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.