORE COMFORT, BUT STILL NOTHING FANCY. AGAIN I LUCKED OUT WITH MY OWN SINGLE SEAT, IN THE VERY FRONT. AND AGAIN, THE ONLY WHITEY, SO LOTS OF EYES- I'M GLAD I WAS SITTING IN FRONT SO I DIDN'T ACTUALLY SEE IT. WE DROVE THROUGH A WILDERNESS SANCTUARY ON THE BORDER BETWEEN KARNATAKA AND KERALA, AND UP AND AROUND MOUNTAINS WITH INCREDIBLE VIEWS OF LUSH GREENERY BENEATH. MONSOON RAINS CAME AND WENT, AND WE ALSO STOPPED FOR LUNCH ON BANANA LEAVES IN SOME STATE RUN PLACE IN THE MIDDLE OF A FIELD SEEMINGLY NOWHERE. WE ENDED UP GETTING IN TO CALICUT AROUND 4, INSTEAD OF 8, AS THEY HAD SAID, SO I DECIDED TO JUST KEEP GOING ON DOWN TO COCHIN, SO I HOPPED ON ANOTHER BUS OF THE SAME VARIETY, AND GOT HERE AROUND 11 LAST NIGHT. NOW I'M OFF TO MUNNAR, A HILL STATION WITH TEA PLANTATIONS HIGHER IN THE MOUNTAINS, AND I'VE GOT TO RUN TO CATCH THE BUS, SO MORE LATER. KERALA IS BEAUTIFUL AND LUSH WITH LOTS OF AMUSING SIGNS FOR THE COMMUNIST PARTY, AND A SURPRISING NUMBER OF ARAB/MUSLIM INSTITUTIONS, SYMBOLS, BILLBOARDS, ETC. MORE SOON!
Thursday, June 7, 2007
The travels begin!
Phew! Leaving Bombay was crazy- the same inexplicable psychosomatic feelings of anxiety I felt before leaving for India repeated- I was a wreck. But Batya and Erin saved the day when they came along in the taxi to the train station for my departure. The Indian economy really ought to send me some sort of certificate of commendation because I've spent so much here, and then I ended up packing up 4 bags of stuff to give away. You're welcome, Bharat.
Upon arriving at the train (now my third time taking the Konkan-Kumari Express), the passenger record listed my name as Jolly Berger. That's right, I will heretofore answer to the name Jolly Berger. I was seated in the first berth with 3 other women, including a nun from Mother Teresa's order- identifiable by their distinctive white saris with a blue border. I always thought that Mother Teresa wore a habit sort of thing with a separate head piece, but it turns out to just be the sari wrapped up and over. Up close, the material looks kinda like a tallis, or a dishcloth- depending on perspective. The other women settled in to sleep pretty quickly, and my plan to write in my journal was thwarted by the death of yet another pen. I've experienced a disproportionate amount of pen death in India. Who woulda thought? Anyway, I managed to get some decent sleep, and I didn't even fall off of the top bunk. The train is relatively comfortable, but it's a yucky feeling to awaken sticky and dirty. Stickydirty, as my mom would say. The train doesn't seem that grody looking at it (it's no Taj hotel, either), but somehow every time I've been on this train I end up with dirt caked under my fingernails. Ew.
I find the food and drink vendors on the train both amusing and annoying. Amusing in that they are essentially the Indian equivalent of American sports stadium vendors- instead of "popcorn, peanuts, hot dogs, cold beer here" it's "ch-chai, garam ch-chai, kofi, samosas, idli vada, chicken lolypop, masala durgh' (hot tea, coffee, fried pastries full of spiced potato and peas, a steamed patty of fermented rice, either a drumstick or something like satay, and spiced milk). Annoying in that they trod the aisles after I try to fall asleep, and they start again in the morning before I'm ready to wake up. I estimate that on one train, there are more than 60 of these vendors, including the guys in the pantry car. Maybe even more- it's hard to tell how long the train actually is. But that's why the Indian Railway System is the biggest employer in the world- over 1.5 million people.
I arrived in Margao, Goa, around 11. This is the same stop we took to go to Palolem Beach a week and a half ago, and there's really nothing to do in town. It's mostly a transportation hub, and just kinda a small town. I took a motorcycle taxi to a tourist office only to discover that private busses to Hampi and/or Hospet are entirely discontinued during the off-season. Disappointing. So then we went to the government bus station, where they have a "semi-deluxe" bus leaving tonight at 7, arriving in Hospet at 5am. We'll see, but I imagine that "semi-deluxe" essentially means "not the most uncomfortable ride of your life, but don't get your hopes up." The seats don't recline so much... so sleeping will be interesting. I'll be sure to include a snoring report in my next dispatch.
I've spent the rest of the time in the basement internet shop (not a cafe, it's just a small musty room with 5 computers and a gas leak) of the main tourist hotel, which claims to not have a baggage storage facility. That's a major pain since somehow I ended up with way too heavy bags. Besides the normal email routine, I finished up the remaining work for the Mobile Creches database, so that's good to be concluded. Now I've got another 2.5 hours to kill... hopefully I can find a hotel willing to rent me a room for an hour or two to take a much-needed shower. And lunch. Lunch would be good.
Signing off for now, I'm Jolly Berger.
Upon arriving at the train (now my third time taking the Konkan-Kumari Express), the passenger record listed my name as Jolly Berger. That's right, I will heretofore answer to the name Jolly Berger. I was seated in the first berth with 3 other women, including a nun from Mother Teresa's order- identifiable by their distinctive white saris with a blue border. I always thought that Mother Teresa wore a habit sort of thing with a separate head piece, but it turns out to just be the sari wrapped up and over. Up close, the material looks kinda like a tallis, or a dishcloth- depending on perspective. The other women settled in to sleep pretty quickly, and my plan to write in my journal was thwarted by the death of yet another pen. I've experienced a disproportionate amount of pen death in India. Who woulda thought? Anyway, I managed to get some decent sleep, and I didn't even fall off of the top bunk. The train is relatively comfortable, but it's a yucky feeling to awaken sticky and dirty. Stickydirty, as my mom would say. The train doesn't seem that grody looking at it (it's no Taj hotel, either), but somehow every time I've been on this train I end up with dirt caked under my fingernails. Ew.
I find the food and drink vendors on the train both amusing and annoying. Amusing in that they are essentially the Indian equivalent of American sports stadium vendors- instead of "popcorn, peanuts, hot dogs, cold beer here" it's "ch-chai, garam ch-chai, kofi, samosas, idli vada, chicken lolypop, masala durgh' (hot tea, coffee, fried pastries full of spiced potato and peas, a steamed patty of fermented rice, either a drumstick or something like satay, and spiced milk). Annoying in that they trod the aisles after I try to fall asleep, and they start again in the morning before I'm ready to wake up. I estimate that on one train, there are more than 60 of these vendors, including the guys in the pantry car. Maybe even more- it's hard to tell how long the train actually is. But that's why the Indian Railway System is the biggest employer in the world- over 1.5 million people.
I arrived in Margao, Goa, around 11. This is the same stop we took to go to Palolem Beach a week and a half ago, and there's really nothing to do in town. It's mostly a transportation hub, and just kinda a small town. I took a motorcycle taxi to a tourist office only to discover that private busses to Hampi and/or Hospet are entirely discontinued during the off-season. Disappointing. So then we went to the government bus station, where they have a "semi-deluxe" bus leaving tonight at 7, arriving in Hospet at 5am. We'll see, but I imagine that "semi-deluxe" essentially means "not the most uncomfortable ride of your life, but don't get your hopes up." The seats don't recline so much... so sleeping will be interesting. I'll be sure to include a snoring report in my next dispatch.
I've spent the rest of the time in the basement internet shop (not a cafe, it's just a small musty room with 5 computers and a gas leak) of the main tourist hotel, which claims to not have a baggage storage facility. That's a major pain since somehow I ended up with way too heavy bags. Besides the normal email routine, I finished up the remaining work for the Mobile Creches database, so that's good to be concluded. Now I've got another 2.5 hours to kill... hopefully I can find a hotel willing to rent me a room for an hour or two to take a much-needed shower. And lunch. Lunch would be good.
Signing off for now, I'm Jolly Berger.
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