Another painfully long bus ride got me to Bangalore to see Gingie before shipping off for good. Sad, but not all together surprising was that after a fitful night's sleep, I woke up Saturday morning with a splitting headache feeling horridly sick in general. I rested a couple extra hours essentially to no avail, but I wanted to at least attempt to enjoy my last day so I popped a couple more advil and Gingie and I headed out. Despite my aching and bouts of nausea, we managed to have a pretty fun afternoon spending my leftover rupees and seeing a Bollywood movie (obviously group dance scenes and melodrama were abundant and when they slowed and conversations in Hindi took their place, we cut out--it had been nearly 3 hours as it were and I had to get back anyway). A shower and a slightly teary goodbye and I was off to the airport for my 1am flight. My schedule home was pretty miserable, but the 6 hour layover in Mumbai in the middle of the night did have one perk--a star sighting! The lead form the movie I'd walked out of only hours before walked right past me talking on his cell phone--fame by association! I wish I'd reacted quicker but it was 3am and by the time my double-take, jaw-drop combo was over, he'd pretty much flown past.
30 hours of travel got me back to sweet home Chicago and before I could even realize the newness of my old stomping grounds I was accepting the Dora the Explorer welcome back balloons and a big hug from Mom. Being back is bittersweet--in some ways an easy adjustment--like sleeping in my fabulous bed--in other ways a hard one--like wondering why none of the outside has changed to match my inner growth. It feels almost as though I had one long lucid dream and have now woken up to find the leaves have fallen from the trees, the air has turned chilly and months have passed during my slumber.
It's strange the things I notice and I wonder if the same aspects of this world grab the attention of Indian tourists on arrival here. The traffic looks so streamlined to me--almost boring. Where are the cows? the carts? the rickshaws? the bikes? The streets look vacant, almost eerie like a ghost town--does anyone live here? And everything is so spread out. The space between the houses that I used to think were packed together like sardines in the aftermath of the rush of young families to our coveted suburb, now seem like vast vacancies; the wide streets make me feel unsheltered and exposed. Still the cool crisp air feels good in my lungs and I know with each breath that theses oddities will fade from my attention faster than I think. I'm nervous to reenter American existence and begin to write the next chapter of my life, but I know I will continue to carry my experiences with me as I go and they will help guide me in choosing my best path. I can only hope this next step will be as fabulous and fulfilling as the last. I feel so grateful for the support of family and friends and for the opportunity to have such an expansive and inspiring journey at so young an age; I can only cower at the feet of my good fortune and hope to be worthy of all its blessings.
PS Happy Turkey Day to one and all!
Friday, November 28, 2008
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Balconies and Boulders
Saturday afternoon, after some beach R and R, we had a closing puja in the shala--the energy was warm and happy. Everyone looked their Sunday best (even though it was Saturday)--Georgina and I wore the dresses we'd bought in Arambol together and many of the other girls had picked up something special as well. It was a treat to see each other out of our (now) grungy yoga ware, hair all did and donning a few pieces of jewelry here and there. We got our new forehead smudges and another red string round our wrists and chanted as we passed incense and melted ghee 5 times over the shiva portrait and threw frankincense into the fire for good luck. Our certificates were granted and then it was time to celebrate. Most of the crew went to a big night market after dinner, but me and 3 other of my favorite gals (Miriam, Corina and Jessica) hung 'round for a more relaxed night choosing to enjoy wine, desserts and a series of belly laughs that had us nearly rolling off our floor cushions--it was perfect.
Sunday, I went around and chatted with the others who had stuck it out at Riva and we had our last (slightly melancholy) breakfast together. That afternoon, I rented scooters with Kate, and Tess and Kate's friend Jo and we rode north up the coast to Querim and then took a ferry accross the river (scooters and cars and all--quite a thrill and a fright for a first time 'scoot-er-ie' like myself) and rode up to Terekhol fort which is really more like a castle. From there we could admire the Arabian sea, a winding river and the abundance of coconut trees from a bird's eye view--sigh. It was a shame to part ways with the scooters and much more of a shame to part ways with my new friends from yoga school, but at least I didn't have to say all my goodbye's at once--Corina and Jessica came with me to Panajim--Goa's capital city.
Much like Pondicherry's French twist, the traces of Portuguese colonization are easy to spot in Panajim. In fact, the bright colored stucco and ornate lattice work on the balconies, each one eliciting another girly squeal of course, jump right off the page. The city is full of charming cobblestone streets and (along with nearby Old Goa), houses many many churches to explore, if that's your cup of tea. Us three hit a few of the must sees including the ruins of the Church of St. Augustine--once the largest cathedral in Goa (even the rubble is grand)--en route to the spice plantation. After learning some fascinating facts about spices and touring the plantation with our eyes , noses and tongues, we had thalis for lunch and a cup of cashew feni (unpalatably strong alcohol distilled from the cashew nut's fruit which actually happens to be really tasty before being distilled into the feni) on the house.
The following day, Corina got on her way back to good ol' Canada, but Jessica and I continued on to Hampi on an incredibly uncomfortable overnight bus. We got here when it was still pitch black and caught up on some sorely missed z's until late morning. Then finally, we ventured out and began to take in the new landscape . For the better part of the afternoon we chatted and gazed from out hilltop perch at the rock formations that put Hampi permanently (and deservedly) on the tourist circuit. It was impossible to tell whether we were looking at big piles of rocks and boulders with greens interrupting in the spaces between them or at hills with loads of rocks and boulders crushing all their greens. Either way the sight was totally awe-striking. Just when we thought we'd seen the most unlikely balancing act, we'd look over and spot another enormous boulder looking like it would start rolling Indiana Jones style with the slightest nudge. These eye catching sandy colored boulder piles surrounded us, and dotted among them were all shapes and sizes of temple ruins which we casually explored as they fell across our wandering path. It was easy to see how a week might drift by unnoticed as one watched the sunrise and set throwing it's rosy blanket over the rocks. Jessica stayed on to do some further watching, but I only had a couple days to soak up Hampi's magic before heading back to Bangalore to meet up with Gingie before my flight home. (woah. home. weird.)
Sunday, I went around and chatted with the others who had stuck it out at Riva and we had our last (slightly melancholy) breakfast together. That afternoon, I rented scooters with Kate, and Tess and Kate's friend Jo and we rode north up the coast to Querim and then took a ferry accross the river (scooters and cars and all--quite a thrill and a fright for a first time 'scoot-er-ie' like myself) and rode up to Terekhol fort which is really more like a castle. From there we could admire the Arabian sea, a winding river and the abundance of coconut trees from a bird's eye view--sigh. It was a shame to part ways with the scooters and much more of a shame to part ways with my new friends from yoga school, but at least I didn't have to say all my goodbye's at once--Corina and Jessica came with me to Panajim--Goa's capital city.
Much like Pondicherry's French twist, the traces of Portuguese colonization are easy to spot in Panajim. In fact, the bright colored stucco and ornate lattice work on the balconies, each one eliciting another girly squeal of course, jump right off the page. The city is full of charming cobblestone streets and (along with nearby Old Goa), houses many many churches to explore, if that's your cup of tea. Us three hit a few of the must sees including the ruins of the Church of St. Augustine--once the largest cathedral in Goa (even the rubble is grand)--en route to the spice plantation. After learning some fascinating facts about spices and touring the plantation with our eyes , noses and tongues, we had thalis for lunch and a cup of cashew feni (unpalatably strong alcohol distilled from the cashew nut's fruit which actually happens to be really tasty before being distilled into the feni) on the house.
The following day, Corina got on her way back to good ol' Canada, but Jessica and I continued on to Hampi on an incredibly uncomfortable overnight bus. We got here when it was still pitch black and caught up on some sorely missed z's until late morning. Then finally, we ventured out and began to take in the new landscape . For the better part of the afternoon we chatted and gazed from out hilltop perch at the rock formations that put Hampi permanently (and deservedly) on the tourist circuit. It was impossible to tell whether we were looking at big piles of rocks and boulders with greens interrupting in the spaces between them or at hills with loads of rocks and boulders crushing all their greens. Either way the sight was totally awe-striking. Just when we thought we'd seen the most unlikely balancing act, we'd look over and spot another enormous boulder looking like it would start rolling Indiana Jones style with the slightest nudge. These eye catching sandy colored boulder piles surrounded us, and dotted among them were all shapes and sizes of temple ruins which we casually explored as they fell across our wandering path. It was easy to see how a week might drift by unnoticed as one watched the sunrise and set throwing it's rosy blanket over the rocks. Jessica stayed on to do some further watching, but I only had a couple days to soak up Hampi's magic before heading back to Bangalore to meet up with Gingie before my flight home. (woah. home. weird.)
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Yogic Life
The final stop on my travels was a month long 200 hour yoga teacher certification course in traditional Himalayan Yoga (hatha + ashtanga basically). The course was 5 and a quarter *** days a week and was taught by both Indians and foreigners. It was located in Goa, the main Indian beach hang out on the south western coast just above Kerala where I spent some time traveling earlier on. Here's the complete low down beginning with our schedule (which unlike that of the meditation course, and in keeping with Indian ways of doing, was far from rigid and often was revised with short notice or just running late):
6:30 meditation
7:30 tea
8:00 asana practice
10:00 breakfast
11:00 or 11:30 lecture
1:00 or 1:30 break
3:00 lecture
4:00 asana practice
6:00 free or a half hour of chanting some days
***saturdays we just had meditation and asana in the morning and sundays were free
Accommodation: Riva Resort. It has its strong points. I'd compare my hut to a child's drawing. At first sight, there's a wow factor; then you look in a bit closer and realize it's a bit crooked, the lines don't quite meet, it's not really colored in properly and the proportions are out of whack. I stayed in a beach bungalow which of course has immediate appeal--for one, I had a westward beach view so I got sunsets everyday (when we were off in time for them), and then there's the easy trip to the beach as well. However, none of the walls met each other really, or the roof for that matter, so it leaves the place pretty open to the elements. The elements being bugs, dirt and well, more bugs. I also had some mice who were living in my roof between the thatching but they only came down or shuffled around when it rained and luckily that was only a couple of times. But they do poop and so little droppings fell through the little holes in the woven ceiling and landed random places. So I guess that means it was raining shit in my room (scuze the french) which isn't the best. The hot water lasted about 1 week and stopped working. I gave up asking for it to be fixed after about 6 tries so I just had cold for the rest of the time. But there were clean sheets and towels and the sleeping was good so it served fine for the most part.
Riva is on Mandrem beach which is serene and peaceful if a bit isolated. We were basically close to nothing, but there were a few restaurants and shops 10-15 minutes walk one way and Arambol--a little touristy, hippy town was a half hours walk on the beach the other way so it was alright.
Food: Breakfast was provided and the first day I was elated at the spread--curd, fruit, toast, muesli, cornflakes, porridge, honey, butter, jelly, coffee and tea! But they soon took away the curd (25 people eat a lot of curd and I guess the 'resort' got stingy), we had to fight to get honey regularly, the porridge got soupy, the toast was sometimes just white bread and the jelly was some other jelly like thing which clearly did not make use of fruit in any way--after two weeks or so of the same thing over and over and over, it began to look less and less and less appealing. But it was free (or at least we had already paid for it so it felt free) so we ate. I wasn't much hungry for lunch usually (maybe just an apple and some nuts or banana chips). Dinner we started eating at Riva and exhausted that option thoroughly and then again. It was a pain to have to venture away every night but was well worth it. There were some good restaurants around and we had some tasty meals (at tourist prices unfortunately). Still, I was missing my morning dosa.
Instructors:
Lalit-the main squeeze. An Indian man of only about 28 or 29 years with a small stature and a bright and endearing smile full of perfectly crooked white teeth. He's a surprisingly normal(ish) guy for having spent most of his life (since 7 years old) in various yoga schools and ashrams. Mild mannered, caring , generous and positive, his silliness came out by degrees at first and then finally burst out of him in the form of impersonations (of us) and ridiculous flailing punjabi dancing. His goofy side only detracted from his credibility a minor amount and we all had a lot more fun.
Maeve- Eveanna, Lalit's Irish wife, was vacationing in Thailand fr most of the course, but her mother Maeve did the finances and picked up all the odds and ends where help was needed, keeping us all (including Lalit) in line when we started to stray.
Maeve- Eveanna, Lalit's Irish wife, was vacationing in Thailand fr most of the course, but her mother Maeve did the finances and picked up all the odds and ends where help was needed, keeping us all (including Lalit) in line when we started to stray.
Tiffany-31, Canadian and everything we aspire to when we think of our favorite yoga teachers. She's thoughtful, smart, fun and articulate. As a music therapist, she lead our extra chanting sessions with her beautiful voice and brightened our days with her infectious laugh.
Ram- When I first saw him dressed in the traditional yogi's all white tunic and floor length lungi (like a skirt), his raven hair cascading in waves down his back, full beard and bright eyes, two words came to mind- Indian Jesus. And actually, I wasn't to far off. He was introduced to us as our spiritual leader; I met the title with my usual skepticism, but Ram knocked down my walls with his wisdon and supernatural perception. Every word he spoke seemed to be the right one and in no time the lot of us were eating up his every utterance. There was just something about him--a certain glow, a certain energy. His prescence was calming and yet I felt a slight uneasiness as well, as though he could read my thoughts and I have a feeling he probably could (to some extent), but I know he'd never pass judgment. Despite his insightful and spirtitual ways, he managed to maintain normalcy--one of the reasons he earned my respect--swimming with us on the weekend, dancing punjabi style with Lalit anc craking jokes now and again. He left a week early and some of the group's peace followed him home. I was sorry to see him go, but I feel ut paths may cross again later in life, so until then...
Dr. Rohit-the Ayurvedic doctor who came in once for twice a week to teach us about "the science of living" is a young Indian man with a round face and a big smile and a loving personality. He came to class dressed unneccessarily well in a button down shirt and slacks (much too warm attire for the climate)and was ever patient with our questions and endlessly enthusiastic and kind.
Ken- 'Ken the rolfer' as he claims to be known in the countries he's previuosly visited, was our anatomy teacher. He seemed not to quite realize we were in India as he was always fussing with his fancy computer graphic program and his projector which sometimes managed to put up a wavvy image on the sheet rigged up in the shala. Of course we couldn't make out a darned thing n the wrinkled cloth with daylight streaming in through the openings in the makeshift walls (also sheets) and still he was dissapointed every time the power went out. But it's then we did our best learning--we had to resort to feeling eachother's bones and muscles and those in our own bodies and with Ken's maticulous directions on where and how to poke and prod, we witnessed the inner mechanics of bodies in motion with our hands. Cool.
Asana Yoga: this was the part that most surprized me. I had anticipated being really challenged in asana class and probably towards the lower end of the spectrum in terms of ability level. In fact, it was just the opposite. The classes were geared really towards beginners especially in the first week and then they built up as time progressed. Still, we mostly stuck to the basic poses and only a small handful of classes worked specifically on arm balances and backbending. As a result my own practice didn't improve in the way I'd hoped it would, but it was beneficial for me to go back to the basics and put the finishing touches on each pose there. And hey, 2 classes of yoga every day (1.5-2 hrs each) is still a lot of yoga with or without more advanced postures. In the 3rd week, we started practicum in which we rotated teaching bits of each class. This slowed progress in our personal practices even more, but the cost was well worth it. I loved every minute of teaching. It feels natural and fun to step into the teaching role--I can't wait to have a class of my own! (I still crave deeper and more challenging poses, but rarely does one teacher training suffice, so the next will be for that.)
Course Material: We covered a huge range of topics in our lectures: ayurvedic medicine, chakras, yoga philosophy, mudras, ethics, kryias, anatomy and more. I loved ayurveda--fascinating and fun--we got to figure out our doshas (energy makeup) which dictate the lifestyle and diet that will be best for optimum health. I'd be happy to do yours when I get back :) Ken's teaching was shaky but I still adore anatomy and last semester's ostelogy course put me ahead of the game there which was great--I'll use the info I got from the workshops in my own classes for sure. Chakras and mudras were both short and sweet--there are lots of interesting tidbits there-colors and symbols and sunds etc. Yoga philosophy mostly became nap time, however, and ethics and business were somewhere in between. Kryias were ...neat (some more feasible than others), they're basically cleansing techniques and we tried out a few including the neti pot. You pour warm salt water in one nostril and it comes out the other--wanna try? (actually it is a pretty nice sensation if you do it correctly and your breath feels cool and clean afterwards)
Free Time: Didn't seem like we had a ton of time to work on out tans, but what time we did have, I spent in unexciting ways for the most part--naps (at least until Dr. Rohit told me someone who's a Pitta-Vatha (me) shouldn't sleep during the day because it makes 'em lazy--he's right by the way), internet, reading, homework, beaching, goin to Arambol--the town down the beach--to shop or eat or whatever. There are a few specific things worth mentioning though:
- My friends from Mysore Kate and Melina from were staying in Arambol and came to meet me for dinner. It was so fun to see then again and trade stories and tell them my initial impression of the prgram. Hard for all of us to believe, but it was their last night when we had dinner so we had a coctail and dessert to send them back to real life in style.
-The first weekend there, me and 3 other girls went uot on a fishing boat early Sunday morning for dolphin watching. For the first hour, we saw nothing but sun and sea and then when out spirits were starting to drop, suddenly a fin appeared and then a few more and then lots! For the next hour, we saw tons of the majestic creatures, some light and some dark, all beautiful and graceful.
-The next weekend we all visited an ayurvedic center and it was sorta neat and sorta repetitive form class, but the best part was the delicious and fresh satvvic (tanslation: super healthy veg) lunch.
-Not wanting to miss out on the festivities f Oct. 31, I organized a haloween soiree for us, encouraged everyone to be creative and dress up and got some candy to make it official. I was superwoman (undies over pants of course), some gypsies, a cat and a Hindu demon were among the other outfits.
-Divali, one of the biggest festivals in India came during the course. It selebrates different things depending on who you ask, but essentially it's a few days set aside to honor the divine light in each of us--nice huh? Lalit and the gang had us all over for a puja (candel lit ceremony), sweets and punjabi dancing. We got bindis, forehead smudges, and red stirngs around our wrists. We lit sparklers and firecrakers and went to a big buffet dinner around a beaside bonfire. In some ways, I would've liked to be in a bigger city to see more of the local action, but out little hoorah was special too. AND I've been lugging around ne pair of nice slacks in the bottom of my suitcase for months and I finally had an occasion to sport them! Thank you Divali!
Fellow Company: 20 women and one man (the spouse of one of the 20 women--poor Burte). I was shocked at the imbalance and my initial reaction was tinged with dismay. I love wmen, but let's be honest, we tend to clash when spending prolonged amounts of time with only each other and no testosterone to break up our girl power--I figured we were done for. The group actually meshed surprizingly well and I'd say caddiness did not even show its ugly face until after the thrid week (right around the time Ram left actually which is kinda a curious coincidence). This is all the more impressive because there were so many strong (and slightly spastic) personalities in the mix. the women were from all over the world (France, Italy, England, Turkey, Japan, Scotland, Slovinia, Holland...) and most were 30 years and up--only one younger than myself at an old 19. though it wasn't always easy, being with just women for a month was a blessing. We all agreed that we progressed at a quicker pace and were more true to ourselves for the lack of self-consciousness and empathetic environment. I was in the ocmpany f some really stong and amazing women with a bit more life under thier belts and I learned many lessons form their stories and sturggles and lifestyles. they showed me it is possible to step outside the cookie cutter and turn out better for it once there. they gave me laughter, inspiration and compassion. A short anecdote to illustrate the nature of this family we formed: After the visit to the ayruvedic center, we toodled around Calengutt--the nearby seaside town (not much to see) and I broke out in an inexpicable rash all over my torso. Corina took me to buy steroid cream before dinner that night, Beatrice comforted me while I itched and burned waiting for the group to get into cabs (a long ordeal), Lalit gave me ayurvedic soap, Jan smeared one cream on my front and lavender oil on my back and gave me oral drops to take (homeopathic stuff that tasted like vodka--it was totally unpalatable), Ram took me to the doctor where I got an anti-histamine shot in my upper thigh and a cream and a powder, Ester suggested I put yogurt on it (multiple times that week I could be found in my room covered in curd--worked amazingly well to fight the inflamation), Georgina gave me a Reiki session on the beach (also provided temporary relief) and everyne else had various theories of origin and remedies to offer. Unfortunately none of these remedies seemed to rid me of the irritation; the worst of it subsided after a few horribly uncomfortable days, but traces and patchs lingered stubbornly for over 2 weeks! And still the cause is unknown, but that's beside the point. I was touched by the enthusiasm with which each and every one of them approached the solving of my skin issues. I'm so grateful to have met these women who are so caring and bright, and I hope to keep in touch with the handful who have really touched my heart fr many years to come.
As I finish writing the entry I find myself with only a couple hours to go before out graduation puja and final party. My feelings are all over the place and seem to cancel eachother out; right now I feel calm (maybe there's a storm coming?). The course has been challenging in ways I didn't expect to be challenged. I now realize, it was those aspects outside the physical that needed a push--my spirituality, patience, compassion and capacity to connect with others despite their differences from myself have all grown over the past month. I take comfort in knowing this will likely not be my last teacher training, nor will it be my only visit to India. I can see it written in the stars--no astro reading needed.
Ram- When I first saw him dressed in the traditional yogi's all white tunic and floor length lungi (like a skirt), his raven hair cascading in waves down his back, full beard and bright eyes, two words came to mind- Indian Jesus. And actually, I wasn't to far off. He was introduced to us as our spiritual leader; I met the title with my usual skepticism, but Ram knocked down my walls with his wisdon and supernatural perception. Every word he spoke seemed to be the right one and in no time the lot of us were eating up his every utterance. There was just something about him--a certain glow, a certain energy. His prescence was calming and yet I felt a slight uneasiness as well, as though he could read my thoughts and I have a feeling he probably could (to some extent), but I know he'd never pass judgment. Despite his insightful and spirtitual ways, he managed to maintain normalcy--one of the reasons he earned my respect--swimming with us on the weekend, dancing punjabi style with Lalit anc craking jokes now and again. He left a week early and some of the group's peace followed him home. I was sorry to see him go, but I feel ut paths may cross again later in life, so until then...
Dr. Rohit-the Ayurvedic doctor who came in once for twice a week to teach us about "the science of living" is a young Indian man with a round face and a big smile and a loving personality. He came to class dressed unneccessarily well in a button down shirt and slacks (much too warm attire for the climate)and was ever patient with our questions and endlessly enthusiastic and kind.
Ken- 'Ken the rolfer' as he claims to be known in the countries he's previuosly visited, was our anatomy teacher. He seemed not to quite realize we were in India as he was always fussing with his fancy computer graphic program and his projector which sometimes managed to put up a wavvy image on the sheet rigged up in the shala. Of course we couldn't make out a darned thing n the wrinkled cloth with daylight streaming in through the openings in the makeshift walls (also sheets) and still he was dissapointed every time the power went out. But it's then we did our best learning--we had to resort to feeling eachother's bones and muscles and those in our own bodies and with Ken's maticulous directions on where and how to poke and prod, we witnessed the inner mechanics of bodies in motion with our hands. Cool.
Asana Yoga: this was the part that most surprized me. I had anticipated being really challenged in asana class and probably towards the lower end of the spectrum in terms of ability level. In fact, it was just the opposite. The classes were geared really towards beginners especially in the first week and then they built up as time progressed. Still, we mostly stuck to the basic poses and only a small handful of classes worked specifically on arm balances and backbending. As a result my own practice didn't improve in the way I'd hoped it would, but it was beneficial for me to go back to the basics and put the finishing touches on each pose there. And hey, 2 classes of yoga every day (1.5-2 hrs each) is still a lot of yoga with or without more advanced postures. In the 3rd week, we started practicum in which we rotated teaching bits of each class. This slowed progress in our personal practices even more, but the cost was well worth it. I loved every minute of teaching. It feels natural and fun to step into the teaching role--I can't wait to have a class of my own! (I still crave deeper and more challenging poses, but rarely does one teacher training suffice, so the next will be for that.)
Course Material: We covered a huge range of topics in our lectures: ayurvedic medicine, chakras, yoga philosophy, mudras, ethics, kryias, anatomy and more. I loved ayurveda--fascinating and fun--we got to figure out our doshas (energy makeup) which dictate the lifestyle and diet that will be best for optimum health. I'd be happy to do yours when I get back :) Ken's teaching was shaky but I still adore anatomy and last semester's ostelogy course put me ahead of the game there which was great--I'll use the info I got from the workshops in my own classes for sure. Chakras and mudras were both short and sweet--there are lots of interesting tidbits there-colors and symbols and sunds etc. Yoga philosophy mostly became nap time, however, and ethics and business were somewhere in between. Kryias were ...neat (some more feasible than others), they're basically cleansing techniques and we tried out a few including the neti pot. You pour warm salt water in one nostril and it comes out the other--wanna try? (actually it is a pretty nice sensation if you do it correctly and your breath feels cool and clean afterwards)
Free Time: Didn't seem like we had a ton of time to work on out tans, but what time we did have, I spent in unexciting ways for the most part--naps (at least until Dr. Rohit told me someone who's a Pitta-Vatha (me) shouldn't sleep during the day because it makes 'em lazy--he's right by the way), internet, reading, homework, beaching, goin to Arambol--the town down the beach--to shop or eat or whatever. There are a few specific things worth mentioning though:
- My friends from Mysore Kate and Melina from were staying in Arambol and came to meet me for dinner. It was so fun to see then again and trade stories and tell them my initial impression of the prgram. Hard for all of us to believe, but it was their last night when we had dinner so we had a coctail and dessert to send them back to real life in style.
-The first weekend there, me and 3 other girls went uot on a fishing boat early Sunday morning for dolphin watching. For the first hour, we saw nothing but sun and sea and then when out spirits were starting to drop, suddenly a fin appeared and then a few more and then lots! For the next hour, we saw tons of the majestic creatures, some light and some dark, all beautiful and graceful.
-The next weekend we all visited an ayurvedic center and it was sorta neat and sorta repetitive form class, but the best part was the delicious and fresh satvvic (tanslation: super healthy veg) lunch.
-Not wanting to miss out on the festivities f Oct. 31, I organized a haloween soiree for us, encouraged everyone to be creative and dress up and got some candy to make it official. I was superwoman (undies over pants of course), some gypsies, a cat and a Hindu demon were among the other outfits.
-Divali, one of the biggest festivals in India came during the course. It selebrates different things depending on who you ask, but essentially it's a few days set aside to honor the divine light in each of us--nice huh? Lalit and the gang had us all over for a puja (candel lit ceremony), sweets and punjabi dancing. We got bindis, forehead smudges, and red stirngs around our wrists. We lit sparklers and firecrakers and went to a big buffet dinner around a beaside bonfire. In some ways, I would've liked to be in a bigger city to see more of the local action, but out little hoorah was special too. AND I've been lugging around ne pair of nice slacks in the bottom of my suitcase for months and I finally had an occasion to sport them! Thank you Divali!
Fellow Company: 20 women and one man (the spouse of one of the 20 women--poor Burte). I was shocked at the imbalance and my initial reaction was tinged with dismay. I love wmen, but let's be honest, we tend to clash when spending prolonged amounts of time with only each other and no testosterone to break up our girl power--I figured we were done for. The group actually meshed surprizingly well and I'd say caddiness did not even show its ugly face until after the thrid week (right around the time Ram left actually which is kinda a curious coincidence). This is all the more impressive because there were so many strong (and slightly spastic) personalities in the mix. the women were from all over the world (France, Italy, England, Turkey, Japan, Scotland, Slovinia, Holland...) and most were 30 years and up--only one younger than myself at an old 19. though it wasn't always easy, being with just women for a month was a blessing. We all agreed that we progressed at a quicker pace and were more true to ourselves for the lack of self-consciousness and empathetic environment. I was in the ocmpany f some really stong and amazing women with a bit more life under thier belts and I learned many lessons form their stories and sturggles and lifestyles. they showed me it is possible to step outside the cookie cutter and turn out better for it once there. they gave me laughter, inspiration and compassion. A short anecdote to illustrate the nature of this family we formed: After the visit to the ayruvedic center, we toodled around Calengutt--the nearby seaside town (not much to see) and I broke out in an inexpicable rash all over my torso. Corina took me to buy steroid cream before dinner that night, Beatrice comforted me while I itched and burned waiting for the group to get into cabs (a long ordeal), Lalit gave me ayurvedic soap, Jan smeared one cream on my front and lavender oil on my back and gave me oral drops to take (homeopathic stuff that tasted like vodka--it was totally unpalatable), Ram took me to the doctor where I got an anti-histamine shot in my upper thigh and a cream and a powder, Ester suggested I put yogurt on it (multiple times that week I could be found in my room covered in curd--worked amazingly well to fight the inflamation), Georgina gave me a Reiki session on the beach (also provided temporary relief) and everyne else had various theories of origin and remedies to offer. Unfortunately none of these remedies seemed to rid me of the irritation; the worst of it subsided after a few horribly uncomfortable days, but traces and patchs lingered stubbornly for over 2 weeks! And still the cause is unknown, but that's beside the point. I was touched by the enthusiasm with which each and every one of them approached the solving of my skin issues. I'm so grateful to have met these women who are so caring and bright, and I hope to keep in touch with the handful who have really touched my heart fr many years to come.
As I finish writing the entry I find myself with only a couple hours to go before out graduation puja and final party. My feelings are all over the place and seem to cancel eachother out; right now I feel calm (maybe there's a storm coming?). The course has been challenging in ways I didn't expect to be challenged. I now realize, it was those aspects outside the physical that needed a push--my spirituality, patience, compassion and capacity to connect with others despite their differences from myself have all grown over the past month. I take comfort in knowing this will likely not be my last teacher training, nor will it be my only visit to India. I can see it written in the stars--no astro reading needed.
Friday, November 7, 2008
The Grand (Semi-) Finale
Another 13 hour bus ride later...Well, better to start a bit before that. After parting with the Argentinians, I took a short, very bumpy (I have the bruises to show for it) bus ride to Rishikesh where I found a great cheap place to stay with hot water round the clock (how luxurious) and a great balcony view of the Ganges and the mountains rising up behind it. In my short stay there, I attended another puja, went on a nice hike to some waterfalls 5 or 6 hilly km north of Laxman Jhula (the area where I was staying), hung out with an amusing Israeli I'd met briefly in Amritsar and his even more amusing friend, found a used copy of Shantaram (I way too happy about this because it was the first used copy I'd come across and at exactly the right time to pick it up-- lugging a 1000 page book everywhere doesn't appeal and I was days away from having an almost permanent residence--it's the small miracles that count isn't it?), and had a great yoga session with Manoj. Despite having a pleasant stay though, I didn't fall in love with Rishikesh as I'd expected to. Instead of a communal, let's do some yoga, drink some chai and have a chat vibe, I got artificial spirituality marketed and sold in the form of reiki courses, astro readings and hippie clothing. Many of the passers by seemed to be saying something like: 'My hair is dreaded, my nose is pierced and I'm sporting these goofy pants, do I look enlightened?' (NO.) Oh well.
To reach Agra, I'd planned to catch the 4am bus to Haridwar (the Haridwar bus station had told me there was one) to get there in time for the 5:30am to Agra. I was informed by a travel agent in Rishikesh that buses only run to Haridwar 6am-10:30pm so I'd have to go late the night before and stay over there. Fine. I had my bags on my back and was walking out of my guesthouse at 9:15 when the manager informed me that buses to Haridwar stop at 9pm. Now what? After a long and completely ridiculous exchange concerning buses and taxis etc. with the manager, one of his staff and a third man (who I later found out didn't actually work there but just wanted to participate), I agreed to pay the manager to take me and all my luggage to Haridwar on his motorbike. I insisted we leave at 3am because I assumed something would surely go wrong with this plan. At 10 after 3, I wrapped on the office door (which was wide open to the cold night air) and he bolted up from a pile of blankets scaring the daylights out of me. A few minutes later, I'd caught my breath, he'd fetched the bike and I'd climbed on with my backpack on my back and my huge bag balanced on the seat between us. I had to flare my legs out to accommodate it--thank goodness for yoga, and there was little room left for me to sit, but we managed, and one chilly hour later, I'd made it just in time for the 4:30am bus to Agra.
Here now we are back at the 13 hour bus ride (should've been 10). I arrived fatigued and achy and later than I expected, and consequently paid too much for an autorickshaw to rush to see the Agra fort only to find it closed for the day. Then I checked in to my guesthouse where the room I'd reserved was considerably more expensive than as listed in my guidebook. After talking the price down to a reasonable amount, I went to an internet cafe to discover that my flight to Goa for the next day was cancelled, but not to worry, I could expect a full refund. Dandy. The only available flight that fit my schedule left a day later than I'd planned arriving only 2 hours before the yoga teacher training was scheduled to begin. I booked it with bitterness and marched to the guesthouse stressed and upset. Some Australian guys really saved the day and prevented a potentially massive breakdown by inviting me to dine with them, and after a lively chat and a good meal, I was feeling much better about things if a bit thrown by the last minute schedule change.
When my alarm went off before sunrise on Saturday morning, my worries were distant; all I could think about was the Taj Mahal. I felt a tingle in my stomach when I stepped out the door and walked to the East gate just down the road. Entrance Fee--Indians:20 Rupees, Foreigners: 750 Rupees!! This one small irritation met me at the ticket booth, but thankfully, I'd known about this discrepancy before hand and accepted it so it didn't smother my excitement in the least. Was I willing to pay $20 to see the Taj Mahal? Yes. End of griping. (Though it does seem unfair to have to pay nearly 40 times the price as penalty for begin born elsewhere, does it not?) The line to get in eeked forward and by the time I approached the entrance, the knot in my throat was too big to swallow. Then I was through the gate-- I could feel the knot growing, swelling. I rounded the corner and then there it was. Tears welled up in my eyes and rolled down my cheeks. Not many. Just a few. But I was suddenly and totally overwhelmed--overwhelmed by the ethereal sight and overwhelmed by feelings of completion. In a rush I watched my travels flash all at once before my eyes, leading me along a windy path to this one moment. The finality this realization carried was heavy, but at the same time a weight was lifted from my shoulders. I'd done it and I'd done it alone. I'd wandered successfully and I'd come to this very spot and there it was--the Taj Mahal. There it was in all it's glory--almost appearing more as a figment of my imagination than it ever was before it sat before my eyes. If any man-made structure skims the surface of nature's radiant creations, this is the one. I won't attempt to describe it. I can't. Words really don't slice it for this one. You can go see it in this life or you can wait and see it after this life. Either way.
Needless to say, the energy and activity around me soon overtook those few moments of grace and I began snapping pictures with everyone else. After an hour of gazing, I left the Taj Mahal behind and had a big big breakfast in a small small shack, mailed a postcard and visited a few more sights with a certain unshakable detachment before catching the train to Delhi. Since my alarm refuses to go off when it's most crucial for me to get up on time, I overslept the next morning and made my flight by a frighteningly narrow margin. Goa, its coconut trees and its sand and sun were waiting for me and so was a month of uninterrupted yoga.
To reach Agra, I'd planned to catch the 4am bus to Haridwar (the Haridwar bus station had told me there was one) to get there in time for the 5:30am to Agra. I was informed by a travel agent in Rishikesh that buses only run to Haridwar 6am-10:30pm so I'd have to go late the night before and stay over there. Fine. I had my bags on my back and was walking out of my guesthouse at 9:15 when the manager informed me that buses to Haridwar stop at 9pm. Now what? After a long and completely ridiculous exchange concerning buses and taxis etc. with the manager, one of his staff and a third man (who I later found out didn't actually work there but just wanted to participate), I agreed to pay the manager to take me and all my luggage to Haridwar on his motorbike. I insisted we leave at 3am because I assumed something would surely go wrong with this plan. At 10 after 3, I wrapped on the office door (which was wide open to the cold night air) and he bolted up from a pile of blankets scaring the daylights out of me. A few minutes later, I'd caught my breath, he'd fetched the bike and I'd climbed on with my backpack on my back and my huge bag balanced on the seat between us. I had to flare my legs out to accommodate it--thank goodness for yoga, and there was little room left for me to sit, but we managed, and one chilly hour later, I'd made it just in time for the 4:30am bus to Agra.
Here now we are back at the 13 hour bus ride (should've been 10). I arrived fatigued and achy and later than I expected, and consequently paid too much for an autorickshaw to rush to see the Agra fort only to find it closed for the day. Then I checked in to my guesthouse where the room I'd reserved was considerably more expensive than as listed in my guidebook. After talking the price down to a reasonable amount, I went to an internet cafe to discover that my flight to Goa for the next day was cancelled, but not to worry, I could expect a full refund. Dandy. The only available flight that fit my schedule left a day later than I'd planned arriving only 2 hours before the yoga teacher training was scheduled to begin. I booked it with bitterness and marched to the guesthouse stressed and upset. Some Australian guys really saved the day and prevented a potentially massive breakdown by inviting me to dine with them, and after a lively chat and a good meal, I was feeling much better about things if a bit thrown by the last minute schedule change.
When my alarm went off before sunrise on Saturday morning, my worries were distant; all I could think about was the Taj Mahal. I felt a tingle in my stomach when I stepped out the door and walked to the East gate just down the road. Entrance Fee--Indians:20 Rupees, Foreigners: 750 Rupees!! This one small irritation met me at the ticket booth, but thankfully, I'd known about this discrepancy before hand and accepted it so it didn't smother my excitement in the least. Was I willing to pay $20 to see the Taj Mahal? Yes. End of griping. (Though it does seem unfair to have to pay nearly 40 times the price as penalty for begin born elsewhere, does it not?) The line to get in eeked forward and by the time I approached the entrance, the knot in my throat was too big to swallow. Then I was through the gate-- I could feel the knot growing, swelling. I rounded the corner and then there it was. Tears welled up in my eyes and rolled down my cheeks. Not many. Just a few. But I was suddenly and totally overwhelmed--overwhelmed by the ethereal sight and overwhelmed by feelings of completion. In a rush I watched my travels flash all at once before my eyes, leading me along a windy path to this one moment. The finality this realization carried was heavy, but at the same time a weight was lifted from my shoulders. I'd done it and I'd done it alone. I'd wandered successfully and I'd come to this very spot and there it was--the Taj Mahal. There it was in all it's glory--almost appearing more as a figment of my imagination than it ever was before it sat before my eyes. If any man-made structure skims the surface of nature's radiant creations, this is the one. I won't attempt to describe it. I can't. Words really don't slice it for this one. You can go see it in this life or you can wait and see it after this life. Either way.
Needless to say, the energy and activity around me soon overtook those few moments of grace and I began snapping pictures with everyone else. After an hour of gazing, I left the Taj Mahal behind and had a big big breakfast in a small small shack, mailed a postcard and visited a few more sights with a certain unshakable detachment before catching the train to Delhi. Since my alarm refuses to go off when it's most crucial for me to get up on time, I overslept the next morning and made my flight by a frighteningly narrow margin. Goa, its coconut trees and its sand and sun were waiting for me and so was a month of uninterrupted yoga.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
GOBAMA!!!
Us Americans (we can admit it now, thanks for covering for us Canada) breathed a sigh of relief a the results came in this morning. Cheers to a new beginning! (more blogging to come ever so soon...)
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Holy Days
There is only one good reason to go to Amritsar and that is to bask in the glory of the Golden Temple--as sacred to the Sikhs as the Vatican is the Catholics. Sikhism was a reactionary religion stemming particularly from a distaste for the caste system that was propagated by most Hindus at the time. Sikhs accept people without regard to breed or faith (even Hindus are more than welcome visit their places of worship). In keeping with their principles of equality and openness, the Golden Temple provides accommodation for visitors free of charge. The foreigners' quarters is directly across from the entrance to the temple and here, beds are lined up one next to the other with no space between--I was given one of these on arrival. This dorm was an easy place to meet people quickly and that evening a few of us went to the Pakistani border to watch the hoopla surrounding the gate closing ceremony that takes place every evening. It was quite a spectacle of national pride. Indians and Pakistanis turn out in throngs to out-cheer each other as the guards form either side march dramatically towards one another with extra stern faces. It was a fun outing but paled in comparison to all the temple had to offer. It's amenities included super duper cheap tea/coffee and snack stands and a museum depicting horribly gory and massacre and execution scenes from battle fought in defence of Sikhism--but even the images of decapitated heads were a side show.
Just before the temple gates the Guru-Ka-Langar, the temple's community dining center some 40,000 people every day. All are welcome to sit crossed legged on the floor of the large halls and gobble up chapati, dahl and sweet rice pudding. Eating there is completely free and the halls are open and crowded 24 hours every day. It's run on a volunteer and donation base only; the volunteers busily attend to their tasks--they do anything and everything from peeling and chopping onions to washing dishes. Sitting on the floor sharing a meal with others from all walks of life symbolizes acceptance and equality, plus the Sikhs don't want anyone to visit the temple hungry or desperate. Meals are served at warp speed--to my knowledge nothing else in all of India runs with such efficiency. Within 10 minutes the dining hall is filled with 15-20 rows of 50 or so people each. 15 minutes later, everyone has been served, eaten and is filing out while volunteers wash the floors (there's even a mini zamboni to help with this job) in anticipation of the next crowd. When I arrived on Sunday afternoon the dining hall was so busy, both the upstairs and downstairs halls were filling so quickly, they had us sit in rows in the hallway and served us there. In addition to its dining hall and dorms, the temple complex's marble walkways serve as a dust free bed for hundreds of homeless every night.
The Golden Temple itself sits gleaming in the middle of a square pool ringed by wide white marble paths, walls and clock-towers. When I first entered through one of the four archways, I was struck by the multitude of brightly colored saris glistening in the sun and sprinkling the white background like confetti. The temple is almost to bright to look at in the midday light which bounces off it's intricately decorated walls and highlights it's reflection in the water. I was not alone in taking a seat at the edge of the walkway to watch the crowds--some bathing, others sleeping or tending to their children--,to soak up the atmosphere and to enjoy the chanting that fills the air with its vibrations.
There is an Amritsar outside the temple walls but my experience of it was limited and pretty ghastly. All I'd wanted was to mail my absentee voting forms and visit Jallianwala Park where the famous massacre of peaceful protesters took place under the command of General Dyer
(British). (This is depicted in the film Gandhi; the well is still there and the bullet marks from the assault can be seen scarring the walls.) Both post office and park were right close (SO CLOSE) to the temple but due to some really horrendous directions I ended up waling all over the city for hours just to get to the post office (eventually asking around got me to one way far away) and back. Trying to get from a to b lead me down some the most revolting streets I've walked. I choked on the smell of raw meat festering in the sun covered in flies, dodged the open sewers and skirted around diseased and emaciated farm animals left and right. By the time I made it back, I was angry and dirty, and infinitely glad to hide out in the clean peaceful haven of the temple, and I appreciated its shelter 10 fold. (But hey at least I got to cast my vote!) I gazed at the temple a bit more and pretty soon, I was on the overnight train to Haridwar.
I had a mediocre 1/2 night's sleep on the upper most tier of three...I guess you could call them padded shelves... and woke up early with the bustle of the day beginning around and below me. Vendors come traipsing through the train cars all the time and soon, the one I wanted came by; I heard him before I could see him. "Chaiyachaiyachaiyachaiya chaaaaaaaiiiiiiii!" 5 rupees later I was sipping happily on my sweet milky tea. Before I knew it, the train arrived in Haridwar, I stored my luggage for the day (harder to do than you might think) grabbed some food and got on with it. I ended up meeting some Argentinian guys , Pedro and Catrien, at the first temple I went to (Mansa Devi). They were loads of fun and we went around together for the rest of the day.
The highlights were these-- Chandi Devi Temple where a man sitting at the small shrine near the exit asked me the typical questions-- 'Which country? (USA) Your good name? (Julia) First time India? (Yes, yes first time, I head wobbled to help him understand.) Married? (No.)' He tied a red string around my right wrist bowed my head with one hand, slapped me on the back with the other (a blessing), marked my forehead with an orange smudge and promised I'd come back with a young, handsom, wealthy husband and 2 kids. Only time will tell if he's right I suppose. Next, the three of us bummed around some and later went to the puja (religious ceremony) at the Har-ki-pauri Ghat. Haridwar is an especially holy city because it stands just at the spot where the sacred Ganges river rushed out of the Himalayas. Loads of people show up every day without fail at sunrise and again at sunset for this holy gathering. Our foreheads were marked again, this time by little girls circling the crowds with tiny pallets of ink. The whole thing was a big spiritual mess really--some sat waiting while others bathed, families posed for pictures as they sent their diyas (banana leaf bowls with flowers, incense and a flickering candle) into the current, children splashed around playfully, beggars roamed to and fro and so on. As darkness crept in, more candles and big oil lanterns were lit and moved and swayed in sync with chanting. We agreed it was amazing that this production went on twice every day. After leaving the puja, we shared a delicious meal and then with hugs and warm wishes, I was on to Rishikesh.
Just before the temple gates the Guru-Ka-Langar, the temple's community dining center some 40,000 people every day. All are welcome to sit crossed legged on the floor of the large halls and gobble up chapati, dahl and sweet rice pudding. Eating there is completely free and the halls are open and crowded 24 hours every day. It's run on a volunteer and donation base only; the volunteers busily attend to their tasks--they do anything and everything from peeling and chopping onions to washing dishes. Sitting on the floor sharing a meal with others from all walks of life symbolizes acceptance and equality, plus the Sikhs don't want anyone to visit the temple hungry or desperate. Meals are served at warp speed--to my knowledge nothing else in all of India runs with such efficiency. Within 10 minutes the dining hall is filled with 15-20 rows of 50 or so people each. 15 minutes later, everyone has been served, eaten and is filing out while volunteers wash the floors (there's even a mini zamboni to help with this job) in anticipation of the next crowd. When I arrived on Sunday afternoon the dining hall was so busy, both the upstairs and downstairs halls were filling so quickly, they had us sit in rows in the hallway and served us there. In addition to its dining hall and dorms, the temple complex's marble walkways serve as a dust free bed for hundreds of homeless every night.
The Golden Temple itself sits gleaming in the middle of a square pool ringed by wide white marble paths, walls and clock-towers. When I first entered through one of the four archways, I was struck by the multitude of brightly colored saris glistening in the sun and sprinkling the white background like confetti. The temple is almost to bright to look at in the midday light which bounces off it's intricately decorated walls and highlights it's reflection in the water. I was not alone in taking a seat at the edge of the walkway to watch the crowds--some bathing, others sleeping or tending to their children--,to soak up the atmosphere and to enjoy the chanting that fills the air with its vibrations.
There is an Amritsar outside the temple walls but my experience of it was limited and pretty ghastly. All I'd wanted was to mail my absentee voting forms and visit Jallianwala Park where the famous massacre of peaceful protesters took place under the command of General Dyer
(British). (This is depicted in the film Gandhi; the well is still there and the bullet marks from the assault can be seen scarring the walls.) Both post office and park were right close (SO CLOSE) to the temple but due to some really horrendous directions I ended up waling all over the city for hours just to get to the post office (eventually asking around got me to one way far away) and back. Trying to get from a to b lead me down some the most revolting streets I've walked. I choked on the smell of raw meat festering in the sun covered in flies, dodged the open sewers and skirted around diseased and emaciated farm animals left and right. By the time I made it back, I was angry and dirty, and infinitely glad to hide out in the clean peaceful haven of the temple, and I appreciated its shelter 10 fold. (But hey at least I got to cast my vote!) I gazed at the temple a bit more and pretty soon, I was on the overnight train to Haridwar.
I had a mediocre 1/2 night's sleep on the upper most tier of three...I guess you could call them padded shelves... and woke up early with the bustle of the day beginning around and below me. Vendors come traipsing through the train cars all the time and soon, the one I wanted came by; I heard him before I could see him. "Chaiyachaiyachaiyachaiya chaaaaaaaiiiiiiii!" 5 rupees later I was sipping happily on my sweet milky tea. Before I knew it, the train arrived in Haridwar, I stored my luggage for the day (harder to do than you might think) grabbed some food and got on with it. I ended up meeting some Argentinian guys , Pedro and Catrien, at the first temple I went to (Mansa Devi). They were loads of fun and we went around together for the rest of the day.
The highlights were these-- Chandi Devi Temple where a man sitting at the small shrine near the exit asked me the typical questions-- 'Which country? (USA) Your good name? (Julia) First time India? (Yes, yes first time, I head wobbled to help him understand.) Married? (No.)' He tied a red string around my right wrist bowed my head with one hand, slapped me on the back with the other (a blessing), marked my forehead with an orange smudge and promised I'd come back with a young, handsom, wealthy husband and 2 kids. Only time will tell if he's right I suppose. Next, the three of us bummed around some and later went to the puja (religious ceremony) at the Har-ki-pauri Ghat. Haridwar is an especially holy city because it stands just at the spot where the sacred Ganges river rushed out of the Himalayas. Loads of people show up every day without fail at sunrise and again at sunset for this holy gathering. Our foreheads were marked again, this time by little girls circling the crowds with tiny pallets of ink. The whole thing was a big spiritual mess really--some sat waiting while others bathed, families posed for pictures as they sent their diyas (banana leaf bowls with flowers, incense and a flickering candle) into the current, children splashed around playfully, beggars roamed to and fro and so on. As darkness crept in, more candles and big oil lanterns were lit and moved and swayed in sync with chanting. We agreed it was amazing that this production went on twice every day. After leaving the puja, we shared a delicious meal and then with hugs and warm wishes, I was on to Rishikesh.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
A Tibetan Fairy Land
Tearing myself away form the snowy peaks, I left early the next morning for Dharamsala. I had to first take a bus to Jammu which I was told would take about 7 hours; accounting for Indian time, I figured about 9 which left me plenty of time to catch one of the buses to Dharamsala from there. There was nothing in particular to hold us up on the way; we didn't run over any cows or have to change buses, but it took a whopping 13 hours! In what universe does 7 translate to 13!? The bus ride was beautiful (its saving grace)--we were traveling through mountain passes nearly the whole time so I was more surprised than irritated, until I got to Jammu and found out I'd missed the last bus to Dharamsala by a half hour. Then I was irritated. After an unpleasant night in Jammu, I caught an early bus--my guidebook said 5 hours, the bus station said 6, it took 7. And a half. (That's reasonable Indian time I suppose.) Thankfully, when I arrived in Dharamsala, my troubles vanished like the rabbit in the hat. The beauty of the place was impossible to escape, the air was fresh, and best of all, the first guesthouse I tried had a cute little room with a view for super cheap.
Dharamsala is a very special place and to explain why, I must again delve into a quick background explanation. Many of you worldly folks must already know of Tibet's plight particularly in light of the recent Olympic torch controversy (or at least you recall the "FREE TIBET" t-shirts that were popular in Hollywood a few years back thanks to Brad
Pitt), but I'll admit that I had hazy knowledge of the big picture, so I will relate a short history in case you have some haze that needs clearing. Of course Tibet's history and relationship with it's neighbors is much more complex than what I can comprehend of it in such a short time, but here's one version: Tibet and it's people have existed independent of other nations for centuries upon centuries under various leaders including most recently (1600's to date) the spiritual and political leader-His Holiness, the Dali Lama and subsequent successors to the position. At no time in history was Tibet ever recorded to be a part of China, nonetheless in 1949, China decided it had been, and set out to reconquer its territory. Peace runs in the veins of the Tibetan people (they will go out of their way not to hurt any living thing down to the smallest insect as per the principles of Buddhism), thus when the Chinese army stormed in, there was no contest--Tibet's attempt at military defense was crushed and the atrocities committed against the Tibetan people began. It was China's will, under the pretense of creating cultural unity, that Tibetan artifacts, currency and significant buildings be destroyed. The Tibetans were terrorized, well over a million Tibetans were senselessly killed and the vast majority of Tibetan cultural heritage was blasted to bits. These happenings have every mark of a genocide and it is my guess (and my hope) that the label will be officially applied in the coming years, but meanwhile things are still extremely tense and it was really a slap in the face to Tibet's leaders that China hosted such a globally significant event this summer and was allowed to traipse right through Tibetan territory in opening celebrations.
Anyway, Dharamsala enters the scene when the 14th Dali Lama and those Tibetans willing and able to follow escaped Tibet and established the Tibetan Government in Exile--all of this generously permitted by an independent India--and Dharamsala was the chosen spot. As a result of this influx, the place (specifically McLeodganj--the tourist hub some 8 km north) is abuzz with Tibetan people, culture, food and handicrafts. What a welcome and refreshing change of pace this was! The knit socks with playful patterns, chunky beaded jewelry, bells and other crafts were extra tempting after facing so much of the kitchy toys, souvenirs and bangles at typical Indian gift shops. The streets were peaceful--Tibetan shop owners smile warmly when tourists pass instead of peppering them with entreaties like "looking, yes? just looking, no have to buy, looking, looking!". Even the beggars are more courteous, giving a nod and wishing passers by a good day regardless of the availability of spare change.
My first morning there, I met a girl my age--Rose--over Tibetan porridge (yum) and we went around together the next couple of days. There were a few walks/hikes to be done and we did those (one was to Bagsu waterfall where we averted out eyes as too many men stripped to their tighty whities for a dip--I'm so utterly disgusted with male bravado these days--decency is not in the repertoire of Indian men). We also went to a couple of movies in this funny makeshift theater--The Darjeeling Limited and 7 Years in Tibet--both appropriate for sure and good flicks taboot. We also visited the Tsuglagkhang complex where the Dali Lama resides and there's a great museum about Tibet's history there as well. Tibetan flags bring color and life to the whole town but in the area around the complex and the nearby temple, there was such an overload of them, barely a space between two trees was left unfilled. I was lovin it. I went and checked out an amchi (traditional Tibetan medicine) clinic--looked like all they had was dog kibble in various jars... --got a Tibetan massage (more research) which was much nicer and probably more beneficial than dog kibble. The lady who worked on me really dug into my kinks with reckless abandon--just how I like it! Needless to say, it was tough for me to leave this place too, but time was limited therefore, at 4am on Sunday morning, I was on the bus to Amritsar.
Dharamsala is a very special place and to explain why, I must again delve into a quick background explanation. Many of you worldly folks must already know of Tibet's plight particularly in light of the recent Olympic torch controversy (or at least you recall the "FREE TIBET" t-shirts that were popular in Hollywood a few years back thanks to Brad
Pitt), but I'll admit that I had hazy knowledge of the big picture, so I will relate a short history in case you have some haze that needs clearing. Of course Tibet's history and relationship with it's neighbors is much more complex than what I can comprehend of it in such a short time, but here's one version: Tibet and it's people have existed independent of other nations for centuries upon centuries under various leaders including most recently (1600's to date) the spiritual and political leader-His Holiness, the Dali Lama and subsequent successors to the position. At no time in history was Tibet ever recorded to be a part of China, nonetheless in 1949, China decided it had been, and set out to reconquer its territory. Peace runs in the veins of the Tibetan people (they will go out of their way not to hurt any living thing down to the smallest insect as per the principles of Buddhism), thus when the Chinese army stormed in, there was no contest--Tibet's attempt at military defense was crushed and the atrocities committed against the Tibetan people began. It was China's will, under the pretense of creating cultural unity, that Tibetan artifacts, currency and significant buildings be destroyed. The Tibetans were terrorized, well over a million Tibetans were senselessly killed and the vast majority of Tibetan cultural heritage was blasted to bits. These happenings have every mark of a genocide and it is my guess (and my hope) that the label will be officially applied in the coming years, but meanwhile things are still extremely tense and it was really a slap in the face to Tibet's leaders that China hosted such a globally significant event this summer and was allowed to traipse right through Tibetan territory in opening celebrations.
Anyway, Dharamsala enters the scene when the 14th Dali Lama and those Tibetans willing and able to follow escaped Tibet and established the Tibetan Government in Exile--all of this generously permitted by an independent India--and Dharamsala was the chosen spot. As a result of this influx, the place (specifically McLeodganj--the tourist hub some 8 km north) is abuzz with Tibetan people, culture, food and handicrafts. What a welcome and refreshing change of pace this was! The knit socks with playful patterns, chunky beaded jewelry, bells and other crafts were extra tempting after facing so much of the kitchy toys, souvenirs and bangles at typical Indian gift shops. The streets were peaceful--Tibetan shop owners smile warmly when tourists pass instead of peppering them with entreaties like "looking, yes? just looking, no have to buy, looking, looking!". Even the beggars are more courteous, giving a nod and wishing passers by a good day regardless of the availability of spare change.
My first morning there, I met a girl my age--Rose--over Tibetan porridge (yum) and we went around together the next couple of days. There were a few walks/hikes to be done and we did those (one was to Bagsu waterfall where we averted out eyes as too many men stripped to their tighty whities for a dip--I'm so utterly disgusted with male bravado these days--decency is not in the repertoire of Indian men). We also went to a couple of movies in this funny makeshift theater--The Darjeeling Limited and 7 Years in Tibet--both appropriate for sure and good flicks taboot. We also visited the Tsuglagkhang complex where the Dali Lama resides and there's a great museum about Tibet's history there as well. Tibetan flags bring color and life to the whole town but in the area around the complex and the nearby temple, there was such an overload of them, barely a space between two trees was left unfilled. I was lovin it. I went and checked out an amchi (traditional Tibetan medicine) clinic--looked like all they had was dog kibble in various jars... --got a Tibetan massage (more research) which was much nicer and probably more beneficial than dog kibble. The lady who worked on me really dug into my kinks with reckless abandon--just how I like it! Needless to say, it was tough for me to leave this place too, but time was limited therefore, at 4am on Sunday morning, I was on the bus to Amritsar.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Accumulating Stories for My Grandkids Continues
11pm Friday night saw me leaving for Bangalore, 2am, I arrived and got an expensive and long and cold rickshaw ride to the airport. 3am-6am, waiting... Finally boarded the plane, my eyelids closed and when I opened them, I was in Delhi. I was exhausted and anxious to get to my room. ( I had booked ahead to save myself the trouble of finding a place on arrival and to ensure that a nice safe place to stay was waiting for me.) Up to this point, I'd been constantly surprised by how wrong my preconceptions of India had been. I recalled that before I left, an Indian women visiting my neighbor had told me that Northern India (including cities such as Delhi and Calcutta) was the 'real India' (it sounded like a warning the way she put it). Immediately I understood what she meant. Absolutely filthy, obnoxiously noisy, extremely crowded--these were my impressions of Delhi from the get go and they matched my previous notions dead on. It's not like I haven't come across filth, noise and crowds (have I ever), but Delhi trumped just about anywhere I'd been in all three categories. My driver spoke no english, zippo, zero, and we spent 2 frustrating hours forcing our way through streets much too narrow to accommodate our vehicle stopping every 30 meters to ask directions and everyone gave different ones. I winced as our small van came within inches of hitting rickshaws, dogs, carts, fences, people; I was in a constant wince. Eventually, we arrived and I'd planned to take a nap but figured I should secure my next day train ticket to Agra first.
Long story short, I ran into a plethora of road blocks and irritations and was really not in the best of spirits when I arrived hours later at a travel agency (not the first I'd been to) to ask about jumping on a tour of Old Delhi. (I did not have the will nor the wakeful brain cells needed to navigate it myself at this point.) Suddenly, my luck changed. A young, well spoken travel agent named Janna saw that I was about to break and helped me figure out how to configure the next couple of weeks travel to get to the places I had in mind beginning by booking a package deal that included a plane ticket to Srinagar and 2 nights room and board in a houseboat plus he threw in a driver to take me around Delhi that afternoon! Splendid! And he invited me for dinner that evening--the cherry on top. I rode off in my air condition sedan to see Humayun's Tomb and Akshardham Temple--two sprawling and magnificent complexes (very old and very new respectively) that took me far from the unpleasantness of Delhi's chaos and dirt. Dinner at Janna's house was delicious, after which I enjoyed my nice room until too late--gotta get my money's worth--and then fell into a deep dreamless slumber.
The next morning began abruptly. My deep slumber lead to oversleeping and I was biting my nails all the way to the airport so that I barely registered Janna on the driver's phone telling me there was a strike in Srinagar but not to worry--it was perfectly safe. I made my flight with no trouble and began reading my lonely planet's Srinagar section. 'DO NOT under ANY circumstances' it said ' book a package deal from Delhi that includes a stay in a houseboat.' It went on to list a bunch of really convincing reasons why not to do this. Although I could not imagine that Janna, who was so exceptionally kind, would deceive me, a rather large knot formed in my stomach. As the plane descended over the snow capped peaks of the Himalayas, I was temporarily distracted from my fears by their beauty but when the plane touched down the knot was right back in its place.
To appreciate this next portion of the story, a little background information is necessary. Srinagar is in Kashmir which is the northern most state in India at the very tippity top. In 2000, Bill Clinton named Kashmir the most dangerous place on earth. Here's why: when India gained independence from British colonization, it was disputed whether ownership of Kashmir should go to India or to Pakistan and much bloodshed took place at the border as a result. Truth be told the people of Kashmir would generally prefer neither; they would like to be free to be Kashmiri if you will, without India or Pakistan's interference. As it were, things did not turn out that way and much to Kashmir's dismay and frustration India sent in a heavy military occupation to keep things under control--also a violent business, at least at first. In the recent couple of years past, both India and Pakistan have relaxed their efforts making for a much calmer situation, however, the place is still overrun with Indian military patrol. I don't know if this analogy works, but I'm putting it in anyway, because it makes sense to me. Say Kashmir is Texas. Bare with me here. Both Mexico and the US want Texas, but the US clearly has it (Mexico is Pakistan and the US is India in this wierd parallel). Texas however would prefer to be a lone ranger. Even as a part of the US, Texas flies its own flag, and its people appear to have more state loyalty than they have allegiance to the nation as a whole. Think how Texas would react if the US sent in a bunch of soldiers to make sure there was no funny business and to keep Texas pride and flag flying, as it were, to a minimum. Agree that the Texans wouldn't just take it lying down? ok.
Back to topic--every so often, the Kashmiri people attempt to protest India's hold with some sort of strike or demonstration. When I was on my way there, one such protest was in the works and in order to prevent it from being carried to fruition, a curfew had been placed on Srinagar and no one was allowed to move about or even leave their homes. As you can imagine, this caused some difficulty on the way from the airport to the houseboat (which I was dreading anyway due to the warning I'd just belatedly received in print). Keep in mind that I did not know what a curfew looked like, let alone that that's what all the fuss was about, when I tell you my jeep was stopped in excess of 15 times (I lost rack) by armed military personnel on the way. Some stops were longer than others and I had to show my passport and flight ticket stub (thank goodness I still had it) a number of times.
We reached the houseboat eventually and it turned out to be fine and I was served decent food and there was no sketchy anything to worry about after all. Phew. That afternoon, I took a really relaxing and scenic shikara (certain loungy partially covered boat) ride around Nagin and Dal lakes and got a chance to admire the reflection of the mountains in the glassy water. For the next two days, I had arranged a trek outside the city. Mustafa, the houseboat owner (who looked exactly like someone who's name would be Mustafa by the way) guessed the curfew would be lifted (they usually only last between a few hours and a day) or that if it weren't we'd be able to pass anyway once we explained out purpose and because we would be leaving the city, not entering it.
At 9am sharp I was packed and ready to go when I was informed that the curfew was being much more heavily enforced than usual and we couldn't leave. Mustafa had gotten a permit from the magistrate but they wouldn't accept it or even let him come and tell me himself--he had to call and send a neighbor. I groaned at this news and my heart sunk; I'd been dreaming about trekking in the Himalayas for so long and now, because I was on such a tight schedule, I couldn't extend my stay in Srinagar which meant I might only get one day in. Confined to the houseboat, I tried to enjoy the day, but even the warm sun and pretty surroundings couldn't cheer my spirits. Mustafa said there was a chance we may be able to leave that afternoon, but hours passed with no word.
At 5pm, I'd just resigned myself to another night in the houseboat and was practicing yoga on the roof as a means to keep from falling into the pit of despair when Mustafa showed up and said to be ready in 5 minutes. I was and we hopped into the car with the military escort he'd procured through various friends and bribes. I wrongly assumed that having a man in uniform along with us would make the check points a breeze. The first time we were stopped, it was for almost 20 anxious minutes. The escort we had, you see, was a Kashmiri soldier and the military on patrol was Indian, so the rivalry I mentioned earlier was in play here. I breathed a sigh of relief when we were allowed to pass. We dropped off out escort but were stopped 4 times more before exiting the city bounds. Each time I thought we'd have to turn back especially when the road was blocked by two rows to barbed wire, but they moved it aside for us with some persuasion, and in a couple of hours we arrived at the house where we'd be spending the night. It belonged to a gypsy family, a title which means they're hill people who move up and down the mountains with the change of seasons. One of the women lead me down a treacherous hillside in the pitch black and we stepped into the sparse yet cozy room where we drank tea and ate dinner and drank more tea before bedtime. Though we couldn't communicate because of the language barrier, it was pleasant to observe family life as usual going on around me and I went to bed content and excited.
During my sleep, I had a nightmare that it was raining and we couldn't go. I started awake and relaxed ...until I looked outside. Torrential downpour. I knew I had been getting too lucky with the weather, but did my first real shower have to come on the worst day possible?! We had breakfast and I alternately played with the adorable kids and wallowed in my disappointment until about 10:30am when the rain had let up enough that I could go.
Because of the downpour, the paths were too slippery and dangerous for us to go up any steep inclines so we were forced to stay in the valley, another let down, but I was happy to be going at all. The hiking was nice, if a bit wet (actually quite a bit wet and if I hadn't been so happy just to go at all, I might have been complaining) and there were still pretty spots for photos and so on. On our way back, me and my guide stopped for hot coffee at the tent of Mustafa's friend Rafiq. Rafiq sat like a king wrapped in blankets at the end of the tent opposite the entrance puffing away on his cigarette and sipping from his mug. He was fantastically cheerful and easy to talk to, he insisted that I have a second steaming hot mug of coffee and an extra cookie--he said he could tell I'd been a bit down when I entered and as the liquid ran through my veins infusing them with its warmth, I realized he was right and admitted so, but I was really feeling much better already. When we left the tent, the rain had stopped and the clouds had given way to magnificent glimpses of snow dusted peaks. The first snowfall of the season had happened while we were sleeping.
The air was brisk, the colors were fresh after the rainfall and the rest of the walk along the river flew by and I wanted more so I got Mustafa to agree to let me walk part way along the route back. By the time I'd scarfed down a late lunch and got on my way, the mist had cleared a bit more leaving behind one of nature's masterpieces on display. From the river at the bottom of the valley, green and brown mountains rose sharply on either side forming a V which elegantly framed a monstrous snowy summit displaying it in all its glory decorated by a few small lingering clouds. I craned my neck to continue to view this surreal picture and snap just one more photograph in attempts to package it up for later enjoyment (no use I'm afraid except to jog my memory of the real thing). Lost in admiration I somehow went astray (though I didn't notice any turn offs) and luckily the father of the gypsy household where we'd stayed spotted me and pointed me in the right direction--up a steep muddy hillside to a narrow steeper path covered in loose rocks which after some amount of time lead to the correct road. Oops. It pulled at my heartstrings to leave such an amazing spot so quickly, but after all, I had places to go.
It was on that walk that I came to an important conclusion about the nature of myself. Let me explain; there are two kinds of people in the world--you are either a mountain person or a beach person. This does not mean that you cannot thoroughly enjoy both locations--for many years, I thought I could be an inbetweener, but these of course only exist in myth and fable. One landscape will always edge out the other even if by the smallest degree. Over the course of my travels I have had a unique opportunity to access this quality in myself as I have moved rapidly from beaches to mountain ranges and vise versa in Vietnam, Thailand and now India. Allowing for a small margin of error due to the potentially unfair powers of persuasion the Himalayas have merely by being themselves, I think I can finally conclude that I am a mountain person at the core. Beaches may warm my heart and hands, but mountains whisper to my soul.
Long story short, I ran into a plethora of road blocks and irritations and was really not in the best of spirits when I arrived hours later at a travel agency (not the first I'd been to) to ask about jumping on a tour of Old Delhi. (I did not have the will nor the wakeful brain cells needed to navigate it myself at this point.) Suddenly, my luck changed. A young, well spoken travel agent named Janna saw that I was about to break and helped me figure out how to configure the next couple of weeks travel to get to the places I had in mind beginning by booking a package deal that included a plane ticket to Srinagar and 2 nights room and board in a houseboat plus he threw in a driver to take me around Delhi that afternoon! Splendid! And he invited me for dinner that evening--the cherry on top. I rode off in my air condition sedan to see Humayun's Tomb and Akshardham Temple--two sprawling and magnificent complexes (very old and very new respectively) that took me far from the unpleasantness of Delhi's chaos and dirt. Dinner at Janna's house was delicious, after which I enjoyed my nice room until too late--gotta get my money's worth--and then fell into a deep dreamless slumber.
The next morning began abruptly. My deep slumber lead to oversleeping and I was biting my nails all the way to the airport so that I barely registered Janna on the driver's phone telling me there was a strike in Srinagar but not to worry--it was perfectly safe. I made my flight with no trouble and began reading my lonely planet's Srinagar section. 'DO NOT under ANY circumstances' it said ' book a package deal from Delhi that includes a stay in a houseboat.' It went on to list a bunch of really convincing reasons why not to do this. Although I could not imagine that Janna, who was so exceptionally kind, would deceive me, a rather large knot formed in my stomach. As the plane descended over the snow capped peaks of the Himalayas, I was temporarily distracted from my fears by their beauty but when the plane touched down the knot was right back in its place.
To appreciate this next portion of the story, a little background information is necessary. Srinagar is in Kashmir which is the northern most state in India at the very tippity top. In 2000, Bill Clinton named Kashmir the most dangerous place on earth. Here's why: when India gained independence from British colonization, it was disputed whether ownership of Kashmir should go to India or to Pakistan and much bloodshed took place at the border as a result. Truth be told the people of Kashmir would generally prefer neither; they would like to be free to be Kashmiri if you will, without India or Pakistan's interference. As it were, things did not turn out that way and much to Kashmir's dismay and frustration India sent in a heavy military occupation to keep things under control--also a violent business, at least at first. In the recent couple of years past, both India and Pakistan have relaxed their efforts making for a much calmer situation, however, the place is still overrun with Indian military patrol. I don't know if this analogy works, but I'm putting it in anyway, because it makes sense to me. Say Kashmir is Texas. Bare with me here. Both Mexico and the US want Texas, but the US clearly has it (Mexico is Pakistan and the US is India in this wierd parallel). Texas however would prefer to be a lone ranger. Even as a part of the US, Texas flies its own flag, and its people appear to have more state loyalty than they have allegiance to the nation as a whole. Think how Texas would react if the US sent in a bunch of soldiers to make sure there was no funny business and to keep Texas pride and flag flying, as it were, to a minimum. Agree that the Texans wouldn't just take it lying down? ok.
Back to topic--every so often, the Kashmiri people attempt to protest India's hold with some sort of strike or demonstration. When I was on my way there, one such protest was in the works and in order to prevent it from being carried to fruition, a curfew had been placed on Srinagar and no one was allowed to move about or even leave their homes. As you can imagine, this caused some difficulty on the way from the airport to the houseboat (which I was dreading anyway due to the warning I'd just belatedly received in print). Keep in mind that I did not know what a curfew looked like, let alone that that's what all the fuss was about, when I tell you my jeep was stopped in excess of 15 times (I lost rack) by armed military personnel on the way. Some stops were longer than others and I had to show my passport and flight ticket stub (thank goodness I still had it) a number of times.
We reached the houseboat eventually and it turned out to be fine and I was served decent food and there was no sketchy anything to worry about after all. Phew. That afternoon, I took a really relaxing and scenic shikara (certain loungy partially covered boat) ride around Nagin and Dal lakes and got a chance to admire the reflection of the mountains in the glassy water. For the next two days, I had arranged a trek outside the city. Mustafa, the houseboat owner (who looked exactly like someone who's name would be Mustafa by the way) guessed the curfew would be lifted (they usually only last between a few hours and a day) or that if it weren't we'd be able to pass anyway once we explained out purpose and because we would be leaving the city, not entering it.
At 9am sharp I was packed and ready to go when I was informed that the curfew was being much more heavily enforced than usual and we couldn't leave. Mustafa had gotten a permit from the magistrate but they wouldn't accept it or even let him come and tell me himself--he had to call and send a neighbor. I groaned at this news and my heart sunk; I'd been dreaming about trekking in the Himalayas for so long and now, because I was on such a tight schedule, I couldn't extend my stay in Srinagar which meant I might only get one day in. Confined to the houseboat, I tried to enjoy the day, but even the warm sun and pretty surroundings couldn't cheer my spirits. Mustafa said there was a chance we may be able to leave that afternoon, but hours passed with no word.
At 5pm, I'd just resigned myself to another night in the houseboat and was practicing yoga on the roof as a means to keep from falling into the pit of despair when Mustafa showed up and said to be ready in 5 minutes. I was and we hopped into the car with the military escort he'd procured through various friends and bribes. I wrongly assumed that having a man in uniform along with us would make the check points a breeze. The first time we were stopped, it was for almost 20 anxious minutes. The escort we had, you see, was a Kashmiri soldier and the military on patrol was Indian, so the rivalry I mentioned earlier was in play here. I breathed a sigh of relief when we were allowed to pass. We dropped off out escort but were stopped 4 times more before exiting the city bounds. Each time I thought we'd have to turn back especially when the road was blocked by two rows to barbed wire, but they moved it aside for us with some persuasion, and in a couple of hours we arrived at the house where we'd be spending the night. It belonged to a gypsy family, a title which means they're hill people who move up and down the mountains with the change of seasons. One of the women lead me down a treacherous hillside in the pitch black and we stepped into the sparse yet cozy room where we drank tea and ate dinner and drank more tea before bedtime. Though we couldn't communicate because of the language barrier, it was pleasant to observe family life as usual going on around me and I went to bed content and excited.
During my sleep, I had a nightmare that it was raining and we couldn't go. I started awake and relaxed ...until I looked outside. Torrential downpour. I knew I had been getting too lucky with the weather, but did my first real shower have to come on the worst day possible?! We had breakfast and I alternately played with the adorable kids and wallowed in my disappointment until about 10:30am when the rain had let up enough that I could go.
Because of the downpour, the paths were too slippery and dangerous for us to go up any steep inclines so we were forced to stay in the valley, another let down, but I was happy to be going at all. The hiking was nice, if a bit wet (actually quite a bit wet and if I hadn't been so happy just to go at all, I might have been complaining) and there were still pretty spots for photos and so on. On our way back, me and my guide stopped for hot coffee at the tent of Mustafa's friend Rafiq. Rafiq sat like a king wrapped in blankets at the end of the tent opposite the entrance puffing away on his cigarette and sipping from his mug. He was fantastically cheerful and easy to talk to, he insisted that I have a second steaming hot mug of coffee and an extra cookie--he said he could tell I'd been a bit down when I entered and as the liquid ran through my veins infusing them with its warmth, I realized he was right and admitted so, but I was really feeling much better already. When we left the tent, the rain had stopped and the clouds had given way to magnificent glimpses of snow dusted peaks. The first snowfall of the season had happened while we were sleeping.
The air was brisk, the colors were fresh after the rainfall and the rest of the walk along the river flew by and I wanted more so I got Mustafa to agree to let me walk part way along the route back. By the time I'd scarfed down a late lunch and got on my way, the mist had cleared a bit more leaving behind one of nature's masterpieces on display. From the river at the bottom of the valley, green and brown mountains rose sharply on either side forming a V which elegantly framed a monstrous snowy summit displaying it in all its glory decorated by a few small lingering clouds. I craned my neck to continue to view this surreal picture and snap just one more photograph in attempts to package it up for later enjoyment (no use I'm afraid except to jog my memory of the real thing). Lost in admiration I somehow went astray (though I didn't notice any turn offs) and luckily the father of the gypsy household where we'd stayed spotted me and pointed me in the right direction--up a steep muddy hillside to a narrow steeper path covered in loose rocks which after some amount of time lead to the correct road. Oops. It pulled at my heartstrings to leave such an amazing spot so quickly, but after all, I had places to go.
It was on that walk that I came to an important conclusion about the nature of myself. Let me explain; there are two kinds of people in the world--you are either a mountain person or a beach person. This does not mean that you cannot thoroughly enjoy both locations--for many years, I thought I could be an inbetweener, but these of course only exist in myth and fable. One landscape will always edge out the other even if by the smallest degree. Over the course of my travels I have had a unique opportunity to access this quality in myself as I have moved rapidly from beaches to mountain ranges and vise versa in Vietnam, Thailand and now India. Allowing for a small margin of error due to the potentially unfair powers of persuasion the Himalayas have merely by being themselves, I think I can finally conclude that I am a mountain person at the core. Beaches may warm my heart and hands, but mountains whisper to my soul.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
um woops
So I realized that the document I once promised to write elaborating on all of the interesting things I learned during my conversation with Mathew at his house in the backwaters and chatting over toddy never got written (notice I'm not mentioning any names here) and also the paper that with reminders of all those interesting facts got lost (again, no names). Thus I am forced to draw a few of the most interesting ones from the recesses of my mind to share.
The backwaters lie 2-6 meters below sea level as it so happens. They are essentially islands even if the water that separates them isn't very deep (and some of it is). In the dry season all is fine and good, there's just enough water to flood the rice paddies and keep the canals wet, but during monsoon season there's a problem. A couple of problems actually. The first is that when it gets wet, the mud the houses are standing on gets, well, muddy and the houses that were built before building techniques were sound (most of the houses) sink a little and then the mud settles back. So all the houses are sinking. Mathew remembers growing up in a house with three steps up to the doorstep; when I was there, there was one. The second problem is that when the land gets so muddy and flexible like that, pieces can actually be lost. If a house owner can prove that a piece of his land floated away he/she can get permission to take some mud and sand and stuff and build it right back up again--this seems like a ridiculous thing to have to do every year, but such is life in the backwaters. In fact there is a whole class of people who's job it is to pile up the mud again after it has slid into the water. The third problem, and the most obvious is flooding. Mathew explained that when it rained, they usually could tell a few hours in advance that the house would flood and would have just enough time to put the furniture up on bricks and roll up the carpets. He and his sister would then sit on the kitchen table and fish. That's not a joke, they could catch fish inside their house! Aren't the powers of human adaptability amazing-- I can't imagine adjusting to this annual routine, but here's a whole group of people who have done just that.
As for the politics portion of our discussion, the recesses of my mind have not retained the clear details of the ins and outs we covered. I do remember, however, being really interested in how much autonomy the state governments have. This was not unexpected--each state has its own feel, its own food, the people have state pride and would consider themselves 'foreigners' in another state, so it makes sense that the governments would be fairly disconnected from each other as well. In fact, the central government doesn't seems to really do much at all; parliament does a few small things, but the president is really just a figurehead and it's left to the states to govern themselves. Kerala is dong particularly well, with a 99% literacy rate, great education system, progressive views toward women, it's no wonder travelers love their time there.
The other main topic I picked Mathew's brain about was the healthcare. It seems that unlike the people in less developed areas, Keralans reserve Ayurvedic treatments for less serious ailments and persistent but minor problems that are more likely to be helped by herbal medicine and use western medicine for serious illness and acute treatment--a nice blend in my opinion.
The rest of the details of our talk are either forgotten or would be too mundane to discuss here, but it was a lovely and informative couple of chats and it's a nice memory. (Mathew and I are still in touch by email and I hope that continues for many years.)
The backwaters lie 2-6 meters below sea level as it so happens. They are essentially islands even if the water that separates them isn't very deep (and some of it is). In the dry season all is fine and good, there's just enough water to flood the rice paddies and keep the canals wet, but during monsoon season there's a problem. A couple of problems actually. The first is that when it gets wet, the mud the houses are standing on gets, well, muddy and the houses that were built before building techniques were sound (most of the houses) sink a little and then the mud settles back. So all the houses are sinking. Mathew remembers growing up in a house with three steps up to the doorstep; when I was there, there was one. The second problem is that when the land gets so muddy and flexible like that, pieces can actually be lost. If a house owner can prove that a piece of his land floated away he/she can get permission to take some mud and sand and stuff and build it right back up again--this seems like a ridiculous thing to have to do every year, but such is life in the backwaters. In fact there is a whole class of people who's job it is to pile up the mud again after it has slid into the water. The third problem, and the most obvious is flooding. Mathew explained that when it rained, they usually could tell a few hours in advance that the house would flood and would have just enough time to put the furniture up on bricks and roll up the carpets. He and his sister would then sit on the kitchen table and fish. That's not a joke, they could catch fish inside their house! Aren't the powers of human adaptability amazing-- I can't imagine adjusting to this annual routine, but here's a whole group of people who have done just that.
As for the politics portion of our discussion, the recesses of my mind have not retained the clear details of the ins and outs we covered. I do remember, however, being really interested in how much autonomy the state governments have. This was not unexpected--each state has its own feel, its own food, the people have state pride and would consider themselves 'foreigners' in another state, so it makes sense that the governments would be fairly disconnected from each other as well. In fact, the central government doesn't seems to really do much at all; parliament does a few small things, but the president is really just a figurehead and it's left to the states to govern themselves. Kerala is dong particularly well, with a 99% literacy rate, great education system, progressive views toward women, it's no wonder travelers love their time there.
The other main topic I picked Mathew's brain about was the healthcare. It seems that unlike the people in less developed areas, Keralans reserve Ayurvedic treatments for less serious ailments and persistent but minor problems that are more likely to be helped by herbal medicine and use western medicine for serious illness and acute treatment--a nice blend in my opinion.
The rest of the details of our talk are either forgotten or would be too mundane to discuss here, but it was a lovely and informative couple of chats and it's a nice memory. (Mathew and I are still in touch by email and I hope that continues for many years.)
Friday, October 10, 2008
Chocolates, Tea and Company
Phew, this one has been sitting in my notebook for too long!
I'd just finished a very disappointing Black current blast at Cafe Coffee Day (the Indian equivalent of Starbucks--they're everywhere, they're overpriced, what you order rarely looks quite as big or tasty as the picture; And yet I continue to seek out the recognizable red and purple sign for the predictable decor and air conditioning and buy a drink to earn the privilege of s[pending some time on the cookie cute couches and chairs that beckon me so.) Anyway, I was thinking that 'black current blast' (as good as it should be from the sound of it that is) is a perfect description for my stay in Ooty; it was rich, creamy, refreshing (unlike the beverage I'd just had) and I was sad when it finished. As the bus from Coimbatore climbed into the hills the air went from stuffy and hot to crisp and clear and cool. Still 60 km away I knew I would like Ooty just from the feel of the wind on my cheeks. The bus arrived after dark with aid of some expert maneuvering by the driver who seemed to fear neither the drop off on our left nor the truck, bus or what have you inches (very literally, inches.) from us on the right. ( I cannot say the same of the woman sitting in the adjacent seat who kept reaching all the way across me to enhance her grip during the curves--there were many-- and looked seconds away from quitting the bus and marching her way back down to sea level.)
At night, in Ooty, it's just barely cold enough to see your breath; I found it to be the perfect temperature for pants, a light jacket and flip flops, though I was under-dressed by Ooty's standards--many residents sported coats and knit hats after dark. (It was a total hoot to see Indians in ski gear!) But then of course I do have Chicago in my blood. After finding a cozy place to stay, I dropped my bags and headed out for a stroll before it got too late. I soon found myself at the inviting line of tea and snack stands across from the bus station. There I had a plate of baniburi which set me back a mere 8 rupees and was a hot delicious mess of I'm not really sure what, but it resembled some type of chaat. After the bite to eat, I headed back to my guesthouse to snuggle up under the thick blanket as there was no heat in the place. It did however have a working TV which to my surprise and delight had english stations. I thoroughly enjoyed having access to Seinfeld, Friends and other familiars over the next couple of nights--you see this is the first TV I'd had available to me in weeks and weeks, thus instead of a timesucking distraction from activities that require higher intellect, it was a rare delicacy to be cherished as such, so I did. The next day I spent strolling around (despite the abundance of livestock, even more than usual, roaming the streets, they maintained a certain charm) visiting the lovely botanic gardens and sampling Ooty's famed homemade chocolates. The chocolate shops pepper the streets like tea stalls (there's one every 10 meters or less) and I took it upon myself to sample one flavor and then another and then another to make sure the excellent quality of the first two wasn't a fluke. By the end of the day, I was a few bites away form an upset stomach and had concluded that Ooty's reputation for good chocolates was well deserved. (I had also indulged in a few teas since Ooty's climate makes sipping a hot cup of anything so much more appealing than usual--it was prime tea sipping and chocolate eating circumstances.)
My second day in Ooty I'd arranged to go on a trek. I'd wanted to see the surrounding scenery and also figured it might draw some other tourists out from wherever they were hiding since I'd spotted none up to that point. My guide Vincent and I did briefly cross paths with a group of dutch people traveling together but other that that it was us and the tea plantations. Though the lack of company was a disappointment, our trip through the Nilgiri-meaning blue mountain- countryside was very pleasant. The hills were steep enough but not too steep and there were lovely views to be had all around. The green bushes of the tea plantations with windy paths running every which way through them and the interspersed trees oddly sheered so as to let in the sunlight reminded me of something you might find in a Dr. Seuss book-- fantastical and striking in a slightly silly way. Beyond the tea lay small villages (only 6-10 families in each) dotting the hills and other crops neatly planted in an ascending rectangular patchwork, beyond that the blue mountains that give the place it's name. Vincent and I climbed to a view point and the clouds below us (yes below us) cleared just enough to afford a spectacular vista. That night I soaked up some more cool air before descending the next day to Mysore-astanga yoga mecca.
After a long bus ride and lugging my bags around to find a place to stay, I was a bit frustrated and in desperate need of some company. I befriended a couple of girls in the hotel cantine--Melina and Kate--who also had recently arrived to practice yoga and they recommended Ajay's shala. I was torn between studying with Ajay or Sheshadri; after a sweaty hour and a half class with each (the same day mind you) every slightest movement down to the lift of a finger was a painful, achy effort and I had loved both. I agonized but ended up deciding that Ajay's space had more the vibe I was seeking. I took class again Friday morning (ouch) and then as there was a couple days asthanga yoga holiday because of the full moon (I don't get it either) zipped up to Bangalore to visit Gingie--my college running buddy and also one of my favorite people around. Her lovely apartment was an escape from India; with its hot water, clean floors and peanut butter supply, I was living in the lap of luxury. Plus, it was splendidly relaxing and joyous to be with a close friend--something I hadn't done in too long. These pleasures made for a speedy weekend and a rough reentry into vagabond Indian style life, but it was delicious retreat while it lasted. Once I returned to Mysore the rest of the week flew by. I spent my time in the yoga studio, and out doing Mysore things and hangin' with Kate and Melina. the Mysore Palace was pretty spectacular in daylight but a nighttime, it really became a fairy tale illuminated as it was by thousands of tiny lights in honor of Dasara, a ten day festival that began Oct 1. Dasara also gave rise to a pretty kickin parade that I caught by chance coming out of an internet cafe--headdresses stints, the whole shebang. The Devaraja market was one of the most colorful and bustling I've seen yet--shockingly bright hues of powdered kum kum (dye) was sold alongside incense, various oils, flowers galore and produce--the number of bananas there was out of control.
Unfortunately on Wednesday I wrenched my neck somehow and suddenly could barely move it without intense pain. Ajay took me aside and told me to relax as he gently wobbled my head back and forth and then THWAK! He thrust my chin hard to the left and my neck let out a large crack. After I'd recovered from surprise, this seemed to provide relief for a moment but within minutes the pain was back. Per Ajay's recommendation, that afternoon I went to a local chiropractor, Parmesh, who performed a combination of bone setting, stretching and ayurvedic massage on my neck and shoulders. I found it helped quite a bit and went back again the next day too. I'd never wish injury upon myself, but the diamond in the rough is that my neck trouble gave me the chance to really put some alternative medicine to test and to my delight, it passed with flying colors. Friday snuck up on me and after a fun night cooking in with Melina and Kate, I was on my way to Delhi lost in anxious anticipation of what North India had in store.
I'd just finished a very disappointing Black current blast at Cafe Coffee Day (the Indian equivalent of Starbucks--they're everywhere, they're overpriced, what you order rarely looks quite as big or tasty as the picture; And yet I continue to seek out the recognizable red and purple sign for the predictable decor and air conditioning and buy a drink to earn the privilege of s[pending some time on the cookie cute couches and chairs that beckon me so.) Anyway, I was thinking that 'black current blast' (as good as it should be from the sound of it that is) is a perfect description for my stay in Ooty; it was rich, creamy, refreshing (unlike the beverage I'd just had) and I was sad when it finished. As the bus from Coimbatore climbed into the hills the air went from stuffy and hot to crisp and clear and cool. Still 60 km away I knew I would like Ooty just from the feel of the wind on my cheeks. The bus arrived after dark with aid of some expert maneuvering by the driver who seemed to fear neither the drop off on our left nor the truck, bus or what have you inches (very literally, inches.) from us on the right. ( I cannot say the same of the woman sitting in the adjacent seat who kept reaching all the way across me to enhance her grip during the curves--there were many-- and looked seconds away from quitting the bus and marching her way back down to sea level.)
At night, in Ooty, it's just barely cold enough to see your breath; I found it to be the perfect temperature for pants, a light jacket and flip flops, though I was under-dressed by Ooty's standards--many residents sported coats and knit hats after dark. (It was a total hoot to see Indians in ski gear!) But then of course I do have Chicago in my blood. After finding a cozy place to stay, I dropped my bags and headed out for a stroll before it got too late. I soon found myself at the inviting line of tea and snack stands across from the bus station. There I had a plate of baniburi which set me back a mere 8 rupees and was a hot delicious mess of I'm not really sure what, but it resembled some type of chaat. After the bite to eat, I headed back to my guesthouse to snuggle up under the thick blanket as there was no heat in the place. It did however have a working TV which to my surprise and delight had english stations. I thoroughly enjoyed having access to Seinfeld, Friends and other familiars over the next couple of nights--you see this is the first TV I'd had available to me in weeks and weeks, thus instead of a timesucking distraction from activities that require higher intellect, it was a rare delicacy to be cherished as such, so I did. The next day I spent strolling around (despite the abundance of livestock, even more than usual, roaming the streets, they maintained a certain charm) visiting the lovely botanic gardens and sampling Ooty's famed homemade chocolates. The chocolate shops pepper the streets like tea stalls (there's one every 10 meters or less) and I took it upon myself to sample one flavor and then another and then another to make sure the excellent quality of the first two wasn't a fluke. By the end of the day, I was a few bites away form an upset stomach and had concluded that Ooty's reputation for good chocolates was well deserved. (I had also indulged in a few teas since Ooty's climate makes sipping a hot cup of anything so much more appealing than usual--it was prime tea sipping and chocolate eating circumstances.)
My second day in Ooty I'd arranged to go on a trek. I'd wanted to see the surrounding scenery and also figured it might draw some other tourists out from wherever they were hiding since I'd spotted none up to that point. My guide Vincent and I did briefly cross paths with a group of dutch people traveling together but other that that it was us and the tea plantations. Though the lack of company was a disappointment, our trip through the Nilgiri-meaning blue mountain- countryside was very pleasant. The hills were steep enough but not too steep and there were lovely views to be had all around. The green bushes of the tea plantations with windy paths running every which way through them and the interspersed trees oddly sheered so as to let in the sunlight reminded me of something you might find in a Dr. Seuss book-- fantastical and striking in a slightly silly way. Beyond the tea lay small villages (only 6-10 families in each) dotting the hills and other crops neatly planted in an ascending rectangular patchwork, beyond that the blue mountains that give the place it's name. Vincent and I climbed to a view point and the clouds below us (yes below us) cleared just enough to afford a spectacular vista. That night I soaked up some more cool air before descending the next day to Mysore-astanga yoga mecca.
After a long bus ride and lugging my bags around to find a place to stay, I was a bit frustrated and in desperate need of some company. I befriended a couple of girls in the hotel cantine--Melina and Kate--who also had recently arrived to practice yoga and they recommended Ajay's shala. I was torn between studying with Ajay or Sheshadri; after a sweaty hour and a half class with each (the same day mind you) every slightest movement down to the lift of a finger was a painful, achy effort and I had loved both. I agonized but ended up deciding that Ajay's space had more the vibe I was seeking. I took class again Friday morning (ouch) and then as there was a couple days asthanga yoga holiday because of the full moon (I don't get it either) zipped up to Bangalore to visit Gingie--my college running buddy and also one of my favorite people around. Her lovely apartment was an escape from India; with its hot water, clean floors and peanut butter supply, I was living in the lap of luxury. Plus, it was splendidly relaxing and joyous to be with a close friend--something I hadn't done in too long. These pleasures made for a speedy weekend and a rough reentry into vagabond Indian style life, but it was delicious retreat while it lasted. Once I returned to Mysore the rest of the week flew by. I spent my time in the yoga studio, and out doing Mysore things and hangin' with Kate and Melina. the Mysore Palace was pretty spectacular in daylight but a nighttime, it really became a fairy tale illuminated as it was by thousands of tiny lights in honor of Dasara, a ten day festival that began Oct 1. Dasara also gave rise to a pretty kickin parade that I caught by chance coming out of an internet cafe--headdresses stints, the whole shebang. The Devaraja market was one of the most colorful and bustling I've seen yet--shockingly bright hues of powdered kum kum (dye) was sold alongside incense, various oils, flowers galore and produce--the number of bananas there was out of control.
Unfortunately on Wednesday I wrenched my neck somehow and suddenly could barely move it without intense pain. Ajay took me aside and told me to relax as he gently wobbled my head back and forth and then THWAK! He thrust my chin hard to the left and my neck let out a large crack. After I'd recovered from surprise, this seemed to provide relief for a moment but within minutes the pain was back. Per Ajay's recommendation, that afternoon I went to a local chiropractor, Parmesh, who performed a combination of bone setting, stretching and ayurvedic massage on my neck and shoulders. I found it helped quite a bit and went back again the next day too. I'd never wish injury upon myself, but the diamond in the rough is that my neck trouble gave me the chance to really put some alternative medicine to test and to my delight, it passed with flying colors. Friday snuck up on me and after a fun night cooking in with Melina and Kate, I was on my way to Delhi lost in anxious anticipation of what North India had in store.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Since I Don't Have a Photographic Memory...
i have these! i swear i'm not making this stuff up--here are some pictures to share with you (and prove it)! there's captions on 'em and everything so should you have questions...learn to read.
click here to take a look :)
click here to take a look :)
Monday, September 22, 2008
The Land of Coconut Trees
Twelve Days Back: I spent an extra day in Pondicherry because after 4-5 hours of running around town and waiting in various lines and talking with various people, I'd concluded that there was no way at all to travel southbound until a day later than I'd planned. How could this be? you ask. There must have been some way unexplored. The answer is simple: Oonam. This 10 day festival takes place in Kerala (state on the western coast) and is such that all people who once lived there come flooding back to celebrate with their families. Thus Tamil Nadu--Kerala's neighboring state--is effected in that all southward going transport is booked weeks in advance, particularly trains. Oonam. I passed this extra day being an extra for a TV commercial advertising a local magazine. This translated to free lunch, an afternoon spent with young people, a few rounds of cards, some standing around and posing happily arm in arm with a German guy and 1000 rupees pay. Stellar.
En route to Kanniyakumari, the overnight bus hit gridlock traffic multiple times and we were some 4 hours delayed in reaching Nagercoil making a total of about 18 hours on buses for me. Oonam.
Eleven Days Back: Kanniyakumari sits at the southern most tip of India where the Bay of Bengal, the Indian Ocean and the Arabian Sea meet and you can see sunrise and sunset with a simple turn of the head. I won't downplay the awesome-ness of its location; I'm not sad I went there. However, once the initial excitement over the geography of the place wares, there's really not a reason in reach to be there. Thus after a sunset, dinner and conversation with Carl--a really nice british guy who seemed to share my every opinion about India and life in general, and I his--and a sunrise, I was on my way.
Ten Days Back: Kovalam Beach was a much better fit. I got there by bus and ran into some heavy traffic along the way. Oonam. Ah well, I was happy to have arrived anyway--masses of coconut trees and sandy beaches were there to welcome me and it was breath of fresh air; even the fact that it was a bit touristy was a welcome change. And the pollichanthu fish was finger-lickin' good (I left nothing on the banana leaf but bones and eyeballs).
Eight Days Back: On to Varkala. I had my first train ride to get there and it was...unforgettable. Long story halfway short, I had confused some information that I'd gotten from someone before I left about what class ticket I should buy because the terminology wasn't what I thought and ended up riding what I now believe to be '2nd class ordinary'. Translation: the lowest of the low. Not only that, but I discovered later after exiting that of the two cars designated for this ticket, one was mostly women and I'd gotten on the other one. It was a wonder I even got on at all. How could I have overlooked this?! Oonam! It was an absolute mob scene to board and somehow I managed to push my way in far enough to be swept up luggage and all through the tiny doorway. I learned from one of the fellows three inches from my face that there's no limit to the number of tickets sold for 2nd class ordinary so once you purchase a ticket, it then becomes your job to make it on however you can. Luckily my ride was short--only an hour or less--because squeezing in with 20-some men (I counted those I could see by craning my neck) in the narrow space between the two halves of the car was less than comfortable. No one could budge an inch. Exiting at my stop proved even more difficult than getting on in the first place and lucky for me once again, the people around me were very nice and spotted my stop and gave me and my bags the hefty shove we required to remove ourselves from the mess against the new crew of people trying to force their way on. Though Oonam has now come to an end (finally), that will be my only stint with 2nd class ordinary rail travel.
Moving on, Varkala is a place no traveler can possibly dislike. The tourist strip of guesthouses, ayurvedic centers, restaurants and shops is perched along the dge of breathtaking red cliffs which slope down to moss covered rocks and beach below. Though it is a tourist strip, it seems just to offer what you need all in a nice row without being obnoxious or imposing less a few call for your business from shop owners. I can't imagine tiring of admiring the cliffs in the changing light--in fact, I stayed an extra night just to continue doing so.
My first day there I had a deja vu and then another one shortly after (does that make it a squared or something?). A french woman I'd spoken to briefly in Kanniyakumari walked right into the restaurant where I was sipping my pineapple juice and watching the sun go down. She joined me for a chat and then later that evening I almost literally ran into the isreali brothers I'd spent a short time going around with the same day as I'd first met the french woman! Weird. One of the brothers and another isreali couple who we had dinner with were in the habit of doing yoga as well so we all met the next couple of mornings to practice--lovely to have company for that.
The following night, another Indian home opened its doors to me (that makes 3 now-does this sort of thing happen in the US I wonder?). A really outgoing, young and talkative (even more than the rest) Indian guy named Manu invited me for dinner after only a 5 minute conversation. That night he and his two roommates showed me and a french couple (Manu had met them later the same afternoon) how to make chapati and chicken masala curry from scratch. Manu's roommate Atol said I was better at making chapati than he was and swore I must have had prior experience--maybe in another life :) After lots of laughs, I left with a full stomach impressed all the more by the hospitality and generosity offered to me no questions asked.
The following day I realized that I'd been slacking on my alternative medicine research and decided it was time for my first ayurvedic massage. An hour and half and copious amounts of oil later, I felt relaxed if a bit greasy. Although the rub down was enjoyable for sure, I think I prefer Thai style which does a better job of kneading, stretching and pounding out my muscles. Still, the ayurvedic massage is worth a second go 'round to double check it.
Five Days Back: Next was Allepey, a jumping off place for Kerala's crown jewel--the backwaters. Over a shaky skype connection, I had arranged for a homestay with a family on Chennamkarry island. I was skeptical of Mathew's directions "once you're off the ferry walk 5 minutes until you see a 2 story house and that's the one" but sure enough, once I left the boat, there was only one way to go and the big house stood out like a sore thumb (much like me in this country I suppose). The homestay was costing me quadruple what I'd been paying for a night's stay but it included all meals (home cooking!) and tea and aside from that, I knew within the first couple of hours it'd be priceless anyway. When I arrived Mathew, a 30-some year old indian guy who speaks excellent english (such a luxury!) and is somehow both shy and outgoing greeted me warmly and called for lemon ginger juice (yum!). I dropped my things just in time for afternoon tea. Mathew and I talked for an hour or two about many things-of shoes and ships and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings (name that movie anyone?) and also about backwater life and what it was like to grow up there and Indian healthcare and politics. I learned a lot so I will put some info for those interested parties in a separate document which I haven't yet written and will update this post to include it when I have (see blog posted in October entitled 'um woops'). Meanwhile, Mathew's brother's 2 really cute girls were busy putting sugar in their tea by the fistful--literally (reminds me of someone...). At around 6:00 Mathew took me by canoe and motorbike to try Toddy (it had come up in conversation). As we whizzed along, the sun was setting across the rice paddies behind the coconut trees and struck me as one of those sundowns you catch by accident and it's more spectacular than the ones you watch on purpose. But I digress; toddy is an alcoholic drink extracted by the toddy tappers from the flower shoots of coconut trees. When it's taken out by these skilled tree climbers (amaxing to watch them scurry up a trunk), it's already 2% alcohol by volume and over the course of only two days it ferments itself up to 12%. We ordered one form that morning and one from the previous day and sipped them in the toddy hut as we continued our conversation. Not everyone enjoys this beverage due to its pungent smell--even Thomas can't really stomach it, but I didn't mind the odor though it was a little vinegary (toddy will turn into vinegar if left and can be used for cooking). To me the milky white drink tasted faintly of apple cider and I quite liked it (much to everyone's amusement I think.)
The next day began slowly; with Thomas's directions I took a walk and then a bike ride through the villages, along the canals and by the rice paddies. In the afternoon, after a delicious lunch, more travelers arrived and we were all having tea when one of the authors of Lonely Planet stopped by on a house boat to update the info on the place. We pulled out our guide books after he left and sure enough, there was his picture and a funny little blurb on pg 21 in the 'authors' section! Later on, Mathew took me and the two english girls and the french couple who had arrived on a walk around, explaining things as we went. This is how we learned that 'Kera' means coconut tree and thus 'Kerala'= land of the coconut trees! It's aptly named for sure. What I'd seen of the state from the south up was packed to the brim with then and the backwaters were no different. From the canals, they're all you can see unless you look closely and then rooftops poke through here and there and glimpses of the encased rice paddies can be had. It was a hazy twilight as we were making our way along and just turning dark as we boarded the canoe waiting to take us back to the house. We drifted through the water under a clear starry sky and Mathew and the canoe driver entertained us with songs passed down through families from people of the lowest caste--essentially slaves. Their voices boomed over the flat water in Malayalam --Kerala's native language (it's a palindrome in case you didn't notice and I think that's such a perfect quality for the name of a language to possess.) The songs were wonderfully rich to hear and transported us back to the time, not so long ago, when the caste system was strong in Kerala. As a state, Kerala is very progressive--one of the main underlying reasons I think, why travelers take to it--but sadly, in other parts of India, caste still determines status and opportunity. Almost home, we drifted by a shack on the side of the canal and Mathew spoke to the man there who then popped inside, came out, and hustled along the bank to catch up to us and hand over... a Jackie Chan movie--the place was a video rental shop! It's small happenings such as this one that prompt this wide spread description of India: "It's like no place you've ever been before or have yet to ever go."
That evening, we all learned donkey (a Keralan card game), the next morning we had a long bike ride and after lunch, I was on my way, sad to go, but eager to explore the next place.
Three Days Back: Fort Kochin's windy cobblestone streets greeted me on arrival after a ferry, a bus ride, an autorickshaw, another ferry and a good bit of walking. 2 nights there were just enough to appreciate those streets and buildings with their leftover traces of dutch influence. During my stay, I also picked out a couple prawns and a butterfish just plucked from the sea by the fishmongers and had them cooked up straight away oozing with garlic and lemon. Yum. Later I attended a Kathicali traditional dance show which kept my attention more due to its oddity than anything else, but keep my attention it did. Men with loads of makeup on in costumes with big headdresses and bigger hoop skirts using odd twitchy facial expressions and hand gestures to communicate will generally hold one's gaze. (Find me later for the video footage.) Fort Kochin was my last stop in Kerala and though the land of the coconut trees had treated me well, I was ready for a change of climate and I'd heard that's just what was in store for me in Ooty.
En route to Kanniyakumari, the overnight bus hit gridlock traffic multiple times and we were some 4 hours delayed in reaching Nagercoil making a total of about 18 hours on buses for me. Oonam.
Eleven Days Back: Kanniyakumari sits at the southern most tip of India where the Bay of Bengal, the Indian Ocean and the Arabian Sea meet and you can see sunrise and sunset with a simple turn of the head. I won't downplay the awesome-ness of its location; I'm not sad I went there. However, once the initial excitement over the geography of the place wares, there's really not a reason in reach to be there. Thus after a sunset, dinner and conversation with Carl--a really nice british guy who seemed to share my every opinion about India and life in general, and I his--and a sunrise, I was on my way.
Ten Days Back: Kovalam Beach was a much better fit. I got there by bus and ran into some heavy traffic along the way. Oonam. Ah well, I was happy to have arrived anyway--masses of coconut trees and sandy beaches were there to welcome me and it was breath of fresh air; even the fact that it was a bit touristy was a welcome change. And the pollichanthu fish was finger-lickin' good (I left nothing on the banana leaf but bones and eyeballs).
Eight Days Back: On to Varkala. I had my first train ride to get there and it was...unforgettable. Long story halfway short, I had confused some information that I'd gotten from someone before I left about what class ticket I should buy because the terminology wasn't what I thought and ended up riding what I now believe to be '2nd class ordinary'. Translation: the lowest of the low. Not only that, but I discovered later after exiting that of the two cars designated for this ticket, one was mostly women and I'd gotten on the other one. It was a wonder I even got on at all. How could I have overlooked this?! Oonam! It was an absolute mob scene to board and somehow I managed to push my way in far enough to be swept up luggage and all through the tiny doorway. I learned from one of the fellows three inches from my face that there's no limit to the number of tickets sold for 2nd class ordinary so once you purchase a ticket, it then becomes your job to make it on however you can. Luckily my ride was short--only an hour or less--because squeezing in with 20-some men (I counted those I could see by craning my neck) in the narrow space between the two halves of the car was less than comfortable. No one could budge an inch. Exiting at my stop proved even more difficult than getting on in the first place and lucky for me once again, the people around me were very nice and spotted my stop and gave me and my bags the hefty shove we required to remove ourselves from the mess against the new crew of people trying to force their way on. Though Oonam has now come to an end (finally), that will be my only stint with 2nd class ordinary rail travel.
Moving on, Varkala is a place no traveler can possibly dislike. The tourist strip of guesthouses, ayurvedic centers, restaurants and shops is perched along the dge of breathtaking red cliffs which slope down to moss covered rocks and beach below. Though it is a tourist strip, it seems just to offer what you need all in a nice row without being obnoxious or imposing less a few call for your business from shop owners. I can't imagine tiring of admiring the cliffs in the changing light--in fact, I stayed an extra night just to continue doing so.
My first day there I had a deja vu and then another one shortly after (does that make it a squared or something?). A french woman I'd spoken to briefly in Kanniyakumari walked right into the restaurant where I was sipping my pineapple juice and watching the sun go down. She joined me for a chat and then later that evening I almost literally ran into the isreali brothers I'd spent a short time going around with the same day as I'd first met the french woman! Weird. One of the brothers and another isreali couple who we had dinner with were in the habit of doing yoga as well so we all met the next couple of mornings to practice--lovely to have company for that.
The following night, another Indian home opened its doors to me (that makes 3 now-does this sort of thing happen in the US I wonder?). A really outgoing, young and talkative (even more than the rest) Indian guy named Manu invited me for dinner after only a 5 minute conversation. That night he and his two roommates showed me and a french couple (Manu had met them later the same afternoon) how to make chapati and chicken masala curry from scratch. Manu's roommate Atol said I was better at making chapati than he was and swore I must have had prior experience--maybe in another life :) After lots of laughs, I left with a full stomach impressed all the more by the hospitality and generosity offered to me no questions asked.
The following day I realized that I'd been slacking on my alternative medicine research and decided it was time for my first ayurvedic massage. An hour and half and copious amounts of oil later, I felt relaxed if a bit greasy. Although the rub down was enjoyable for sure, I think I prefer Thai style which does a better job of kneading, stretching and pounding out my muscles. Still, the ayurvedic massage is worth a second go 'round to double check it.
Five Days Back: Next was Allepey, a jumping off place for Kerala's crown jewel--the backwaters. Over a shaky skype connection, I had arranged for a homestay with a family on Chennamkarry island. I was skeptical of Mathew's directions "once you're off the ferry walk 5 minutes until you see a 2 story house and that's the one" but sure enough, once I left the boat, there was only one way to go and the big house stood out like a sore thumb (much like me in this country I suppose). The homestay was costing me quadruple what I'd been paying for a night's stay but it included all meals (home cooking!) and tea and aside from that, I knew within the first couple of hours it'd be priceless anyway. When I arrived Mathew, a 30-some year old indian guy who speaks excellent english (such a luxury!) and is somehow both shy and outgoing greeted me warmly and called for lemon ginger juice (yum!). I dropped my things just in time for afternoon tea. Mathew and I talked for an hour or two about many things-of shoes and ships and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings (name that movie anyone?) and also about backwater life and what it was like to grow up there and Indian healthcare and politics. I learned a lot so I will put some info for those interested parties in a separate document which I haven't yet written and will update this post to include it when I have (see blog posted in October entitled 'um woops'). Meanwhile, Mathew's brother's 2 really cute girls were busy putting sugar in their tea by the fistful--literally (reminds me of someone...). At around 6:00 Mathew took me by canoe and motorbike to try Toddy (it had come up in conversation). As we whizzed along, the sun was setting across the rice paddies behind the coconut trees and struck me as one of those sundowns you catch by accident and it's more spectacular than the ones you watch on purpose. But I digress; toddy is an alcoholic drink extracted by the toddy tappers from the flower shoots of coconut trees. When it's taken out by these skilled tree climbers (amaxing to watch them scurry up a trunk), it's already 2% alcohol by volume and over the course of only two days it ferments itself up to 12%. We ordered one form that morning and one from the previous day and sipped them in the toddy hut as we continued our conversation. Not everyone enjoys this beverage due to its pungent smell--even Thomas can't really stomach it, but I didn't mind the odor though it was a little vinegary (toddy will turn into vinegar if left and can be used for cooking). To me the milky white drink tasted faintly of apple cider and I quite liked it (much to everyone's amusement I think.)
The next day began slowly; with Thomas's directions I took a walk and then a bike ride through the villages, along the canals and by the rice paddies. In the afternoon, after a delicious lunch, more travelers arrived and we were all having tea when one of the authors of Lonely Planet stopped by on a house boat to update the info on the place. We pulled out our guide books after he left and sure enough, there was his picture and a funny little blurb on pg 21 in the 'authors' section! Later on, Mathew took me and the two english girls and the french couple who had arrived on a walk around, explaining things as we went. This is how we learned that 'Kera' means coconut tree and thus 'Kerala'= land of the coconut trees! It's aptly named for sure. What I'd seen of the state from the south up was packed to the brim with then and the backwaters were no different. From the canals, they're all you can see unless you look closely and then rooftops poke through here and there and glimpses of the encased rice paddies can be had. It was a hazy twilight as we were making our way along and just turning dark as we boarded the canoe waiting to take us back to the house. We drifted through the water under a clear starry sky and Mathew and the canoe driver entertained us with songs passed down through families from people of the lowest caste--essentially slaves. Their voices boomed over the flat water in Malayalam --Kerala's native language (it's a palindrome in case you didn't notice and I think that's such a perfect quality for the name of a language to possess.) The songs were wonderfully rich to hear and transported us back to the time, not so long ago, when the caste system was strong in Kerala. As a state, Kerala is very progressive--one of the main underlying reasons I think, why travelers take to it--but sadly, in other parts of India, caste still determines status and opportunity. Almost home, we drifted by a shack on the side of the canal and Mathew spoke to the man there who then popped inside, came out, and hustled along the bank to catch up to us and hand over... a Jackie Chan movie--the place was a video rental shop! It's small happenings such as this one that prompt this wide spread description of India: "It's like no place you've ever been before or have yet to ever go."
That evening, we all learned donkey (a Keralan card game), the next morning we had a long bike ride and after lunch, I was on my way, sad to go, but eager to explore the next place.
Three Days Back: Fort Kochin's windy cobblestone streets greeted me on arrival after a ferry, a bus ride, an autorickshaw, another ferry and a good bit of walking. 2 nights there were just enough to appreciate those streets and buildings with their leftover traces of dutch influence. During my stay, I also picked out a couple prawns and a butterfish just plucked from the sea by the fishmongers and had them cooked up straight away oozing with garlic and lemon. Yum. Later I attended a Kathicali traditional dance show which kept my attention more due to its oddity than anything else, but keep my attention it did. Men with loads of makeup on in costumes with big headdresses and bigger hoop skirts using odd twitchy facial expressions and hand gestures to communicate will generally hold one's gaze. (Find me later for the video footage.) Fort Kochin was my last stop in Kerala and though the land of the coconut trees had treated me well, I was ready for a change of climate and I'd heard that's just what was in store for me in Ooty.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Tribute to Elastic Waistbands
Before I came to India, I heard a few recurring things about it from everyone I spoke to--expect nothing because you'll be wrong, it's unlike any place you've been before or ever will go to, you will hate it, love it and miss it when you go. So far they've been right except for one thing; I expected to pay pennies and eat well and I was dead on. If you are hungry, best fetch a snack to have while reading this one because you may otherwise begin to chew on whatever is within reach.
I am consistently amazed at what food I can get for my rupee. Every time the bill comes, I crack a little smile--I feel as though I'm robbing the place blind! I often end up leaving a hefty 20-30% tip though none is expected- that comes out to about 10 rupees (25 cents). Finally, a place where I can afford to be classy! The name's Kocian. Julia Kocian.
I will now describe for you staple Indian foods. (Why are these not our staple foods!? you could kill in cafeteria swapping with this stuff!) A typical simple meal is some type of flatbread or rice served with dahl (lentil soup) and a variety of different sauces/stews which you either dip/pick up with the bread or mix with the rice, scoop up with your fingers and shovel in with the back of your thumb. There are many variations of flatbread but the most common is dosa. Dosa is made fresh--it's crunchy in the middle where the griddle was hot and around the sides where the batter was thin. The rest is soft and spongy, tears just right and is comforting and delicious any time of day just by itself. It usually comes folded over or rolled around a heap of yummy potato stew-just the right amount of spicy and creamy. Along side is dahl (of course) and a masala sauce and a curd sauce. The masala based one is red and a bit spicy and the curd one is white and cools your mouth--a loverly ying yang thang. Rice is just white rice here but what makes it shine is everything that goes on top. If you order the "full meal" (also called thalis I believe but I've never seen it listed that way) you get a gigantic banana leaf upon which rice is mounded way too high. Then the servers come around and dish different sauces and stews and/or curries on top, you mix it up and scoop it up and enjoy. The only problem with this meal is that the servers assume you want more by default so unless you are (and really even if you are) on your game to tell them no thank you in time, you feel uncomfortably stuffed through the next meal time and possibly the next after that. I sort of avoid these due to that sensation. I don't know how the locals aren't tipping the scales big time considering how much they can put away in one sitting. I've seen men literally consume more than a pot of rice plus all the fixins. The light is always green for seconds and thirds. Oh yeah, the full meals cost around 75 cents.
So those are the basics. The menus at restaurants are always really long and I haven't been able to try everything of course, but it's funny, whatever I order (generally) tends to look a lot like what I got the last time (under a different name too) but with a twist maybe. For now, that's alright with me-dosa suits me fine. In a different category all together is chaat. Chaat is actually originally a North Indian creation but has spread everywhere as food tends to do. it's the Indian equivalent of fast food, though I hate to even make that analogy because it so far surpasses what we know as fast food in every aspect of cuisine that's it's in a different realm altogether. Sailesh introduced me to chaat and I will forever be indebted to him for that--I was hooked at first bite. We started off with pani puri. For this delightful amuse bouche you stand in front of the counter at the ready holding a little dish. The dude on the other side pops a hole with his thumb in a thin, hollow, flaky sphere, stuffs a wad of potato in, dips the whole thing quickly in tamarind juice and then sugar water and plops it onto your tray for you to gobble up in one big, juicy, crunchy, delicious bite. In under a minute or two, you've had three (that's fast food) and are ready for the next tasty treat. Although there are many kinds of chaat, the other one which stands apart form the rest is dhai papdi chaat. I think I could live off of this. Crunchy chips go in first, then mixed veggies and potato, then creamy curd (like yogurt but not sweet really) then green sauce, then red sauce, then 6 or so different spices splashed on with reckless abandon (sometimes thrown across 5 or 6 plates being made at the same time) and a crunchy topping to finish. I imagine there's a local joint in heaven that serves great dhai papdi chaat.
Tea and coffee. Are. Everywhere. On every menu and street corner, served after breakfast, after lunch, after dinner, and also between meals. They come in small cups like you'd get for a double espresso maybe, around 15 cents each. Both have milk and sugar mixed in by pouring the hot liquid back and forth artfully between two containers. The tea is spiced--like a chai latte on it's best day ever. The locals never tire of these and neither will I.
This last part contributes greatly to the theory that coming to India was part of the universe's grand cosmic plan for lil' ol' me. What comes after dosa? (besides tea) Dessert of course and there's no shortage of it here. Cake shops are all over the place, display delicious looking buttercreams of all varieties and sell by the slice and those of you who know me ( I presume that's everyone) know I love cake more than most eatables. Here come the shocker. Now I'm not saying that I haven't sampled piece, but ...wait for it...I pass these up with burning desire to thwart, sometimes even turning my nose up at them! In favor of my waistline? you ask. No (did you see the title of this entry?) In favor of Indian sweets. As many cake shops as there are, sweet shops outnumber them two to one. I don't know how they all stay in business but I am doing my best to help. Like the flatbread, the sweets here are a million and one variations of the same basic creation. You take ghee (like butter but better) and add sugar and then mix and then add a little more ghee and then add a little more sugar for balance and then you have it. Well, pretty much. The sweets here are the sugariest, creamiest and most delectable morsels EVER and you can get 'em for 20 cents a pop. danger. The first one I tried and still my favorite was ghee mysore pauk. When I asked the boy running the counter what he would reccommend, he pointed to this one without a moment's hesitation. Looks like cream colored fudge, melts all buttery in your (my) mouth, coats your (my) tongue with sweetness, screams just one more please. Although that one takes the cake, so to speak, every other one I've tried has been scrumptious in its own right--especially jaangiri: alarmingly orange, winds around itself like funnel cake, oozes with sugary syrup on biting through the batter on the outside, angoor jamoom (sp?): log shaped or ball, spongy, syrupy, messy deliciousness, ghee badusha: flaky layers like baklava, buttery, sweet (duh), sticky, yum
I now understand why they wear loose fitting clothes here. Mystery solved.
P.S. I am now in Kerala, famous for fresh seafood-- I will shortly proceed to test whether this is well deserved...
I am consistently amazed at what food I can get for my rupee. Every time the bill comes, I crack a little smile--I feel as though I'm robbing the place blind! I often end up leaving a hefty 20-30% tip though none is expected- that comes out to about 10 rupees (25 cents). Finally, a place where I can afford to be classy! The name's Kocian. Julia Kocian.
I will now describe for you staple Indian foods. (Why are these not our staple foods!? you could kill in cafeteria swapping with this stuff!) A typical simple meal is some type of flatbread or rice served with dahl (lentil soup) and a variety of different sauces/stews which you either dip/pick up with the bread or mix with the rice, scoop up with your fingers and shovel in with the back of your thumb. There are many variations of flatbread but the most common is dosa. Dosa is made fresh--it's crunchy in the middle where the griddle was hot and around the sides where the batter was thin. The rest is soft and spongy, tears just right and is comforting and delicious any time of day just by itself. It usually comes folded over or rolled around a heap of yummy potato stew-just the right amount of spicy and creamy. Along side is dahl (of course) and a masala sauce and a curd sauce. The masala based one is red and a bit spicy and the curd one is white and cools your mouth--a loverly ying yang thang. Rice is just white rice here but what makes it shine is everything that goes on top. If you order the "full meal" (also called thalis I believe but I've never seen it listed that way) you get a gigantic banana leaf upon which rice is mounded way too high. Then the servers come around and dish different sauces and stews and/or curries on top, you mix it up and scoop it up and enjoy. The only problem with this meal is that the servers assume you want more by default so unless you are (and really even if you are) on your game to tell them no thank you in time, you feel uncomfortably stuffed through the next meal time and possibly the next after that. I sort of avoid these due to that sensation. I don't know how the locals aren't tipping the scales big time considering how much they can put away in one sitting. I've seen men literally consume more than a pot of rice plus all the fixins. The light is always green for seconds and thirds. Oh yeah, the full meals cost around 75 cents.
So those are the basics. The menus at restaurants are always really long and I haven't been able to try everything of course, but it's funny, whatever I order (generally) tends to look a lot like what I got the last time (under a different name too) but with a twist maybe. For now, that's alright with me-dosa suits me fine. In a different category all together is chaat. Chaat is actually originally a North Indian creation but has spread everywhere as food tends to do. it's the Indian equivalent of fast food, though I hate to even make that analogy because it so far surpasses what we know as fast food in every aspect of cuisine that's it's in a different realm altogether. Sailesh introduced me to chaat and I will forever be indebted to him for that--I was hooked at first bite. We started off with pani puri. For this delightful amuse bouche you stand in front of the counter at the ready holding a little dish. The dude on the other side pops a hole with his thumb in a thin, hollow, flaky sphere, stuffs a wad of potato in, dips the whole thing quickly in tamarind juice and then sugar water and plops it onto your tray for you to gobble up in one big, juicy, crunchy, delicious bite. In under a minute or two, you've had three (that's fast food) and are ready for the next tasty treat. Although there are many kinds of chaat, the other one which stands apart form the rest is dhai papdi chaat. I think I could live off of this. Crunchy chips go in first, then mixed veggies and potato, then creamy curd (like yogurt but not sweet really) then green sauce, then red sauce, then 6 or so different spices splashed on with reckless abandon (sometimes thrown across 5 or 6 plates being made at the same time) and a crunchy topping to finish. I imagine there's a local joint in heaven that serves great dhai papdi chaat.
Tea and coffee. Are. Everywhere. On every menu and street corner, served after breakfast, after lunch, after dinner, and also between meals. They come in small cups like you'd get for a double espresso maybe, around 15 cents each. Both have milk and sugar mixed in by pouring the hot liquid back and forth artfully between two containers. The tea is spiced--like a chai latte on it's best day ever. The locals never tire of these and neither will I.
This last part contributes greatly to the theory that coming to India was part of the universe's grand cosmic plan for lil' ol' me. What comes after dosa? (besides tea) Dessert of course and there's no shortage of it here. Cake shops are all over the place, display delicious looking buttercreams of all varieties and sell by the slice and those of you who know me ( I presume that's everyone) know I love cake more than most eatables. Here come the shocker. Now I'm not saying that I haven't sampled piece, but ...wait for it...I pass these up with burning desire to thwart, sometimes even turning my nose up at them! In favor of my waistline? you ask. No (did you see the title of this entry?) In favor of Indian sweets. As many cake shops as there are, sweet shops outnumber them two to one. I don't know how they all stay in business but I am doing my best to help. Like the flatbread, the sweets here are a million and one variations of the same basic creation. You take ghee (like butter but better) and add sugar and then mix and then add a little more ghee and then add a little more sugar for balance and then you have it. Well, pretty much. The sweets here are the sugariest, creamiest and most delectable morsels EVER and you can get 'em for 20 cents a pop. danger. The first one I tried and still my favorite was ghee mysore pauk. When I asked the boy running the counter what he would reccommend, he pointed to this one without a moment's hesitation. Looks like cream colored fudge, melts all buttery in your (my) mouth, coats your (my) tongue with sweetness, screams just one more please. Although that one takes the cake, so to speak, every other one I've tried has been scrumptious in its own right--especially jaangiri: alarmingly orange, winds around itself like funnel cake, oozes with sugary syrup on biting through the batter on the outside, angoor jamoom (sp?): log shaped or ball, spongy, syrupy, messy deliciousness, ghee badusha: flaky layers like baklava, buttery, sweet (duh), sticky, yum
I now understand why they wear loose fitting clothes here. Mystery solved.
P.S. I am now in Kerala, famous for fresh seafood-- I will shortly proceed to test whether this is well deserved...
Monday, September 8, 2008
Indian Adventure Numero Uno
There are so many topics to choose from for this entry--my day trip to Mamallapuram where I saw temples and ate delicious fresh fish, Indian culture and mannerisms I find amusing, what it's like moving about in a city where the population density is well over 25,000 people per square km, food (that one is coming), Sailesh and his family and friends, my first Bollywood movie going--but, I feel that my first true Indian travel experience deserves the spotlight. Let me preface this tale by saying that although I would never wish for anything to go wrong when getting from A to B, it struck me as quite amusing at the time that the very premier of my city to city transport unfolded in this way. I consider myself lucky to have been in such a frame of mind because this trip had plenty of potential to induce irritation.
At 9:30pm, Sailesh and I were getting a bit of a late start making the 2.5 hour journey from Chennai to Puducherry or Pondicherry (all the cities are being renamed post colonialism so you can basically take your pick), but we weren't too worried since buses run often and round the clock. We let a full looking bus or two go by before deciding to just hop on and stand until folks got off (which we figured they surely would as other popular destinations are along the way). Standing was comfortable enough spacewise--not quite shoulder to shoulder so I could take a wide stance and hold on with both hands to steady myself for noisy, pushy, hectic Indian traffic. We stopped a few times to pick up passengers but no one seemed to be getting off early. After about 2 hours of standing, a couple of boys got off and we were able to squeeze on to a seat. Phew!
Not 15 minutes had passed when the driver braked very abruptly sending us all lurching forward. There was a man sitting on the stairs catching the breeze from the opening where the door should have been and when the bus stopped so shortly, he hit his head on the door frame and fell out onto the pavement. Of course there was commotion over this, but instead of pausing to check on the man, the driver--likely fearful of what the harmed party might do in retaliation--stepped hard on the gas and away we went, leaving the poor soul on the side of the road. Some 15 or 20 minutes later, the driver pulled off at a police station and reported the mishap, surely thinking it would be taken care of and we could go on our way. The police were not prepared to let him off so easily and his new engagement meant everyone had to deboard and change buses. This would have been a less interesting development had a new bus been sent for, but no such communication was made and thus, a hefty busload of people found themselves standing on the side of the road in the middle of the night essentially hitchhiking as a group. Plenty of buses were whizzing by but they were either clearly full or simply didn't want to accommodate us. One did stop and of course it was a mob scene to get on so Sailesh and I continued to wait with now half a bus's worth of people. Eventually, another one pulled over. Before we got on passengers were already using standing room, but we all squeezed on anyway, like freshly sealed sardines. I've never been on public transport packed so tightly. Move an inch and you've jabbed your neighbor. On the upside, there was no need to hold on too tightly since there wasn't any space to fall into. At any rate, we reached our final destination well after two am, Sailesh had a snack, I showered and we each collapsed into lovely white sheets at Ginger Hotel (a new line of budget hotels in India). It was the first air-conditioned room I'd stayed in in 6 weeks. I slept very well.
At 9:30pm, Sailesh and I were getting a bit of a late start making the 2.5 hour journey from Chennai to Puducherry or Pondicherry (all the cities are being renamed post colonialism so you can basically take your pick), but we weren't too worried since buses run often and round the clock. We let a full looking bus or two go by before deciding to just hop on and stand until folks got off (which we figured they surely would as other popular destinations are along the way). Standing was comfortable enough spacewise--not quite shoulder to shoulder so I could take a wide stance and hold on with both hands to steady myself for noisy, pushy, hectic Indian traffic. We stopped a few times to pick up passengers but no one seemed to be getting off early. After about 2 hours of standing, a couple of boys got off and we were able to squeeze on to a seat. Phew!
Not 15 minutes had passed when the driver braked very abruptly sending us all lurching forward. There was a man sitting on the stairs catching the breeze from the opening where the door should have been and when the bus stopped so shortly, he hit his head on the door frame and fell out onto the pavement. Of course there was commotion over this, but instead of pausing to check on the man, the driver--likely fearful of what the harmed party might do in retaliation--stepped hard on the gas and away we went, leaving the poor soul on the side of the road. Some 15 or 20 minutes later, the driver pulled off at a police station and reported the mishap, surely thinking it would be taken care of and we could go on our way. The police were not prepared to let him off so easily and his new engagement meant everyone had to deboard and change buses. This would have been a less interesting development had a new bus been sent for, but no such communication was made and thus, a hefty busload of people found themselves standing on the side of the road in the middle of the night essentially hitchhiking as a group. Plenty of buses were whizzing by but they were either clearly full or simply didn't want to accommodate us. One did stop and of course it was a mob scene to get on so Sailesh and I continued to wait with now half a bus's worth of people. Eventually, another one pulled over. Before we got on passengers were already using standing room, but we all squeezed on anyway, like freshly sealed sardines. I've never been on public transport packed so tightly. Move an inch and you've jabbed your neighbor. On the upside, there was no need to hold on too tightly since there wasn't any space to fall into. At any rate, we reached our final destination well after two am, Sailesh had a snack, I showered and we each collapsed into lovely white sheets at Ginger Hotel (a new line of budget hotels in India). It was the first air-conditioned room I'd stayed in in 6 weeks. I slept very well.
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