Hello Everyone!
I made it to Delhi, not without incident, but before I go into this post I want to say that I am totally fine, staying in a nice (if a bit pricey) hotel with a soft bed, TV, shower and room service. My mental state is pretty good, and (at least so far) Delhi seems better than Agra (though since Agra is right up there on my list of most awful places in the world, I'm not sure that's much).
After I blog posted the last time, Lisa and I met up for dinner. I wanted to go somewehre nice, away from the Taj Gank tourist ghetto where all you can find are bad Indian food and even worse "travellers" food like banana pancakes. We went to a place recommended in the guidebook, called Only, which was a little expensive, but amazing. We took a cycle rickshaw tog get there, whcih is my favorite way to get around. It's slow, but quiet and calm, and you can see everything going on without being assalted by it. The driver said that he would wait for us, and we wentinto the restaruant where a tabla player was slofty saranading the diners, the tables had white linen. It was a nice change, and the food was amazing! We ended up saying there for about two hours, just chatting and eating, enjoying the nice atmosphere and the music (which was a bit bizare once the tabla player was joined by a piano, which played selceions such as "Amazing Grace" and "Frere Jaque" for no apparent reason). After dinner, we split up, but I was really glad that I had met such a nice person to share some of this experience with.
When I got back to my hotel, some of the guests were in the restaurant watching an American movie on the TV, so I pulled up a chair and joined them. It was called "The Assignment" and was oneof those terrible secret agent thrillers, but the best part was it stared Donald Sutherland, looking especially creepy. During the comertials, we talked amoung ourselves about placed that we had seen, where we were heading and what we recommended. One Irish guy was headed to Varanasi, so I gave him some tips, the Romanians were coming from Delhi (which they also panned). After the movie finished, I headed to bed.
I got up way too early, after telling myself that I was to sleep in! I didn't have anything to do but have a long breakfast, and do a little early shopping which I don't want ot go into too much, except to tell about one store I ended up in, just to lok at the amazing marble inlay work that they did. The had all kinds of plates, glasses, and tables with floral dsigns shining on the walls. I got to chatting iwth the owner, and mentioned that i like some thing but they were 1) took expensiive and 2) not quite what I would have liked. "No problem," he said, "when do you leave?" I told him the next morning, and he said that if I did like something, they could make a disign custum for me. We sketched, negotiated, and I came away with what I felt was a pretty fair price. As I was leaving, he said "We will be working tonight, around 6pm. Would you ike to come and watch?" I said I would love to, and made a note to come back for that. Then, I headed out, got a rickshaw, and asked to be taken to the Agra Fort.
The guide offered me the usual deal, 10 rps per hour for a tour of the city, and i said that I would think about it. 15 minutes later, I was staring at Agra fort and thinking "Wow, I don't want to pay to see another building right now". I took a browse through a postcard book, wqasn't that impressed, and flaged my rickshaw guy again. "Let's try the baby Taj", I said, which is another Mughal tomb across the river. He took me there, making conversation on teh way (includingabout who I thought would win the American election), and he dropeed me off outside the gates. "Take your time!" he called out.
I went in, and was really impressed. The "Baby Taj" is actually the tomb of the Grand Wazir who was the grandfather of Mumtaz Mahal, the queen who inspired the Taj. It was desined by his daughter, who was also a queen and one of hte most powerful in Mughal history. It's made of white marble and inlay, though the shontes aren't as bright and it isn't nearly as large as the Taj. But it's in this lovely garden, backed up on teh river, full of birds and monkeeys. I spent about an hour just sitting and ejoying the quiet, watching the monkeys run upa nd down the paths. AS I was headed out, the whole pack of them started walking past me. "Oh, look how cute" said ALision the stupid touirist, and started taking video of them. Just as I was clicking hte camera off, one of hte males decided that I was WAY too close for comfort, and launched himself at my skirt. Before I knew what was happening, I had a monkey hanging off me, the safety pin I use ot make the skirt smaller had come lose so it was coming off, and i was screaming like a banchee and running toward the main gate. A whole crew of Indian tourists stopped to watch as I was screaming "oh, my God, get it off" and the poor monkey was now triple terrified, of me, my screaming, and falling off my skirt! Finally, he got loose and I ran strightinto the waiting arms ofa very sweet mother-aged woman who conforted me in Hindi-English. I calmed down pretty quickly (once I put my skrt back on) and saw that the monkey hadn't touched me at all. I was even able to laugh about it, but only when the monkeys were at a very safe distance.
After all that excitment, I decided it was time for lunch. I had my driver take me back to the Old City area around the main mosque, where my guidebook recommended a place for having great thali (thali is a set-meal with chipatii, rice, curries, dhal, curd and a sweet of some kind). This place did not disapoint! The curry was tastey, the rice had peices of panner and veggie in it, and for desert I was served the BEST gulab jamon I've ever had. It was hot, fresh, sweet, cakey, and totally amazing. After that, I wandered around the bazars which were really busy, and sold the usual household items and clothes without anything that was really intersting for me. I had sent my dirfver off (he had tried to tell me that htere was no restaurants "for me" around here, and I told him that i would find one) but he said to meet him by the fort when I was done. The fort was about a half hour walk away, and during that walk I was stared at, spoken too, and even grabbed at, and generally harrassed more than I had been in the whole 9 weeks I have been here. Agra is a pit, was my decision.
Still, it was nice to walk through the fort park, and wehn I met my driver again I agressed to the old "You go look at shops so they give me money" routine. I felt ;like I had really exhausted anything Agra had to offer, and so I didn't mind finishing the afternoon just riding around and seeing the expos. We went to a few places, and it was nice but nothing htat i saw was really ispring. At about 5:00, I got dropped back in front of my hotel and got a tea at a local rooftop with an amazing view of the sun setting one the Taj. When it was dark, I went back to my marble shop to see what was happening.
I learned that I was vastly underpaying them. IN every shop I'd been to that day, I'd heard "We do work right here, I am craftsman, everything is done by hand" but at this place you can actaully see it being done. It was completely incredible, like a live Mr. Rodger show, to watch them chip out the white marble under the design, then take the tiny peices of colored stone and place them (making adjustment if things aren't perfect) and glue them all by hand. I was there for three hours, and in that time I saw about half of the work being done. I also was served lots and lots of tea, and kabobs, and had a nice chat about America with the stonemasons. It was amzing, but I had to leave at nine to get back to teh htoel before they locked the door. I found the staff in the TV room watching Om Shanti Om, which is a very popular movie our right now thtat was being illegaly played on the local station. The plot was a biut confusing (I missed the begining) involving a love storyin which both of the lvoers were killed, but then he comes bakc somehow (unclear, reincarnation?) and gets revenge on their murderes. It was fun, escpecially the flashback to the lvoe story, because that was set in teh 1970's (and you havn't seen 70s hair till you've seen INDIAN 70s hair). The lovers were also film actors (and the murder was the director) so they spoofed a lot fo Indian movies that went over my head, but also 'Singing in the Rain" at several points, whcih I did appreciate! That ended late, and I went to bed much later than I thought.
Then next morning was super hetic. I had to get my train ticket (from the travel agent who was araging it, pickup my marble stuff, checkout of the hotel, and get breakfast by 9:00). The ticket guy was late, so tiwas 9:20 by the time I started out (my train was supposed to be 10). I got in a cycle rickshaw, who promised to get me to the station in time, but thne went back and siad that he couldn't and I had to take an auto. I was really mad (I had taken all my stuff and put it in his rickshaw already, and he had driven me to where his auto driver friend was waiting so there was no other transprot around) but I got in and got there in pleanty of time, though I refused to pay the 50 he asked for. When I walked into the station, I realized that my train wouldn't leave until 11 (it was late). Pissed and tired, I was walking down to my platform when, on the last step, I turned my ankle and fell flat on the pavement. I must have scared the two men who came running to help to death, because I Was in horrible pain, and then I felt ike I might faint, so I was screaming and crying and moving away from them so I could put ,my head between my legs and then just liein on the platform. Eventually, they got my calmed down, and I was placed on a bench with a steady stream of chai (the cure for every ill) and a host of concered citizens around. I was able to convicne them that I didn't need a doctor (I had a sprained ankle, the only thing a doctor would say was "Hmm...this is sprained. Better get the RICE going") and it didn't hurt too much by the time the train arrive (2 hours late). On the train, I napped with my feet elevated on my bag for most of the trip, thinking that things could have been a lot worse (This could have happened when I was just starting, I could have actualy broken my ankle and had to fly back to Dr. Roy, I could have hit my head or broken my luggage, ect). The only thing that was troubling was my trip to Armsitar. I baught tickets to leave early on the mroing of the 13th, and retrun to Dlehi early afternon the 15th, but I'll have to see how my ankle feels.
I found a hotel, and have been holed up with the TV basically ever since. I'm doing pretty much ok (wrose comes to wrose, where I am there is roomservice)( but I will try to get out and do something tomorrow, if only to see if I can. I may also breifly update just ot let you all know whether I'll be going or staying (my hotel can keep my luggage, so I don't ahve to worry about that at least).
I'd by lieing if I said that I wasn't counting down the days till I come home, but we'll see if Dlehi has anything to offer. See you all soon!
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Sunday, December 9, 2007
In which Alison visits the Taj Mahal. Nuf Said.
So, guess what I did today?
Oh, first of al HAPPY BIRHTDAY FREDDIE! I LOVE YOU! I'm sorry I didn't have a chance to call on your birthday, but I will bring you a really good gift to make up for it! Me! (Kidding)
But, before we get to me, standing at the Taj Mahal at dawn, we have to leave Varanasi. After I finished blogging, I took Ravi out to lunch (where he had a harried conversation with the waiter and then ordered the cheapest thing on the menu). And afterwards, he took me out for a ride in his uncles boat, for one last trip down the river. It was really lovely, a slightly cloudy but warm afternoon, and we took the boat over to the far shore. Varanasi is amazing in that one side of the river is covered in buildings, but the other is completely desereted exect for a few huts used by shadus and other holy men to meditate. Ravi said taht some men have lived on this side for years, sustained by offreing people bring with them on their boat trips. We didn't see and swamis, but a wedding boat pulled up about ten minutes after we landed. We were watching fropm a distance, but as soon as the little girls saw me, they rushed over with the "What's your name" "Where are you from" "How are you" routine. These girls actually spoke very good english, and were telling me how Varanasi has lovely wedding traditions and did I want to dance with them. Pretty soon, I was in the middle of a circle of clapping women, trying not to make too big a fool of myself as I danced with the bride. Everyone was laughing and smiling, and as soon as I tried to leave the cirlce I was pulled back in. I left after about 10 minutes, though, since in my mind this was the bride's special day and she didn't need to be sharing it with some white girl.
We walked back to the hotel, and sadly checked out and got myself to the train station. I was sitting on the train, waiting to pul out, when a girl that I had met briefly in Darjeeling sat down next to me! It was lovely to see her (her name is Lisa) and we learned that we were heading to Agra together and we chatted through the whole trip about traveling, family, christmas, food, everything. She's Canadian, and has been away from home for 16 monthes! She's been in China (she worked there for a yera) and is now psending a few months in India. I couldn't imagine being gone that long. The train was alittle late getting into Agra, the first train that I've had been more than 20 minutes late. Lisa's train to Varanasi was over 12 hours late! I guess I've been really lucky in that regard.
We got into Agra and were a little overwhelmed and very tired. I had called my hotel ahead, and they aid that they had free pick-up from the station, so I was heading to the phone to let them know we arrived when Lisa grabbed my arm and pointed out a sign "AVISON, USA" that a driver was holding up. After establishing that it was, indeed, for me, we headed out for the quick ride to the hotel (which was otherwise pretty unispiring). LIsa and I decided to share a room (which was 350 to shrae, but 200 to have on your own. I don't get that math) and head out to Fahtah Sikri after berakfast. Fahtah Sikri was built by Akbar the Great, and was supposed to be his capital except it didn't have enough water supply and so couldn't be supported. It really well preserved, and you can see all the different areas of palace life (the haem, the private quaters, official audience rooms, where the servents lived, ect) It took about an hour on the bus, and every step of the way we were hassled ("Ricksaw? Cycle rcikshaw? Taxi? There are no buses. It takes took long. You don't want to ride with locals. ect"). It was much more intsene than I found Varanasi (though Lisa said that she felt really hassled there, so maybe I just developed the evil eye).
The ruins are in the middle of alittle, lively town, and we got a snack of their famous biscuits before heading up to the ruins. There are two sections, the free mosque area and the palace, for which you have to buy a ticket. We were accotted by a guide as soon as we stepped off the bus, and he offered two hours for 30 rps, which didn't seem so bad. he lead us up to the mosque area, where we were followed by neckless salesment, beggers, and men who were selling cloth whih their sign told us would be "Dontated to poor widows and orphans". In the middle of the mosque is the grave aof a sufi saint,to whom Akbar prayed for a son and who granted him one. WOman still go there and tie red ribbons on the carved marble latus work to pray for children or other wishes. Our guide told us that no one goes in empty handed, and LIsa bought a thread while I pulled one off the string bracellet that a child sold me in Darjeeling. "There," I said, "No empty handed". I tied is around the window, again wishing vague good wishes, and we moved on through the huge red snadstone buildings. AFter about one hour, we had visted everything that there was to see in the mosque and were ready to head to the palace. Our guide said "This is whre ym work ends" and we were surprised, since he had said 2 hours. After a ittle debate, we gave him half the rate (also, I was annoyed with him for not keeping the salemen away from us, when iasked him to). Feeling a little overhwelmed and frazzled, we bought our tickets and headed into the Palace.
IOt was like night and day. The palace was quite, there were only a few guides and they were with groups, and the guards were helpful when we asked what we were looking at. We just sed our guidebooks to navage, read aloud to each other from Lonely Planet and Rough Guide, and just enjoyed the buildings and the gardens. My favorite was the house of the favorite wivves, which was carved in flowers and fuits, and was high about the garden so it got cool breezes. There was also a main audience chanber with a hug central piller with four bridges radiating out ot the corners of the room. This was for Akbar to have religious discussions, he stood in the middle and had people from each relgioun stand on one of the bridges.
After we vinished viewing, and sitting, LIsa and I got a very late lunch then headed back to Agra. e arrived just after dark, and when we got back to the hotel I was ready for bed.
We got up today very early to see the Taj, arrivng before dawn at 6:30 am. Even though it was really took dark to take picutres, it was amazing to watchi the light come uip, turning the buiding blue, then pink, then organge, then tellow, then white. It was always a little hazy (they say that snog is a real problem here), but when the sun shone in it was really amazing. Not he most beauiftul place I've ever been (that would be Tintagel) or the most appealing buiding I've ever seen (that would be Montecello) but it wasjust like you imainge it will be. The inside was my favorite part (and not just because it was warm). The tomb of Mumtz (the wife for whom the building was built) is in the center, decorted with flowers and the 99 names of God. The kings tomb is to the west side f hers (the mecca side) and is also decorated with inlayed flowers and script. The whole thing is surouned by a screen made of cavred marble, with more flowers decorating it. There are roses, voiltes, nassisus, and eachmad eof tiny tine peices of stone. It was really amazing.
The gardens were eaceful, but there was nothing to eat and we had to leave about 11 just becase we were hungry. You probably could have really spent whole day there, just enjoying th eway thew light changed. I know I'm not being very deep about my visit, but Agra doesn't lead one to really ddep thoughts. It's dirty, not very appealing (at least the area I'm staying in) and everything is a hassle. After we got back, I checked out of our hotel (I didn't really like it, and I found another one that had rooms for 80 rps) checked into the new one, did a little walking around the area and quickly figured out that you were not supposed to leave tharea around the Taj. SUUsalyl, I'm fine, but walking there was quite unpleasent. I headed back to Taj Ganj (the travellr area) quickly and found this internet. I'm going to stay here tomrorw, head to the Fort and the Old City area (hoefully a little more appealing tahtn this ). I was supposed to stay one more day (I had given myself a day to rest after arrinvg, but ended up going to Fatah Sikri), but I think I'l probably just take the bus to Delhi the morning of the 11th. no one hs had nice things to say about Dalhi yet, and since I'll have so much time there I'm looking into staying one or two days, leaving my luggage at a hotel, and taking the fast morning train up to Armstiar aftr all. I'm done wiht night trains, but a day train I could deal with (expecially if I dodn't have to worry about my rapidly increasing load). I'll let you know how it goes, but probably won't write again until I hit Dlehi on the afternoonn of the 11th.
Thursday, December 6, 2007
In which Alison goes to a Bollywood movie
Yesterday, while eating puri with potato curry in a leaf bowl on the street, I was suddenly transported to Grandpa’s garden, just because they included dill in the sauce, sometime I haven’t tasted since I’ve been here. I don’t have much to report, but I’ve been kind of taking a break from sight-seeing while in Varanasi. The whole place is quite a sight, honestly, and I don’t need to do more than wander in the Old City maze of streets and get myself lost to be totally enthralled. It really is one of the most strangely pleasant cities I’ve been in. I can see why people stay here for months and months.
Last night, though, was very exciting because I went to the movies. The first day I arrived here, I picked up a “friend” on the ghats, who walked me around the different sites telling me again and again, “I’m not guide, won’t take money”. He did take me to see his shop, but I didn’t like anything and he didn’t press me. Since then, I’ve seen him a bunch of times as I’ve been wondering around, and we walk together a bit. Yesterday morning, I mentioned that I wanted to se a movie while I was in India, and he said “Oh, how about tonight?” Since he’d been a perfect gentleman since I’d met him (and was a good 4 inches shorter than I was) I said ok. We met at 5:30, and he said that he was taking me to see “Doom”.
“Nope.” I said, “I’m not seeing Doom, I wanted to see an Indian movie”. “This IS Indian movie!” he said, “It has cheating, and police, and love, and music and dancing!” Since that sounds like no description I had ever heard of “Doom”, I took a chance. We walked the 15 minutes to the theater, and he bought me a ticket for the balcony (the most expensive and nicest area, he told me). The movie was actually called “Dhoom 2”, and it was quite old, so the tickets were only 10 rps each. It stared , Hrithik Roshan otherwise known as the Man with Three Thumbs, and , Aishwarya Rai the girl with the green eyes from ‘Bride and Prejudice’, and was one of the best movies I’ve seen in a while.
First, let’s set the stage up in the last row of the balcony, where Ravi sat me next to the only other woman who attended the movie. The whole rest of the theaters, probably about 150 people, were men under the age of 30. I got quite a few comments, mostly, Ravi told me, people asking how he got me to come with him. “I just told them that I was a friend” he said. The theater was not a very nice one. Smoking was allowed (though only a few people did) and so was spitting Betel on the floor, which everyone did. My seat smelled a little like sour milk, and was kinda sticky. Still, when the lights went down (after shouting from the crowd that it was past time to start) and the opening music hit, I was hooked. The theme song went sometime like “Dhoom again, I feel my pulse is rising. Dhoom again, I hear it’s going down” with Three Thumbs dancing shirtless (he developed some killer muscles since the last movie I saw him in) in front of scantily clad back-up dancers. The movie opened with him stealing a diamond (“See, he is a cheater!” “You mean thief” “Yes, cheater”) off a train in the middle of the Namibian desert. He came down from a glider, stole the diamond through a window, fought the bodyguards on top of the train using a shield/snowboard and then got away by surfing down sand dunes. And this was the first 10 minutes.
The first half of the movie was him (calling card: Mr. A) being chased by a somber cop with a bumbling sidekick. There were some fight scenes, amazing amounts of slow motion, and as many kinds of moving vehicle chases as you can image (besides the snowboard, there were jetskis, motorcycles, cars, trucks, and skateboards all employed at one point). Luckily, you did not have to have seen Dhoom 1 for this to make sense, though some plot points were, I think a holdover from the first film. The somber cop had a pregnant wife (who he cooked for, which I thought was a very nice touch to his otherwise boring “Good Cop” personality) but was tempted when an old friend from his college days showed up, also a cop (and very, very hot, with long black hair that was always swinging in, you guessed it, slow motion). She went over to dinner at their house with the sidekick (who was in love with her), and then suddenly they remembered that there was a college reunion that night! Dance scene Then they all go tracking Mr. A to Mumbi, where Mr. A himself gets a surprise. A hot female thief who beat him to the diamond he was supposed to steal! She asks to work as partners, he says no, then he sees her at a club. Dance scene (“You see, now they are in love” Ravi filled me in after four minutes of steamy dancing and smoldering looks). They play basketball in the rain (with him in a disguise that makes Clark Kent look good), and if she wins they can partner up. Slow-motion rain basketball in tight tee-shirts. She wins, they become partners, except she is working with the cops all along! Oh no!
Intermission. Men walked up the ailes selling Masala puffs and Betel, and cold drinks. I got a Sprite and thought of Dena (who ALWAYS has to have a Sprite at the movies). A few guys smoked, and then the movie came back on with no warning and people scrambled back into their seats. The girl next to me, who had been sitting up stright while the lights were on, cuddled back into her boyfriend. Hee.
The second half, everyone flies to Rio where Mr. A is going to steal his next thing (his thefts, when plotted on the globe, form the shape of the letter A) except hot police woman, who fell into a plot whole I didn’t understand (Later, I am informed that “She loved the police man, but he was married, so she went away.” Well, that was easy.) Her twin sister happens to live in Rio, though, and is a bubbly and friendly as the police woman was uptight and kinda mean. Of course, sidekick and twin sister fall in love (pretty hilariously, since Twin Sister doesn’t speak Hindi, and all her dialogue was in English and only Sidekick could understand her). So, everyone parties on the beach (Dance Scene) and Mr. A stays with the Theif/Cop (hereafter Sunehri, cause she doesn’t have a convient nickname) at his amazing beachfront house (in separate rooms, naturally) and teaches her about the ways of being a thief. He also makes her a fancy candlelight dinner (which she hates but tried to eat anyway.) Then he makes her a burger and PRODUCT PLACEMENT coke, which she eats in a fancy dress with her feet up on the table. Pretty adorable. Both of them are really appealing actors, and I was very into their love story (and the audience was, for once, totally with me in rooting for the bad guy! Hurray!). They meet at a huge cliff with a waterfall and he appears for the first time not in disguise. He says he trusts her, does she trust him? She says yes. “Then jump”, he says. She does, and he jumps behind her, catching her on his rappelling gear when they’re halfway down. They laugh, and then it’s Carnival, and everyone goes to the same bar and sings and dances. Sunehri meets with Somber Police Guy, and Mr. A sees them together and knows she’s betrayed him. Then, came one of the most horrible scenes I think I’ve seen in movies, where he sits her down and confronts her, then takes a gun with one bullet in it and says that he’s not going alive, so they’re going to play Russian roulette until one of them is dead. She cries, and asks him not to do this. He shoots at her. No bullet. He puts the gun on the table, she won’t pick it up, he makes as if he’s reaching for it again, and she grabs and shoots. No bullet. He shoots her again. No bullet. She won’t shoot him again, but he holds her hand up. “Don’t make me do this!” She begs. He shoots the gun at himself. No bullet. She’s not crying now, just looks at him as he puts the gun against her head. (“She says, ‘I love you’” is whispered in my ear, but I was leaning forward and my eyes are glued to the screen and not really listening). He shoots. No bullet. That was five shots. He smiles, says that it’s ok. She picks up the gun, holds it in front of her, than says “I love you” again in English and puts the gun to her own head and fires. No bullet. He’d palmed it.
Now, if I wasn’t so into the movie I totally would have seen that coming (I’ve read ‘Malcolm X’, I know how these things work) but still, it was completely intense. But, she’s proved her loyalty, and they start planning to steal the gold coins together. (“Now they are both cheaters!”). They steal the coins, and then there is a huge chase down the beach on motorcycles. They split up, and Somber Policeman corners Mr. A above a huge waterfall. Sidekick has Sunehri with him, and when I thought that they were going the “You or her” route, it turns out she’s not in custody, that she’s back on the force. Mr. A looks devastated, and looks behind him at the fall. Then, Sunehri takes her gun out and shoots him so that he falls back off the cliff. “Why!” asks Policeman. “Because I loved him.” She says.
Now, I this point, I’ve gasped and gushed my way through the last half of the movie, and Ravi looks like I’m the most amusing thing he’s seen ever. “He’s not dead” he says to me. In my mind, I heard the Princess Bride (“She does not get eaten by the eels at this time”). OK, I’ve seen the Sting, should have figured that out too.
Six months later, according to the subtitles, in the Figi Islands, the two of them run a burger joint restaurant, her the waitress and him the chef. They are in the middle of flirting in the kitchen (“The cook is on strike until he gets a kiss!”) when they notice that there is no noise out front. They come out, it’s empty, except for Police Guy. He’s found them! Oh no! But, Mr. A says that he’s changed, that he loves Sunehri and has made a life with her, and he promises never to steal again. Long looks between the two men. Two hippies wander and ask “Hey, is this place open?”. “Sure”, says Policeman. “It’s always open”. And he leaves them there and happy, at least until the sequel.
I was defiantly satisfied with my movie experience, and Ravi walked me back to the hotel and wouldn’t take money, even to pay for my ticket (I wanted to pay for both of us). Today, my last day in Varanasi, I’m taking him to lunch to thank him, and he has made me promise that I will come back to se him get married (in 5-6 years). Anyone want to tag along?
My train is at 5:15 today, and I should be getting into Agra at 6 tomorrow morning. Nothing planned for tomorrow, just resting, getting a feel of Agra, and eating some Mugahi food. I’m sorry to leave here, where I know the curd guy, the cheap internet, the way from the hotel to the river. “You can stay here more days,” Ravi said last night, “No problem”. But, I feel like it’s time to move on, I’m ready to get back into the Tourist (though slower paced tourist) track again. I’m going to be visiting the Taj on Sunday, so if I don’t write tomorrow I’ll write after I see it. We’ll see if it’s all it’s cracked up to be.
Last night, though, was very exciting because I went to the movies. The first day I arrived here, I picked up a “friend” on the ghats, who walked me around the different sites telling me again and again, “I’m not guide, won’t take money”. He did take me to see his shop, but I didn’t like anything and he didn’t press me. Since then, I’ve seen him a bunch of times as I’ve been wondering around, and we walk together a bit. Yesterday morning, I mentioned that I wanted to se a movie while I was in India, and he said “Oh, how about tonight?” Since he’d been a perfect gentleman since I’d met him (and was a good 4 inches shorter than I was) I said ok. We met at 5:30, and he said that he was taking me to see “Doom”.
“Nope.” I said, “I’m not seeing Doom, I wanted to see an Indian movie”. “This IS Indian movie!” he said, “It has cheating, and police, and love, and music and dancing!” Since that sounds like no description I had ever heard of “Doom”, I took a chance. We walked the 15 minutes to the theater, and he bought me a ticket for the balcony (the most expensive and nicest area, he told me). The movie was actually called “Dhoom 2”, and it was quite old, so the tickets were only 10 rps each. It stared , Hrithik Roshan otherwise known as the Man with Three Thumbs, and , Aishwarya Rai the girl with the green eyes from ‘Bride and Prejudice’, and was one of the best movies I’ve seen in a while.
First, let’s set the stage up in the last row of the balcony, where Ravi sat me next to the only other woman who attended the movie. The whole rest of the theaters, probably about 150 people, were men under the age of 30. I got quite a few comments, mostly, Ravi told me, people asking how he got me to come with him. “I just told them that I was a friend” he said. The theater was not a very nice one. Smoking was allowed (though only a few people did) and so was spitting Betel on the floor, which everyone did. My seat smelled a little like sour milk, and was kinda sticky. Still, when the lights went down (after shouting from the crowd that it was past time to start) and the opening music hit, I was hooked. The theme song went sometime like “Dhoom again, I feel my pulse is rising. Dhoom again, I hear it’s going down” with Three Thumbs dancing shirtless (he developed some killer muscles since the last movie I saw him in) in front of scantily clad back-up dancers. The movie opened with him stealing a diamond (“See, he is a cheater!” “You mean thief” “Yes, cheater”) off a train in the middle of the Namibian desert. He came down from a glider, stole the diamond through a window, fought the bodyguards on top of the train using a shield/snowboard and then got away by surfing down sand dunes. And this was the first 10 minutes.
The first half of the movie was him (calling card: Mr. A) being chased by a somber cop with a bumbling sidekick. There were some fight scenes, amazing amounts of slow motion, and as many kinds of moving vehicle chases as you can image (besides the snowboard, there were jetskis, motorcycles, cars, trucks, and skateboards all employed at one point). Luckily, you did not have to have seen Dhoom 1 for this to make sense, though some plot points were, I think a holdover from the first film. The somber cop had a pregnant wife (who he cooked for, which I thought was a very nice touch to his otherwise boring “Good Cop” personality) but was tempted when an old friend from his college days showed up, also a cop (and very, very hot, with long black hair that was always swinging in, you guessed it, slow motion). She went over to dinner at their house with the sidekick (who was in love with her), and then suddenly they remembered that there was a college reunion that night! Dance scene Then they all go tracking Mr. A to Mumbi, where Mr. A himself gets a surprise. A hot female thief who beat him to the diamond he was supposed to steal! She asks to work as partners, he says no, then he sees her at a club. Dance scene (“You see, now they are in love” Ravi filled me in after four minutes of steamy dancing and smoldering looks). They play basketball in the rain (with him in a disguise that makes Clark Kent look good), and if she wins they can partner up. Slow-motion rain basketball in tight tee-shirts. She wins, they become partners, except she is working with the cops all along! Oh no!
Intermission. Men walked up the ailes selling Masala puffs and Betel, and cold drinks. I got a Sprite and thought of Dena (who ALWAYS has to have a Sprite at the movies). A few guys smoked, and then the movie came back on with no warning and people scrambled back into their seats. The girl next to me, who had been sitting up stright while the lights were on, cuddled back into her boyfriend. Hee.
The second half, everyone flies to Rio where Mr. A is going to steal his next thing (his thefts, when plotted on the globe, form the shape of the letter A) except hot police woman, who fell into a plot whole I didn’t understand (Later, I am informed that “She loved the police man, but he was married, so she went away.” Well, that was easy.) Her twin sister happens to live in Rio, though, and is a bubbly and friendly as the police woman was uptight and kinda mean. Of course, sidekick and twin sister fall in love (pretty hilariously, since Twin Sister doesn’t speak Hindi, and all her dialogue was in English and only Sidekick could understand her). So, everyone parties on the beach (Dance Scene) and Mr. A stays with the Theif/Cop (hereafter Sunehri, cause she doesn’t have a convient nickname) at his amazing beachfront house (in separate rooms, naturally) and teaches her about the ways of being a thief. He also makes her a fancy candlelight dinner (which she hates but tried to eat anyway.) Then he makes her a burger and PRODUCT PLACEMENT coke, which she eats in a fancy dress with her feet up on the table. Pretty adorable. Both of them are really appealing actors, and I was very into their love story (and the audience was, for once, totally with me in rooting for the bad guy! Hurray!). They meet at a huge cliff with a waterfall and he appears for the first time not in disguise. He says he trusts her, does she trust him? She says yes. “Then jump”, he says. She does, and he jumps behind her, catching her on his rappelling gear when they’re halfway down. They laugh, and then it’s Carnival, and everyone goes to the same bar and sings and dances. Sunehri meets with Somber Police Guy, and Mr. A sees them together and knows she’s betrayed him. Then, came one of the most horrible scenes I think I’ve seen in movies, where he sits her down and confronts her, then takes a gun with one bullet in it and says that he’s not going alive, so they’re going to play Russian roulette until one of them is dead. She cries, and asks him not to do this. He shoots at her. No bullet. He puts the gun on the table, she won’t pick it up, he makes as if he’s reaching for it again, and she grabs and shoots. No bullet. He shoots her again. No bullet. She won’t shoot him again, but he holds her hand up. “Don’t make me do this!” She begs. He shoots the gun at himself. No bullet. She’s not crying now, just looks at him as he puts the gun against her head. (“She says, ‘I love you’” is whispered in my ear, but I was leaning forward and my eyes are glued to the screen and not really listening). He shoots. No bullet. That was five shots. He smiles, says that it’s ok. She picks up the gun, holds it in front of her, than says “I love you” again in English and puts the gun to her own head and fires. No bullet. He’d palmed it.
Now, if I wasn’t so into the movie I totally would have seen that coming (I’ve read ‘Malcolm X’, I know how these things work) but still, it was completely intense. But, she’s proved her loyalty, and they start planning to steal the gold coins together. (“Now they are both cheaters!”). They steal the coins, and then there is a huge chase down the beach on motorcycles. They split up, and Somber Policeman corners Mr. A above a huge waterfall. Sidekick has Sunehri with him, and when I thought that they were going the “You or her” route, it turns out she’s not in custody, that she’s back on the force. Mr. A looks devastated, and looks behind him at the fall. Then, Sunehri takes her gun out and shoots him so that he falls back off the cliff. “Why!” asks Policeman. “Because I loved him.” She says.
Now, I this point, I’ve gasped and gushed my way through the last half of the movie, and Ravi looks like I’m the most amusing thing he’s seen ever. “He’s not dead” he says to me. In my mind, I heard the Princess Bride (“She does not get eaten by the eels at this time”). OK, I’ve seen the Sting, should have figured that out too.
Six months later, according to the subtitles, in the Figi Islands, the two of them run a burger joint restaurant, her the waitress and him the chef. They are in the middle of flirting in the kitchen (“The cook is on strike until he gets a kiss!”) when they notice that there is no noise out front. They come out, it’s empty, except for Police Guy. He’s found them! Oh no! But, Mr. A says that he’s changed, that he loves Sunehri and has made a life with her, and he promises never to steal again. Long looks between the two men. Two hippies wander and ask “Hey, is this place open?”. “Sure”, says Policeman. “It’s always open”. And he leaves them there and happy, at least until the sequel.
I was defiantly satisfied with my movie experience, and Ravi walked me back to the hotel and wouldn’t take money, even to pay for my ticket (I wanted to pay for both of us). Today, my last day in Varanasi, I’m taking him to lunch to thank him, and he has made me promise that I will come back to se him get married (in 5-6 years). Anyone want to tag along?
My train is at 5:15 today, and I should be getting into Agra at 6 tomorrow morning. Nothing planned for tomorrow, just resting, getting a feel of Agra, and eating some Mugahi food. I’m sorry to leave here, where I know the curd guy, the cheap internet, the way from the hotel to the river. “You can stay here more days,” Ravi said last night, “No problem”. But, I feel like it’s time to move on, I’m ready to get back into the Tourist (though slower paced tourist) track again. I’m going to be visiting the Taj on Sunday, so if I don’t write tomorrow I’ll write after I see it. We’ll see if it’s all it’s cracked up to be.
Monday, December 3, 2007
In which Alison is a river bum on the Ganges, but at least has not grown crazy dreadlocks like lots of the other tourists here
I’d like to open this entry with a HAPPY SINTERKLASS to the two Duchie’s in my life, Michelle and Lisette. I hope that you got lots and lots of good surprises and were not taken to a coal mine by six-to-eight Black men (especially since I’d have to pay more rent). Appropriately, this is story contains a little Sinterklass miracle, straight from Holland, with a little pick-me-up mixed with a kick in the butt.
So, after I arrived in Varanasi, I was pretty tired, a little confused, and trying to figure out where to go next. Sounds like a good time to go to eat. I went to a little place recommended in the Rough Guide, which had live music and apparently good food. Since it’s recommended, it was totally packed, and about 4 minutes after I sat down an older couple was seated with me at my table. I didn’t mind at all. They were 60 (they told me, since they got their first senior citizen discount on the Indian train) and when I asked where they were from, they said “Holland”. I was so excited, telling them about my roommate who was Dutch, my friend from Tamil Nadu who was Dutch and how Dtuch people seem to be following me through the world. The woman, Esil (I think that’s what she said) was a music teacher in Holland who came to India every two years to teach at a school for street children. She showed me pictures of the murals she helped them paint, in between complaining about the food (“Do you like Indian food? I don’t! But I like India”) and the music (“It sounds like a sick cat!”) in the funniest way possible. I told her about my travels, and though she seemed to assume that I had had a much more intense experience than I had (Her tone implied that there must have been lines of the dieing on the hospital floor, waiting to be released from their suffering. She really didn’t believe that it was pretty much ok) we had a lovely dinner. She’s been to India 6 times over 12 years, and I confessed to her some of my troubles with being alone and deciding where to go. She poo-pooed Amristar (“The Golden Temple is lovely, but it’s a day to get thre and a day to get back, and in between you are in Amristar. It’s phfffft”) and provided some good common sense (“You like it here? Stay here.”) which should have been obvious, but of course wasn’t since I was too close to the situation. So, I’ve decided to stay here in Varanasi (which I do really like, it’s relaxing somehow) until the 7th, then head straight to Agra (“You have to do the Taj. It’s like a mountain, it’s there, so you go”) and then to Delhi on the 12th. This gives me lots more time in each place, which I think that I need. I need time to decompress, and to stop moving around every two days. Also, dinner was another new amazing Indian food, Kofta. They were staying at the same hotel as me, so we walked back together (stopping at a roadstead for Gulab Jamon on the way). It was nice to have guides, since it was dark.
The next morning, I got up early for no reason except that prayers to the river started at 5:30 in the morning. I was up to watch the sun rise, then walked by the river and trough the Old City, look for an internet café or food place that was open. One thing I don’t understand about India is why, if everyone gets up at 5, does nothing open until 10 in the morning. I made a “friend” who offered to show me around for no money, just the chance to visit his shop. I let him walk up to the burning Ghat with me, and he seemed like a genuinely nice guy, leaving when I said I wanted breakfast and needed to write to my parents. I eventually ended up back at the hotel, using their overpriced (if really, really fast) internet and eating a lovely breakfast on the rooftop, while the boats took group s of yellow-hatted tourists up and down the river. That day, I was very lazy. I just wandered the Ghats, then when to the train station to change my tickets. This was a bit of a nightmare, as I bought them using my debit card and the station here has no credit card machine. So, I had to fill out a form that they will send to New Delhi which will enable them to credit my accout. About 2 hours into this, I realized that it wasn’t worth the ten dollars, but the process had started by then and you can’t stop burocracy. The worst part was when I came out. My ricksaw, which I hadn’t paid but had asked to wait “10 or 15 minutes!” had gone. So, somewhere in this city is a cheated angry ricksaw driver, and I feel terrible about the bad karma I accrued. I found another rickshaw and then visited a Durga temple, which was a ways away from the Hotel, but worth a visit. The whole thing was painted red, and the floor was clean marble, the statues gold and very different than the ones in the South. These were less representational, more just mask shapes, except for the tigers that Durga rides, which were standing guard over the main shrine and looked like the Lions at the Art Institute. I walked back to the hotel, wandering through the Old City streets, stopping at a restaurant for the best paneer I’ve ever tasted (I know that it sounds like I describe the food a lot, but it’s so good and I don’t want to forget it. As my nutrition book would say, I eat because of external cues (emotion, food being appealing) as often as hunger). That night, I read in my room, finishing The God of Small Things, which takes place in the backwaters of Kerala and late at night, I stopped up at the roof for a midnight drink of hot milk. Dill, the head waiter, sat with me and we chatted through a hot milk and a hot lemon water that someone had made two of by mistake. He is getting married “in 3-5 years” and told me that I need to come back to visit when that happens. I’m really tempted.
This morning, I took a boat ride at dawn, watching the sun come up from the middle of the river, alone in my boat but surrounded by dozens of others. I put a flower candle into the water, not exactly sure what I should be thinking or saying or praying but just sending good wishes out to the world. I saw my first floating baby (children, pregnant women, lepers, and snake bite victims are not cremated, just placed in the water), which was being snapped at hungrily by a dog. Surprising, then that I could eat puri with the richest vegetable curry I’ve ever had for breakfast. The problem with my eating here is that I get starving for breakfast, eat a lot, am not hungry till 3 or 4, then eat a lot again and get hungry by morning. I need more than two meals a day (though I have started to supplement meals with curd, fresh yogurt they sell in stalls in the city out of clay bowls).
Today, I mostly shopped, though for the afternoon I relaxed on the terrace of the hotel , reading abnormal psych. Tomorrow, probably more of the same, but I will write again before I leave for Agra.
So, after I arrived in Varanasi, I was pretty tired, a little confused, and trying to figure out where to go next. Sounds like a good time to go to eat. I went to a little place recommended in the Rough Guide, which had live music and apparently good food. Since it’s recommended, it was totally packed, and about 4 minutes after I sat down an older couple was seated with me at my table. I didn’t mind at all. They were 60 (they told me, since they got their first senior citizen discount on the Indian train) and when I asked where they were from, they said “Holland”. I was so excited, telling them about my roommate who was Dutch, my friend from Tamil Nadu who was Dutch and how Dtuch people seem to be following me through the world. The woman, Esil (I think that’s what she said) was a music teacher in Holland who came to India every two years to teach at a school for street children. She showed me pictures of the murals she helped them paint, in between complaining about the food (“Do you like Indian food? I don’t! But I like India”) and the music (“It sounds like a sick cat!”) in the funniest way possible. I told her about my travels, and though she seemed to assume that I had had a much more intense experience than I had (Her tone implied that there must have been lines of the dieing on the hospital floor, waiting to be released from their suffering. She really didn’t believe that it was pretty much ok) we had a lovely dinner. She’s been to India 6 times over 12 years, and I confessed to her some of my troubles with being alone and deciding where to go. She poo-pooed Amristar (“The Golden Temple is lovely, but it’s a day to get thre and a day to get back, and in between you are in Amristar. It’s phfffft”) and provided some good common sense (“You like it here? Stay here.”) which should have been obvious, but of course wasn’t since I was too close to the situation. So, I’ve decided to stay here in Varanasi (which I do really like, it’s relaxing somehow) until the 7th, then head straight to Agra (“You have to do the Taj. It’s like a mountain, it’s there, so you go”) and then to Delhi on the 12th. This gives me lots more time in each place, which I think that I need. I need time to decompress, and to stop moving around every two days. Also, dinner was another new amazing Indian food, Kofta. They were staying at the same hotel as me, so we walked back together (stopping at a roadstead for Gulab Jamon on the way). It was nice to have guides, since it was dark.
The next morning, I got up early for no reason except that prayers to the river started at 5:30 in the morning. I was up to watch the sun rise, then walked by the river and trough the Old City, look for an internet café or food place that was open. One thing I don’t understand about India is why, if everyone gets up at 5, does nothing open until 10 in the morning. I made a “friend” who offered to show me around for no money, just the chance to visit his shop. I let him walk up to the burning Ghat with me, and he seemed like a genuinely nice guy, leaving when I said I wanted breakfast and needed to write to my parents. I eventually ended up back at the hotel, using their overpriced (if really, really fast) internet and eating a lovely breakfast on the rooftop, while the boats took group s of yellow-hatted tourists up and down the river. That day, I was very lazy. I just wandered the Ghats, then when to the train station to change my tickets. This was a bit of a nightmare, as I bought them using my debit card and the station here has no credit card machine. So, I had to fill out a form that they will send to New Delhi which will enable them to credit my accout. About 2 hours into this, I realized that it wasn’t worth the ten dollars, but the process had started by then and you can’t stop burocracy. The worst part was when I came out. My ricksaw, which I hadn’t paid but had asked to wait “10 or 15 minutes!” had gone. So, somewhere in this city is a cheated angry ricksaw driver, and I feel terrible about the bad karma I accrued. I found another rickshaw and then visited a Durga temple, which was a ways away from the Hotel, but worth a visit. The whole thing was painted red, and the floor was clean marble, the statues gold and very different than the ones in the South. These were less representational, more just mask shapes, except for the tigers that Durga rides, which were standing guard over the main shrine and looked like the Lions at the Art Institute. I walked back to the hotel, wandering through the Old City streets, stopping at a restaurant for the best paneer I’ve ever tasted (I know that it sounds like I describe the food a lot, but it’s so good and I don’t want to forget it. As my nutrition book would say, I eat because of external cues (emotion, food being appealing) as often as hunger). That night, I read in my room, finishing The God of Small Things, which takes place in the backwaters of Kerala and late at night, I stopped up at the roof for a midnight drink of hot milk. Dill, the head waiter, sat with me and we chatted through a hot milk and a hot lemon water that someone had made two of by mistake. He is getting married “in 3-5 years” and told me that I need to come back to visit when that happens. I’m really tempted.
This morning, I took a boat ride at dawn, watching the sun come up from the middle of the river, alone in my boat but surrounded by dozens of others. I put a flower candle into the water, not exactly sure what I should be thinking or saying or praying but just sending good wishes out to the world. I saw my first floating baby (children, pregnant women, lepers, and snake bite victims are not cremated, just placed in the water), which was being snapped at hungrily by a dog. Surprising, then that I could eat puri with the richest vegetable curry I’ve ever had for breakfast. The problem with my eating here is that I get starving for breakfast, eat a lot, am not hungry till 3 or 4, then eat a lot again and get hungry by morning. I need more than two meals a day (though I have started to supplement meals with curd, fresh yogurt they sell in stalls in the city out of clay bowls).
Today, I mostly shopped, though for the afternoon I relaxed on the terrace of the hotel , reading abnormal psych. Tomorrow, probably more of the same, but I will write again before I leave for Agra.
In which Alison writes in her blog while covered in the ashes of dead people
So, we last left our heroine tired, sick and cold in Darjeeling. Firstly (I noticed that, when I re-edit this blog after I return to the land where the internet is free I will have to remove three “First”s from each post) if you have to be sick and cold somewhere, it should be here. I arrived from the bus in Siliguiri, which is a no-there-there kind of town if there ever was one, whose only purpose is to provide Jeeps up to Darjeeling. I got a window seat and, with my protector and 7 new best friends, started out on our three hour journey. Right away, I started noticing signs saying “Darjeeling 75 km” and thinking, this can’t possibly take three hours. I was not counting on the fact that it is 75km straight up in the air, with dozens of hairpin turns leading up through tiny villages (where the traffic is stopped by many ox-carts), and past gorgeous views of the pine and tea covered hills. I was feeling better by this point (having ingested nothing since the plain toast six hours before) and really enjoyed having the wind on my face, and not stopping every time someone wanted to get off/on. About halfway up the drive, we stopped at a side-of-the-road restaurant, in a yellow house perched on the edge of a steep hill, looking down over terraced fields. It was so beautiful, if a little precarious, and when I went inside the women were dishing up momos, Tibetan steamed dumplings. They smelled so good, I had a plate of four. This is seriously a “where have you been all my life?” food. I can’t explain it, but the carroty, cabbagey, salty, oiled dumpling taste was really addictive. Of course, half an hour later we had the squatting by the side of the road, but it was totally worth it.
After we arrived in Darjeeling, I went looking for a place to sleep. I found one for a pretty good rate, cheaper because it had no view but it did have a TV and free hot water (by the bucket). I was a little sorry to not have a view, but realized that a huge picture window view meant huge heat-leaching windows at night. After I blogged, I headed out looking for some food. I broke down, kids, and just wanted spaghetti. I know, I know, I promised not to, but I was so discouraged I needed comfort food. I asked a few places, no dice, and finally I ended up at this lovely restaurant looking over the night-lights of the valley which served veggie chowmein. Fine. It was really good. After so many weeks of Indian food, the Chinese tasted really, really good. And, I didn’t feel like I was selling out, since Darjeeling is so Chinese influenced. Win win!
I got back to the hotel in time to enjoy the middle of “Superman”, which I’d never seen but was really excited about. I woke up really early the next morning, mostly because I was freezing, and headed out for breakfast and to take the toy train. The Darjeeling Toy Train (or small gage railroad) is a vestige of the Raj with an adorable steam engine and bright blue paint. I saw it waiting in the station, and all I could think of was the Little Engine That Could. I was taking the short trip, just 45 minutes to a village called Ghoom which has several monasteries and other sights. If you’re more dedicated, you could go to the big town of Karijeoing (three hours), or even back to Siliguiri (seven hours). I was happy with my little ride, though. Mostly, the people on my train were actually trying to go somewhere, so we had little kids on their way to school, grandparents with tons of baggage, and business men with briefcases mixed in with me and the tow Japanese girls down the car. The ride was basically back down the route we had come, with a loop around a war memorial which was meant to show off the Himalayan mountains (they were clouded over). It was fun, though, because of the engine and because all of the people along the track waved to us as we passed in slow motion (Mom, think Dinner Train). After about an hour and 15 minutes (we had a few unscheduled stops) I got off and started walking the 7km back. I was all downhill, and I was glad for the exercise. The morning chill had come off the air, and the sun was shining, so I was in a pretty good mood even as I tried not to get hit by Jeeps and cursed my camera (the batteries I bought were duds). I know that some of you will be slightly amused by this distress, since I’m always the shutter-bug of the group (I can hear you giggling, Jess), but it was rather frustrating. About halfway through, I stopped at another roadside place for more momos and my first Darjeeling Tea. It was very good, hot and steaming, and as I looked out the window of the café and heard the next train coming, my camera started up! Miracles!
I didn’t stop at any of the monasteries; I think that just would have been a little weird. It’s one thing to visit the ashram where you are, as a foreigner, basically given VIP status, but I wouldn’t know what to do with myself at a Buddhist Monastery. It was a little weird, though, because I know so many people who would have loved to visit, and would have known the right questions to ask and gotten so much out of it. So, Em, if you’re reading this I was defiantly thinking of you and wishing that you were with me.
I got back to town about noon, and mostly just wandered the streets for a while, getting a feeling for the town. Everything was laid out in layers, each road was a switchback that up past the rows of houses and shops. The buildings seemed too small for what they were, like toy houses. They were all brightly colored, with blue and green tin gingerbread trim and prayer flags and wheels decorating many of them. Those that didn’t have prayer flags had tiles of the gods and goddesses stuccoed into their sides in geometric patterns. Most of the shops were for Tibetan curios, warm clothes, or the fruit/pan/candy/cigarettes stands that are ubiquitous here. I was getting puckish, so I got yet another momo snack at a place with a gorgeous valley view. The people there were exceptionally nice and friendly, and it was no smoking. It’s funny, in the south almost no one smokes, I was shocked when people started lighting up in Calcutta and they smoke even more here. I’m especially annoyed by the other travelers, who are often allowed to smoke in restaurants in their home countries. I bought a few things, including a Tibetan Cook Book as my Darjeeling souvenir. At 4:30, I went to the New Eglin for high tea. After my momos, which were delicious, but a while ago, I was ready for another meal. I walked into the reception of this lovely hotel, a one level sprawling building, with white and green trim, and found myself completely alone. I wandered through dining rooms and into a sitting room that looked over their gardens and then over the valley, when a white-turbaned waiter found me. “High Tea, Madam?” he said to the smell traveler who hadn’t washed her hair in five days. This guy was classy.
Well, I was settled in the sitting room, in front of a roaring fire, and as the sun went town I was served cheese sandwiches, brownies and cookies along with a huge pot of tea. About an hour into my very leisurely repast, a group of Irish men who were actually staying at the hotel came in. They settled down with lots of lilting conversation “We might be in Dublin!”,“Will ya look at that silver?”, “The woman wants your room key so she can put in the hot water bottle, can ya imagine?” The woman in question was a 60 year-old Asian version of Mrs. Claus, complete with bonnet and apron. I was sincerely jealous, and vowed that next time I come to India I will be very, very rich and thus about to stay for months in places like this. I invited the men over to sit in my sectional (since they didn’t have a fire) and we drank tea together until I started getting slightly less classy looks from the waiters (this was about two hours after I arrived) and started to feel sleepy. I trundled off into the cold back to bed, and fell pretty promptly asleep.
In the morning, I stopped back at the place with the view for a breakfast of Tibetan brown bread and tea. I was just getting settled in when I looked up and there, right out the window, were the mountains. It was amazing. It was just like someone had pasted them there, they rose about a blue streak that looked like sky above the green hills. I ate breakfast quickly, then ran out looking for a spot to take pictures (yup, it’s me). I found about 20 people gathered at the observation point, taking pictures, saying prayers, doing Thai Chi to the mountains. After that, I wandered down the hill north of town, visiting some tea plantations and just seeing what there was to see. I got back, checked out of the hotel, stopped for a lunch of Thunkpa (it was in my cookbook, but it basically Tibetan chicken noodle soup) and brown bread and got some momos to go, then got back in a Jeep and headed back to Siliguiri. We took a different road down than we had up, even more steep and passing at least 10 different tea farms. It was a nice way to end my visit, and I got to the train station in plenty of time to catch the 4:50 to Varanassi.
My night on the train was non-descript. I went AC, which I don’t generally like because it’s really cold and the windows don’t open, and the people are much more reserved about personal space. So, since I was on a side-upper bunk, I was basically stuck in a dark windowless box for 14 hours. Still, I slept well, and there were no snorers and the baby stopped crying by 9:00pm. In the morning, I managed to snag a seat on the lower bench, where an adorable child who spoke no English found me and started chattering away in Hindi. She kept saying “Auntie!’ and then following it which a string of words that I could almost kinda sometimes follow (she told me about the train, the emergency window, her brother, her shoes, and my hair). She was so cute, I was almost sorry to get off, but my train was right on time and I got down at the station, called my hotel, and waited for them to come and pick me up.
We took a cycle-rickshaw from the station t the entrance of the Ghats, which are the riverbanks of the Ganges. My hotel is right on the river; with a roof-top restaurant and a terrace with a view (my room also has a view, remember Kyla I said I would never take it for granted again!). We had to walk the last bit, through tiny narrow streets that are just as confusing as the souk in Rabat. Luckily, there are signs painted on all the walls directing you to various places (“Vishnu Guest House à” ect. ). We arrived and I was pretty floored. It’s a brightly colored, lovely place. The restaurant serves travelers food, but the banana-peanut butter toast tasted really nice. As I ate, I saw two men deposit ashes into the water, feet from where women were washing clothes. Then I headed out to the river, and took a boat tour in the fog. It was about 11am, but it was cloudy and the river was bathed in blue light. It was just as crazy as you might imagine it. There were men meditating, women washing, boats full of pilgrims doing religious services on the water, a goat had gotten into one of the temples and was eating the marigolds from around the neck of the Goddess. My boat went past the burning ghats, where bodies wrapped in gold foil are placed on sandlewood, the family standing around. I tasted ash in my mouth as we sailed away.
After that, I rested in the hotel until I came here to catch you all up. I have two more days in Varanassi, and I plan to have very little program for either of them. Just rest and relax a little (strange place to do it, I know). I’ve decided not to go to Dhaslama (too cold, too far, too much hassle) and Amristar is a little up in the air. I’ll keep you posted.
After we arrived in Darjeeling, I went looking for a place to sleep. I found one for a pretty good rate, cheaper because it had no view but it did have a TV and free hot water (by the bucket). I was a little sorry to not have a view, but realized that a huge picture window view meant huge heat-leaching windows at night. After I blogged, I headed out looking for some food. I broke down, kids, and just wanted spaghetti. I know, I know, I promised not to, but I was so discouraged I needed comfort food. I asked a few places, no dice, and finally I ended up at this lovely restaurant looking over the night-lights of the valley which served veggie chowmein. Fine. It was really good. After so many weeks of Indian food, the Chinese tasted really, really good. And, I didn’t feel like I was selling out, since Darjeeling is so Chinese influenced. Win win!
I got back to the hotel in time to enjoy the middle of “Superman”, which I’d never seen but was really excited about. I woke up really early the next morning, mostly because I was freezing, and headed out for breakfast and to take the toy train. The Darjeeling Toy Train (or small gage railroad) is a vestige of the Raj with an adorable steam engine and bright blue paint. I saw it waiting in the station, and all I could think of was the Little Engine That Could. I was taking the short trip, just 45 minutes to a village called Ghoom which has several monasteries and other sights. If you’re more dedicated, you could go to the big town of Karijeoing (three hours), or even back to Siliguiri (seven hours). I was happy with my little ride, though. Mostly, the people on my train were actually trying to go somewhere, so we had little kids on their way to school, grandparents with tons of baggage, and business men with briefcases mixed in with me and the tow Japanese girls down the car. The ride was basically back down the route we had come, with a loop around a war memorial which was meant to show off the Himalayan mountains (they were clouded over). It was fun, though, because of the engine and because all of the people along the track waved to us as we passed in slow motion (Mom, think Dinner Train). After about an hour and 15 minutes (we had a few unscheduled stops) I got off and started walking the 7km back. I was all downhill, and I was glad for the exercise. The morning chill had come off the air, and the sun was shining, so I was in a pretty good mood even as I tried not to get hit by Jeeps and cursed my camera (the batteries I bought were duds). I know that some of you will be slightly amused by this distress, since I’m always the shutter-bug of the group (I can hear you giggling, Jess), but it was rather frustrating. About halfway through, I stopped at another roadside place for more momos and my first Darjeeling Tea. It was very good, hot and steaming, and as I looked out the window of the café and heard the next train coming, my camera started up! Miracles!
I didn’t stop at any of the monasteries; I think that just would have been a little weird. It’s one thing to visit the ashram where you are, as a foreigner, basically given VIP status, but I wouldn’t know what to do with myself at a Buddhist Monastery. It was a little weird, though, because I know so many people who would have loved to visit, and would have known the right questions to ask and gotten so much out of it. So, Em, if you’re reading this I was defiantly thinking of you and wishing that you were with me.
I got back to town about noon, and mostly just wandered the streets for a while, getting a feeling for the town. Everything was laid out in layers, each road was a switchback that up past the rows of houses and shops. The buildings seemed too small for what they were, like toy houses. They were all brightly colored, with blue and green tin gingerbread trim and prayer flags and wheels decorating many of them. Those that didn’t have prayer flags had tiles of the gods and goddesses stuccoed into their sides in geometric patterns. Most of the shops were for Tibetan curios, warm clothes, or the fruit/pan/candy/cigarettes stands that are ubiquitous here. I was getting puckish, so I got yet another momo snack at a place with a gorgeous valley view. The people there were exceptionally nice and friendly, and it was no smoking. It’s funny, in the south almost no one smokes, I was shocked when people started lighting up in Calcutta and they smoke even more here. I’m especially annoyed by the other travelers, who are often allowed to smoke in restaurants in their home countries. I bought a few things, including a Tibetan Cook Book as my Darjeeling souvenir. At 4:30, I went to the New Eglin for high tea. After my momos, which were delicious, but a while ago, I was ready for another meal. I walked into the reception of this lovely hotel, a one level sprawling building, with white and green trim, and found myself completely alone. I wandered through dining rooms and into a sitting room that looked over their gardens and then over the valley, when a white-turbaned waiter found me. “High Tea, Madam?” he said to the smell traveler who hadn’t washed her hair in five days. This guy was classy.
Well, I was settled in the sitting room, in front of a roaring fire, and as the sun went town I was served cheese sandwiches, brownies and cookies along with a huge pot of tea. About an hour into my very leisurely repast, a group of Irish men who were actually staying at the hotel came in. They settled down with lots of lilting conversation “We might be in Dublin!”,“Will ya look at that silver?”, “The woman wants your room key so she can put in the hot water bottle, can ya imagine?” The woman in question was a 60 year-old Asian version of Mrs. Claus, complete with bonnet and apron. I was sincerely jealous, and vowed that next time I come to India I will be very, very rich and thus about to stay for months in places like this. I invited the men over to sit in my sectional (since they didn’t have a fire) and we drank tea together until I started getting slightly less classy looks from the waiters (this was about two hours after I arrived) and started to feel sleepy. I trundled off into the cold back to bed, and fell pretty promptly asleep.
In the morning, I stopped back at the place with the view for a breakfast of Tibetan brown bread and tea. I was just getting settled in when I looked up and there, right out the window, were the mountains. It was amazing. It was just like someone had pasted them there, they rose about a blue streak that looked like sky above the green hills. I ate breakfast quickly, then ran out looking for a spot to take pictures (yup, it’s me). I found about 20 people gathered at the observation point, taking pictures, saying prayers, doing Thai Chi to the mountains. After that, I wandered down the hill north of town, visiting some tea plantations and just seeing what there was to see. I got back, checked out of the hotel, stopped for a lunch of Thunkpa (it was in my cookbook, but it basically Tibetan chicken noodle soup) and brown bread and got some momos to go, then got back in a Jeep and headed back to Siliguiri. We took a different road down than we had up, even more steep and passing at least 10 different tea farms. It was a nice way to end my visit, and I got to the train station in plenty of time to catch the 4:50 to Varanassi.
My night on the train was non-descript. I went AC, which I don’t generally like because it’s really cold and the windows don’t open, and the people are much more reserved about personal space. So, since I was on a side-upper bunk, I was basically stuck in a dark windowless box for 14 hours. Still, I slept well, and there were no snorers and the baby stopped crying by 9:00pm. In the morning, I managed to snag a seat on the lower bench, where an adorable child who spoke no English found me and started chattering away in Hindi. She kept saying “Auntie!’ and then following it which a string of words that I could almost kinda sometimes follow (she told me about the train, the emergency window, her brother, her shoes, and my hair). She was so cute, I was almost sorry to get off, but my train was right on time and I got down at the station, called my hotel, and waited for them to come and pick me up.
We took a cycle-rickshaw from the station t the entrance of the Ghats, which are the riverbanks of the Ganges. My hotel is right on the river; with a roof-top restaurant and a terrace with a view (my room also has a view, remember Kyla I said I would never take it for granted again!). We had to walk the last bit, through tiny narrow streets that are just as confusing as the souk in Rabat. Luckily, there are signs painted on all the walls directing you to various places (“Vishnu Guest House à” ect. ). We arrived and I was pretty floored. It’s a brightly colored, lovely place. The restaurant serves travelers food, but the banana-peanut butter toast tasted really nice. As I ate, I saw two men deposit ashes into the water, feet from where women were washing clothes. Then I headed out to the river, and took a boat tour in the fog. It was about 11am, but it was cloudy and the river was bathed in blue light. It was just as crazy as you might imagine it. There were men meditating, women washing, boats full of pilgrims doing religious services on the water, a goat had gotten into one of the temples and was eating the marigolds from around the neck of the Goddess. My boat went past the burning ghats, where bodies wrapped in gold foil are placed on sandlewood, the family standing around. I tasted ash in my mouth as we sailed away.
After that, I rested in the hotel until I came here to catch you all up. I have two more days in Varanassi, and I plan to have very little program for either of them. Just rest and relax a little (strange place to do it, I know). I’ve decided not to go to Dhaslama (too cold, too far, too much hassle) and Amristar is a little up in the air. I’ll keep you posted.
Friday, November 30, 2007
In which Alison rides an elephant
So, where did we leave off? First, this post might not be as long as the others for few reasons. First, I'm in Darjeeling, and it's freakin cold (anyone remember Chefchaun? Yeah, like that). Second, the internet is closing in an hour. Third, I'm kinda sick, so I may need to evacuate to a bathroom. But, more on that later.
First, Calcutta. I awoke bright and early (way too early, nothing was open to eat) and walked the km down to the Queen Victoria memorial, which was huge, white and impressive, surrounded by lovely gardens. The memrial is pretty much in the financial district of town, so there was no food to be had while I was walking over, though I did have some tea in a clay pot. I didn't go inside to the galleries, but walked allong the paths and walkaways, watching people job, meditate, take pictures, and generally enjoy the lovely morning. The memorial is at one end of the Maidan, the Central Park of Calcutta. Just outside the garden gates, sheep, carriage horses and cows all munched their breakfast on the grass (must save in mowing and fertilizer!). I watched the morning fog burn off the grass, and took too many pictures of a large white building. There was, near the back, a statue to Edward, which I thought was kind of funny. I'm fond of the guy (He ate at Beckman PLace, after all) but his statue was so sad compared to his mother's city block.
I was pretty hungry by this point, but I wanted to see St. Paul's Church, an old British curch with lots of those memorial tablets that I enjoyed so much. The Church was also the center of Mother Theresa's diocese, and has come cashe from that. It was quiet, as I got there just as it openned, but right away you could feel the difference between hre and Chenni. Instead of "Died at Ooty" (a hill station and presumably retirement type of place) at a ripe old age, the tablets here were full of "Mudered at Lucknow with his wife and infant son", "Fell while recalling his mutinous troops to order and duty", "Perished after much deprivation at Delhi, mourned by her father, mother and brother". Pretty dark stuff to read every Sunday, especially if you were"Mr. Ram Das, converted from Hindism and a member of this Church for 25 years".
After that, I decided that I really, really needed breakfast. First, I tried to get a bagel at New Market, a covered building that houses just about everything you could ever want to buy, including a Jewish bakery. Sadly, even at 10am they were just openning. I said I'd come back and headed back to Sudder Street, and found a stall on the side of the raod selling egg rolls (that's omelette wrapped in chipatti, pretty much). It was good, really filling, and I went to the Indian Museum, the "wonder House" from Kim, which was the only museum that I told myself I would visit in India (I'm not really I museum person when travelling...I mean, they're all pretty much the same and usually expensive for the entertainment). This one is in a big white columbed building, with a lovely courtyard with fountains and flowers. The exhibits are arranged on two floors around, starting wtih long rooms full of duty fossils in old wood and glass cases, continuing through the anthropology of India (dating from about 1920, but really interesting to see the diversity in this one country), and then to animals, plants, sculptures and art. The animals were desidedly moth eaten, but they made me laught because for every full stuffed body in a case, there were at least 50 heads mounted on the tall walls up to the celing. It looked like Gaston's trophy room. I could just imagine them saying "Yeah, I used to hang in some British guy's smoking room. You got a problem with that?".
The scultures were very interesting, shoing the different styles from different regions of the country (but, again, you have to think "Wow, this would all be so amazing if half of it wasn't in London!"). Halfway through my wanderings, I was stopped by a British man who had "college professor" written all over him. He said "what do you think of this ancient art and it's influece in modern peices". I was totally taken aback and managed a "Oh, I don't know much about art" to which he responded, "well, then what brought you here today?" I honestly answered "Kipling" and he walked away.
I wasn't hungry for lunch, so I stopped into the bakery for a creame filled elcair to make up for their lack of bagals. It was wonderufl, and I munched it as I made my way though the city, just walking without any dierection to see what was out there. I was struck by how busy the street were, and by all of the people heading to many different lives, men in business suits, women carrying laundry on their heads, beggers everywhere. The beggers in Calcutta were particullarly visable, though not as aggressive as I feared. Mostly they stopped you in the tourist area, either just saying "Sister, sister" or asking you "No money, just milk for baby". It s a scam that the Salvation Army guy in Chenni told us about, you buymilk from a vendor for 80 rps (about 4 times too much) then you give it to her, you leave, she sells it back to him for 60. S, he's got 20, she's got 60 and you spent 80. I guess there's nothing wrong with it per se, except if you wouldn't hand her 60 rps than you shouldn't be bothered with this. It's funny, because I find it hard to worry about the things that I worry about when giving money in America (it's not really like they can be working, I don't think that she's going to drink it away) but I still don't like to do it. Mainly, becuase most begger only go after tourists (especially children). And I don't like feeling...picked on, I guess? Anyway
That night I took the metro to the train station, and got on the 9:00 train to NJP. I was, again, seated with a school group, but these were the worst, most obnoxious children I've ever seen. I'm being generous saying children, since they were 20 and 21, but they were loud, disruptive and didn't stop talking until 4am and were up and loud at 6. I had to yell at the, the guy sleeping under me yelled at them, the lady down the car yelled at them, but nothing worked. When I confronted their teacher in the morning he gave me some BS about "Young, and high spirited" and "If we were in your counrty" "If I was in my country, I would have smacked them", I wanted to say. Needless to say, I didn't sleep at all and wasn't in the best spirits in the morning. It was then that the cross-dressers arrived. On every train I've been on, the morning starts with cross-dressing eunichs who stand by your bunk and clap really loudly. This is kind of the same logic as the men who call out from cars, I feel. The "oh, well I wasn't going to give you money but now that you have woken me up at 6am I will!", clearly something is lost in translation. This woman, however, walked over to our booth, looked at me, and streched out her hand. "Is that your natural color?" she said, fingering my hair. I nodded. "It's so lovlely". She walked away. I chased after her and gave her 10 rps. Because, when the nicest words spoken to you in 24 hours were from a eunich begger, you have to reward that. She smiled and gave me a blessing, and I felt a little better.
My good mood continuted when I decided not to take the bus to the wildlife park ( I just couldn't face that much hassle feeling as fragile as I was. Anyone who has seen me without sleep can imagine the wreck taht I was) and instead forked over the 20 bucks for a private car. 3 hours later, after a nap and a luxourious ride through small towns, tea gardens, and wheat fields, we pulled up at the "Tourist Lodge". It looked like it had seen better days, but I was happy to find that my room at a double bed (they didn't have singles) and a TV. Unfortunatly, the TV and power didn't come on till 4pm, so I napped some more until one, when I went to the dining hall for our included lunch (chicken and veg curry with rice and papad, spicery than I've had it before, but good). I went to the resption to ask what I should do next, and tehy said that there was a Jeep tour of the park leaving at 3, and I could join if there was a free seat.
Until 3 I wandered around the neighberhood (not much to see, a little convience store where I bought unless batteries (the didn't even fit inmy camera!)) and a loepard rescue where the leopards were in cages, which was just as sad and unpsetting as you might imagine. I went down to the loading area at 3, to find...a school group (thankfully, not the same one or there would have been blood). There was no seat for me, and I wasn't too upset (given recent events) but one of the guides saw me walking away wondering what to do until I could see what movies were on, and called me over. "Would you bve interseted in a bike tour? We could go though the villiage, see tea garden, an tea factory". How much? "No, nothing...I need the excerize!". He was about my hight and couldn't have wieghted more than 120 pounds. I laughed.
So, for town hours, we biked around throughthe sunset villiage, I got a private tour of the tea garden and factory, we saw women on their way home from work with basket strung accross their foreheads to carry them. The people here look CHinese, while those from Tamil Nadu looked almost African sometimes. The girls were friendly and smiled, and the boys where very shy (I dont htink they knew the English to say "Hello, what's your name!").
We got back around 5pm, had dinner at 7, and arranged an elephant ride of 5:30 the next morning. I watched the middle of "midnight Run", Pretty good De Niro comedy, that cutout midway though, then went to sleep.
At 5am, a knock on my door woke me for tea. Luckily, I had slept in my clothes so I was decent. I had my tea, brushed my teeth, and at 6:00 we drove into the park to meet our elephant. The guide insisted we saw a wild elephant near the gate, but I think it was just an off-duty elephant. There were two German people from the hotel (a mother and son, very nice) and a Sikh from the Indian Army who came with us. We were all in the right mindframe, just enjoying the morning and being lifted high into the air on a giant animal, quiet but companionable. Then, about 20 miuntes in, we saw a rustle in the trees. moveing the elephant forward, we came face to face with a one horned rhino, looking like a left over dinosaur. He wasn't scared of us, basically posed for pictures, until he lo\umbered off into the forest. We saw five rhinos all together, and a sabar deer.
After breakfast back at the hotel, I felt really terrible, but had to get on the bus to get to Darjeeling. It was aweful. I finally was crying because felt so bad, and an old man asked me what was the matter. "I have to use the toilet" I said, guietly, but he didn't hear me so eventually I had to yell it to the whole bus. After that, he was my knight errant, making them stop, showing me wehre the bateroom was in this dingy restaruant, walking me back to the bus, showing me whre the bathroom was at our destination, helping me into a shared Jeep to Darjeeling, telling another man (who had also been on the bus) that he better watch out for me. It was so kind, especially since the man who was in charge of me was able to tell the driver to pull over about half way though the ride, so I could squate by the side of the raod. It wasn't as bad as waking up sick in Trivandrum, but it was close.
The ride up to Darkeeling was lovely, but that will have ot wait for next time. I'll be here until the 2nd, and then at Varanassi the 3rd, so expect to hear from me one of those times.
I was pretty hungry after that, but wanted to visit
First, Calcutta. I awoke bright and early (way too early, nothing was open to eat) and walked the km down to the Queen Victoria memorial, which was huge, white and impressive, surrounded by lovely gardens. The memrial is pretty much in the financial district of town, so there was no food to be had while I was walking over, though I did have some tea in a clay pot. I didn't go inside to the galleries, but walked allong the paths and walkaways, watching people job, meditate, take pictures, and generally enjoy the lovely morning. The memorial is at one end of the Maidan, the Central Park of Calcutta. Just outside the garden gates, sheep, carriage horses and cows all munched their breakfast on the grass (must save in mowing and fertilizer!). I watched the morning fog burn off the grass, and took too many pictures of a large white building. There was, near the back, a statue to Edward, which I thought was kind of funny. I'm fond of the guy (He ate at Beckman PLace, after all) but his statue was so sad compared to his mother's city block.
I was pretty hungry by this point, but I wanted to see St. Paul's Church, an old British curch with lots of those memorial tablets that I enjoyed so much. The Church was also the center of Mother Theresa's diocese, and has come cashe from that. It was quiet, as I got there just as it openned, but right away you could feel the difference between hre and Chenni. Instead of "Died at Ooty" (a hill station and presumably retirement type of place) at a ripe old age, the tablets here were full of "Mudered at Lucknow with his wife and infant son", "Fell while recalling his mutinous troops to order and duty", "Perished after much deprivation at Delhi, mourned by her father, mother and brother". Pretty dark stuff to read every Sunday, especially if you were"Mr. Ram Das, converted from Hindism and a member of this Church for 25 years".
After that, I decided that I really, really needed breakfast. First, I tried to get a bagel at New Market, a covered building that houses just about everything you could ever want to buy, including a Jewish bakery. Sadly, even at 10am they were just openning. I said I'd come back and headed back to Sudder Street, and found a stall on the side of the raod selling egg rolls (that's omelette wrapped in chipatti, pretty much). It was good, really filling, and I went to the Indian Museum, the "wonder House" from Kim, which was the only museum that I told myself I would visit in India (I'm not really I museum person when travelling...I mean, they're all pretty much the same and usually expensive for the entertainment). This one is in a big white columbed building, with a lovely courtyard with fountains and flowers. The exhibits are arranged on two floors around, starting wtih long rooms full of duty fossils in old wood and glass cases, continuing through the anthropology of India (dating from about 1920, but really interesting to see the diversity in this one country), and then to animals, plants, sculptures and art. The animals were desidedly moth eaten, but they made me laught because for every full stuffed body in a case, there were at least 50 heads mounted on the tall walls up to the celing. It looked like Gaston's trophy room. I could just imagine them saying "Yeah, I used to hang in some British guy's smoking room. You got a problem with that?".
The scultures were very interesting, shoing the different styles from different regions of the country (but, again, you have to think "Wow, this would all be so amazing if half of it wasn't in London!"). Halfway through my wanderings, I was stopped by a British man who had "college professor" written all over him. He said "what do you think of this ancient art and it's influece in modern peices". I was totally taken aback and managed a "Oh, I don't know much about art" to which he responded, "well, then what brought you here today?" I honestly answered "Kipling" and he walked away.
I wasn't hungry for lunch, so I stopped into the bakery for a creame filled elcair to make up for their lack of bagals. It was wonderufl, and I munched it as I made my way though the city, just walking without any dierection to see what was out there. I was struck by how busy the street were, and by all of the people heading to many different lives, men in business suits, women carrying laundry on their heads, beggers everywhere. The beggers in Calcutta were particullarly visable, though not as aggressive as I feared. Mostly they stopped you in the tourist area, either just saying "Sister, sister" or asking you "No money, just milk for baby". It s a scam that the Salvation Army guy in Chenni told us about, you buymilk from a vendor for 80 rps (about 4 times too much) then you give it to her, you leave, she sells it back to him for 60. S, he's got 20, she's got 60 and you spent 80. I guess there's nothing wrong with it per se, except if you wouldn't hand her 60 rps than you shouldn't be bothered with this. It's funny, because I find it hard to worry about the things that I worry about when giving money in America (it's not really like they can be working, I don't think that she's going to drink it away) but I still don't like to do it. Mainly, becuase most begger only go after tourists (especially children). And I don't like feeling...picked on, I guess? Anyway
That night I took the metro to the train station, and got on the 9:00 train to NJP. I was, again, seated with a school group, but these were the worst, most obnoxious children I've ever seen. I'm being generous saying children, since they were 20 and 21, but they were loud, disruptive and didn't stop talking until 4am and were up and loud at 6. I had to yell at the, the guy sleeping under me yelled at them, the lady down the car yelled at them, but nothing worked. When I confronted their teacher in the morning he gave me some BS about "Young, and high spirited" and "If we were in your counrty" "If I was in my country, I would have smacked them", I wanted to say. Needless to say, I didn't sleep at all and wasn't in the best spirits in the morning. It was then that the cross-dressers arrived. On every train I've been on, the morning starts with cross-dressing eunichs who stand by your bunk and clap really loudly. This is kind of the same logic as the men who call out from cars, I feel. The "oh, well I wasn't going to give you money but now that you have woken me up at 6am I will!", clearly something is lost in translation. This woman, however, walked over to our booth, looked at me, and streched out her hand. "Is that your natural color?" she said, fingering my hair. I nodded. "It's so lovlely". She walked away. I chased after her and gave her 10 rps. Because, when the nicest words spoken to you in 24 hours were from a eunich begger, you have to reward that. She smiled and gave me a blessing, and I felt a little better.
My good mood continuted when I decided not to take the bus to the wildlife park ( I just couldn't face that much hassle feeling as fragile as I was. Anyone who has seen me without sleep can imagine the wreck taht I was) and instead forked over the 20 bucks for a private car. 3 hours later, after a nap and a luxourious ride through small towns, tea gardens, and wheat fields, we pulled up at the "Tourist Lodge". It looked like it had seen better days, but I was happy to find that my room at a double bed (they didn't have singles) and a TV. Unfortunatly, the TV and power didn't come on till 4pm, so I napped some more until one, when I went to the dining hall for our included lunch (chicken and veg curry with rice and papad, spicery than I've had it before, but good). I went to the resption to ask what I should do next, and tehy said that there was a Jeep tour of the park leaving at 3, and I could join if there was a free seat.
Until 3 I wandered around the neighberhood (not much to see, a little convience store where I bought unless batteries (the didn't even fit inmy camera!)) and a loepard rescue where the leopards were in cages, which was just as sad and unpsetting as you might imagine. I went down to the loading area at 3, to find...a school group (thankfully, not the same one or there would have been blood). There was no seat for me, and I wasn't too upset (given recent events) but one of the guides saw me walking away wondering what to do until I could see what movies were on, and called me over. "Would you bve interseted in a bike tour? We could go though the villiage, see tea garden, an tea factory". How much? "No, nothing...I need the excerize!". He was about my hight and couldn't have wieghted more than 120 pounds. I laughed.
So, for town hours, we biked around throughthe sunset villiage, I got a private tour of the tea garden and factory, we saw women on their way home from work with basket strung accross their foreheads to carry them. The people here look CHinese, while those from Tamil Nadu looked almost African sometimes. The girls were friendly and smiled, and the boys where very shy (I dont htink they knew the English to say "Hello, what's your name!").
We got back around 5pm, had dinner at 7, and arranged an elephant ride of 5:30 the next morning. I watched the middle of "midnight Run", Pretty good De Niro comedy, that cutout midway though, then went to sleep.
At 5am, a knock on my door woke me for tea. Luckily, I had slept in my clothes so I was decent. I had my tea, brushed my teeth, and at 6:00 we drove into the park to meet our elephant. The guide insisted we saw a wild elephant near the gate, but I think it was just an off-duty elephant. There were two German people from the hotel (a mother and son, very nice) and a Sikh from the Indian Army who came with us. We were all in the right mindframe, just enjoying the morning and being lifted high into the air on a giant animal, quiet but companionable. Then, about 20 miuntes in, we saw a rustle in the trees. moveing the elephant forward, we came face to face with a one horned rhino, looking like a left over dinosaur. He wasn't scared of us, basically posed for pictures, until he lo\umbered off into the forest. We saw five rhinos all together, and a sabar deer.
After breakfast back at the hotel, I felt really terrible, but had to get on the bus to get to Darjeeling. It was aweful. I finally was crying because felt so bad, and an old man asked me what was the matter. "I have to use the toilet" I said, guietly, but he didn't hear me so eventually I had to yell it to the whole bus. After that, he was my knight errant, making them stop, showing me wehre the bateroom was in this dingy restaruant, walking me back to the bus, showing me whre the bathroom was at our destination, helping me into a shared Jeep to Darjeeling, telling another man (who had also been on the bus) that he better watch out for me. It was so kind, especially since the man who was in charge of me was able to tell the driver to pull over about half way though the ride, so I could squate by the side of the raod. It wasn't as bad as waking up sick in Trivandrum, but it was close.
The ride up to Darkeeling was lovely, but that will have ot wait for next time. I'll be here until the 2nd, and then at Varanassi the 3rd, so expect to hear from me one of those times.
I was pretty hungry after that, but wanted to visit
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
In which Alison learns for the 149th time that it is a small world, and for the 4896th time that if you try to overplan something and it falls apart,
it will probably end up better in the end: OR "There are no beggers in America, right?"
First of all, sorry I’ve been bad about finding e-mail. When I describe my days, maybe you’ll see why I haven’t been able to sit down and type before now. Still I know you guys worry and I’ll try to at least keep you posted on when I expect to be interneting next.
But now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for: what HAS Alison been up to? This week at the hospital was really quiet, since Dr. Gigi was in London visiting her husband. Still, there were a few interesting things; including a guy who turned up in the ER claiming he had "fallen off his bike", but he had one long cut across his forehead. Dr. Roy was pretty sure that he had gotten the wrong end of a sword in some family dispute. Ouch!
My last day at the hospital was incredibly sad. Kyla and I had an early breakfast together before she caught a train to Kodkia. The guys at the restaurant had been after me for days about bringing them gifts for my last day (I responded that they should give ME a gift, or at least tea at lunch, but they were having nonne of that nonsense). I took a picture and planned to have it printed out for them. Still, it was hard to leave them, and the lovely free food that they provided! I spent the day saying goodbye to the nurses, all of who took pictures with me and then asked for copies, and doctors. I had to go to Dr. Gigi’s house to say goodbye to her, since she had returned from England but hadn’t gone back to work. I was afraid of disturbing her, but she was glad to see me, gave me a rose embroidered napkin set from England, and said that she would never forget my laughter. I was very much crying by the time I left her house. Dr. Banu insisted that I wait for her to return for evening outpatient (around 6:00…my train was a 7:00 so I had wanted to leave right them) and then presented me with a lovely blue stone necklace. I was really touched by them, they are incredible doctors and I’m so lucky to have gotten to work with them.
I spent much of Friday with Jackie, helping to show her the ropes. She arrived Thursday and is 40, a nursing assistant, married with kids and from England (though born in Kenya). She’s a really interesting person, who had done tons of travelling by herself in various ways. She’s only there for two weeks, but I’m sure she’s going to have a great time!
Friday night, after tearful goodbyes to Dr. Banu, John, and Jackie, I put myself on the train to Chenni. This is a very popular route, and even though I’d booked a week early, I still didn’t have a berth, only a seat. When I found my seat, a man was sitting in it. I had my ticked way in my backpack and didn’t want to look, but I said that this was my seat, I thought. "Are you damn sure?" he said, which took me aback so much that he decided it wasn’t, and told me to perch on the bench with a family. I admit I kind of lost it for a minute and wondered exactly how far it was to the nearest international airport, but pulled it together when the little girls came over to me and started babbling in Tamil. I w/as hoping that one would open up later, but it was a no-go. So, I spent the night curled up on a sort of half-bunk (by putting the seat back down and ignoring the fact that you are probably making the person across from you uncomfortable, you can do it). Still, I got more sleep that way than the night we spent with the snorer going to Kochin.
The next morning around 9am we arrived in Chenni, and I trudged with my stuff to the Salvation Army Guest House, where I called Lisette and told her where I was. She and her cousin were in Mallalpuram, about 60 km south of the city, but would be back later that afternoon. I had nothing to do (and a much lighter pack) so I set off to walk to the beach, planning to stop at the West Bengal Tourist Office on the way. They run the Jaldapara park, which I had been hoping to visit but you needed to show up in person to book a room at the lodge. I managed with the Rough Guide map (Yeah, Rough Guide!) to find it with only a few misteps. It was Saturday, so the office was closed, but the caretaker was there and invited me in to sit for a moment. He asked about my travels and when I told him about the hospital he nearly fell off the chair. "I am from there!" he said, "Dr. Gigi delivered my children!". He insisted that I tell him all about it, and had me stay for tea in his office. He called over to the office in Calcutta, and they apparently told him that there would be rooms available, then he gave me three copies of the same brochure and pointed me out toward the beach. It is a very small world.
Walking down to the beach was nice, even if it was getting warm by then. The marina itself is one of the largest in the world, and the whole thing was dotted with stalls selling everything from sea-shell trinkets to key-chains- to ice-cream to knock off hats. I bought one of those, since my own hat was sadly lost in Kollum, but managed to avoid everything else until I spotted the "you pick it, we fry it" fish place. I hadn’t had lunch yet, and those fish looked wonderful. So I sat down on the sand under the shade of their tent and had a wonderful masala fried fish. Then, feeling myself burning, I walked back to the sidewalk and checked my guidebook for what to do next. I saw that, about 10 km south of the beach, there was a cave that St. Thomas was supposed to have hidden in when he was being persecuted by some Raja. That sounded pretty good, so I called over a ricksaw and begun negotiations for the journey. They started at 200, but I didn’t want to go that badly, so after three walk aways we ended up with a 50 rps tour of the city (including some of it’s finest shopping establishments). We started out with a building that had been and old ice house, but then was used by Vivekananda when he returned to Chenni after visiting America. My religious education sort of skipped him, so I wasn’t that interested in anything expect the building itself (which had a gorgeous Raj era round porch overlooking the ocean) and the pictures of the Swami at the Chicago Worlds Fair. The guide, who was following me (the only guest) though the museum, smiled when I started jumping up and down and saying "That’s my native! That’s my native!". Clearly, I have been here to long as I am 1) speaking Indian English and 2) homesick.
They did have one other interesting exhibit, a series of 50 paintings showing the progression of Indian thought. They were quite beautiful some of them (especially those representing the different religions of India) but after 50 it was had to remember what ANY of them looked like. The major theme was "India awesome! Everyone else…took our awesome!"
After that trip, we went to our first store. Kashmiris who have a kind of funny ingratiating way of talking run them all. Everything in these stores is super expensive, and I wasn’t going to buy anything, but the drive got money every time I looked (50 rps is the going rate for an American). At the first store I met a girl who had also been taken there by her driver. Her name was Marie, and she was a teacher at the international school at Kodikai. I told her that my friend was there now, and she was really pleased, hoped you liked it. She was really sweet, but was leaving that night so we said goodbye as we left the store.
Next, we went to the cave which was down a windy road from the main street, peopled by children playing cricket at beggars waiting for people to get out of Church. The cave itself was in the basement of an old Church, built in 1550 by the Spanish to Our Lady of Good Health. It was lovely and peaceful, like the chapel in "An Affair to Remember" and to the left of the altar were the stairs down to the lighted cave. It was small, not someplace you’d like to hide, but had the same feeling as the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, like a place sort of out of time. I really enjoyed it, and was just leaving the chapel when the caretaker called me over and took me into another chapel where there was a miraculous spring that Thomas had drunk from. He gave me a sip, and I drank it though I couldn’t help but wonder about the state of the water.
We stopped at a few more shops, but I was pretty much done touring and called Lisette from the drivers cell phone. She and her cousin (Pauline) were at the hotel, so I joined them there and they told me about their lovely weekend (they went to a hotel with a pool and had been chauffeured by a private car!). The three of us headed out to "The Fort" which was listed as one of the main sights in all of the guidebooks. Perhaps the fact that none of the rickshaw drivers we asked knew where it was should have clued us in that this might not be the attraction we were looking for, but we went anyway. It was, mostly, just a working fort. It reminded me more of the Pentagon than anything, sort of interesting, but most people were there to do a job. We did see St. Mary’s Church, the oldest English church in India. It was great, because there were memorial plaques to old British soliders and their wives on all the walls. "Here lies Major Reginald Reyolds, who served his distinguished career at Madras Fort, and died here on June 23rd, 1768. This plaque was placed with loving memories by the men with whom he served" ect. I never really thought how many British people died here. I more thought about all those who went home (or didn’t) after the end of colonization. I wonder if their families ever came here to visit their graves.
After our visit to the fort, we walked back to the hotel, and the other girls rested while I asked the manager how to take a bus to Mallalpuram (having no private car). He was very helpful, and ended up telling me and a Swedish boy who was also staying there, his life story. He was found as a 4 day old baby by the Salvation Army, brought up by missionaries, and has been working at the guest house for 17 years. He was so kind, he got Paulie (who wasn’t even technically staying there) a ricksaw to take her to the airport for later, and gave us a recommendation for a restaurant down the street. It was lovely, with red checkered table clothes, Indian and Western food, and a staff who was tickled pink by Lisette and my attempts at Tamil.
After that I was pretty pooped, so I just went to bed while Lisette chatted with Pauline in the front room. The next morning, I got up bright and early and headed out to the bus stand to go to Mallalpuram. It a little town near Channi which is famous for its monuments and stoneworkers. I got there around 9:30 in the morning, and after a quick dosa for breakfast headed out to see the sights. At the first one, I was a little harassed by a postcard dealer, and another traveler came over to rescue me. His name was Gerald, from Britain, and as we got to talking I learned that he had lived in DC (Clerandon, actually) working with litigation support and had been to Marrakech. In his early life (he was about 55ish) he had been in the British Navy, and so had cheap tattoos on his arms that fascinated all of the Indians we passed. We toured the monuments talking about cricket and baseball, traveling and college and had a really nice time. Unfortunately, we spit up for about 20 minutes while he went into a monument and I went to shop (and had to bargain longer than I hoped) and I lost him. So, Jack, if you ever in your litigation support career happen to meet a man named Gerald who was working in Washington about 4 years ago, please tell him that I am ok.
I did spend some time looking for him, drawing the attention of several of the guide and salesmen in the area. One of them was incredibly kind, even giving me a lift around town looking for him on his scooter! Truth be told, I was almost as upset to loose my ride back (he had had a car hired by his company) as Gerald, but when I told the guide where I was staying in Chenni he said that he lived very close to there and would give me a lift, no problem. In the meantime, every salesman and ricksaw driver had an APB on Gerald, and would call him if he was spotted. He told me to go eat. I went off and had lunch at a lovely tourist café, on the second floor, painted bright pink, with lots of fun foods like pasta salad and crepes. They also had spice tea with bits of cinnamon, cloves, and cardamom floating in it. It was lovely, and I made lunch last until almost 4, when I met the guide again and got a lift back into town. On the way to Chenni, we stopped at his sister’s house for coffee (and so he could change). Her children were adorable, trying on my shoes, playing with my hair, and the little boy cried when I left. We got back tot eh hotel around 6:30, and I was just in time to meet Lisette for dinner at 7:00. Her train was at 8, we ate a quick snack and then I saw her off. Ever since, people have been asking me if I have friends in India, and I say "Yes, but not with me" and they look and I feel sad. Lisette, Kyla, John, Jackie I can’t thank you enough for how much fun you made even 3 hour hysterectomies, and hope you all keep in touch!
At 9 the next morning, my train left for Calcutta. This was the first of two long train trips that I am taking, and I was really excited about it. The way I see it, I don’t have that much time to see India, and I see the train rides and transportation, accomedation, and tours of all the places I don’t get to stop, but can see. In addition, they are social clubs! This time, I was seated with a group of teenagers coming back from Christian Youth Camp in Chenni. The girls (Uma, 18 and Christie 16) were full of questions about America: what kind of house did I live in, did I have a boyfriend, what did my parents do, did I hve brothers and sisters…I usually simplify answers to questions like this, it just makes everything easier (yes, I’m a Christian; my sister is a teacher; my roommates are both other girl students, ect). This got me in trouble this time, though, since I had to answer questions about how often I went to church, how long services were, and how we celebrated Christmas (for this one at least I didn’t fib…I told them all about the children’s service at church and they sounded enthused!). They were really nice kids, sharing all of their food with me, listening to my I-Pod (I realized after they made a face I probably shouldn’t have started them on random play. "Sweeney Todd" is not for everyone), and making the boys be quiet when I wanted to sleep. They had some funny ideas about America, how we had no poor people and everyone lived in huge houses (Ah, TV). One of the boys who takled ot me was really sweet (prehaps Freddie sweet...it's hard to tell here). He loves books, and we talked about Roald Dahl and Harry Potter and how he wants to write 5 books in his life and open a bookshop in every counrty. He asked me about my goals, and I told him some (become an advanced nurse, travel a lot, have a lovely house when I'm older with a huge garden and kitchen so I can learn to cook). It was nice.
The train went through Andrah Predesh and Orrissa, and for the most part the differences were subtle, but there. Wheat fields instead of rice paddies, block bulls instead of white cows, women in short saries carrying loads of hay on their heads, houses made from tile rather than banana leaves, pools with blue, rather than white, lilies. The woman sitting across from me was Bengali, and spoke almost no English, but gave me tea every time I turned around and wanted my mobile number. At night, the fires burning in the fields lit up the sky, and everything smelled like a bonfire. I had a whole bunk this time, and slept very well. Indian trains get very quiet at around 10:30pm, and by 11 there isn’t usually a sound to be heard except the motion of the wheels. In both second class compartments I’ve been in, I haven’t had one snorer. This is made up for by the 5:30 wake up time, though. It’s pretty easy to doze during the day, and that’s what I did until about 10, when I chatted more with the girls and then got ready for when the train arrived around 12.
After saying goodbye, I took the cross-town bus so that I could leave my luggage at Saldeah station, which is where my next train leaves. Moving through the traffic, I could see that this city is totally different in style from Tamil Nadu. Like all of India, it looks as though structures that were meant to last 10 years have been left up for 50, but these are townhouses with ornate wooden screened balconies, peeking out from leafy trees. The street life is amazing, everything is sold from blankets on the sidewalk. The chai is served not in glasses but in ceramic pots. There is a whole street of men who sit at typewriters typing letters for other people. I dropped off my luggage at the station cloak room, and walked about 3 miles through the town to the main tourist area, just letting myself go bug-eyed (oh, and also stopping at the tourist office to book a double room for myself at Jaldapara lodge. It’s elephant ride of bust! Thank you for your birthday present, Aunt Karen. I finally found somewhere that takes credit cards!).
About halfway though my walk, I ran into a protest of people saying they were against "Imperialism, Globalization, Zionism, and War". The were holding lots of signs saying "Stop US and UK Imperialism in Other Countries!" and, yes, there was a lovely picture of President Bush (in his flight suit, no less) Tony Blair and Rumsfeld looking very evil. ON the one hand, I could see their point. It’s not like I voted for him, or support most of what he does. On the other, something inside of me was screaming "You guys are supposed to LIKE us! If you don’t like us, nobody does!", which may, in fact, be the case. I felt a little awkward standing my the side of the road, but I wasn’t about to let myself get off the route I knew so I waited the 30 minutes while about 250 people marched by. It was pretty clear that some people were passionate about their cause, and others were street people who didn’t seem to have a clue why they were walking this way.
After finding a hotel, I wandered about some more (finally finding this place, which has 10 rps Internet. I promise I’ll try to be less frugal when I comes to Internet, since I don’t want you to worry, but they tried to charge me 40rps in Mallalapuram! That’s just not fair!). I stopped for dinner at a "rolls" stand, which is a Calcutta specialty. They prepare a kabab, then a vegetable mush mixture, and roll the whole thing in a thick chipatti. It was delicious!
Tomorrow, my train for NJP (and from there Jaldapara and Darjeeling) leaves about 10:00pm. I probably won’t be able to write again until I get to Darjeeling (not counting on there being Internet in the forest preserve) on the 30th. I miss you all very much (more every time someone says "Do you miss your Family, Boyfriend, Friends) but am having adventures (as you see). Next time I write, I will have fullfilled one of my Travel Goals: Elephant Ride!
First of all, sorry I’ve been bad about finding e-mail. When I describe my days, maybe you’ll see why I haven’t been able to sit down and type before now. Still I know you guys worry and I’ll try to at least keep you posted on when I expect to be interneting next.
But now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for: what HAS Alison been up to? This week at the hospital was really quiet, since Dr. Gigi was in London visiting her husband. Still, there were a few interesting things; including a guy who turned up in the ER claiming he had "fallen off his bike", but he had one long cut across his forehead. Dr. Roy was pretty sure that he had gotten the wrong end of a sword in some family dispute. Ouch!
My last day at the hospital was incredibly sad. Kyla and I had an early breakfast together before she caught a train to Kodkia. The guys at the restaurant had been after me for days about bringing them gifts for my last day (I responded that they should give ME a gift, or at least tea at lunch, but they were having nonne of that nonsense). I took a picture and planned to have it printed out for them. Still, it was hard to leave them, and the lovely free food that they provided! I spent the day saying goodbye to the nurses, all of who took pictures with me and then asked for copies, and doctors. I had to go to Dr. Gigi’s house to say goodbye to her, since she had returned from England but hadn’t gone back to work. I was afraid of disturbing her, but she was glad to see me, gave me a rose embroidered napkin set from England, and said that she would never forget my laughter. I was very much crying by the time I left her house. Dr. Banu insisted that I wait for her to return for evening outpatient (around 6:00…my train was a 7:00 so I had wanted to leave right them) and then presented me with a lovely blue stone necklace. I was really touched by them, they are incredible doctors and I’m so lucky to have gotten to work with them.
I spent much of Friday with Jackie, helping to show her the ropes. She arrived Thursday and is 40, a nursing assistant, married with kids and from England (though born in Kenya). She’s a really interesting person, who had done tons of travelling by herself in various ways. She’s only there for two weeks, but I’m sure she’s going to have a great time!
Friday night, after tearful goodbyes to Dr. Banu, John, and Jackie, I put myself on the train to Chenni. This is a very popular route, and even though I’d booked a week early, I still didn’t have a berth, only a seat. When I found my seat, a man was sitting in it. I had my ticked way in my backpack and didn’t want to look, but I said that this was my seat, I thought. "Are you damn sure?" he said, which took me aback so much that he decided it wasn’t, and told me to perch on the bench with a family. I admit I kind of lost it for a minute and wondered exactly how far it was to the nearest international airport, but pulled it together when the little girls came over to me and started babbling in Tamil. I w/as hoping that one would open up later, but it was a no-go. So, I spent the night curled up on a sort of half-bunk (by putting the seat back down and ignoring the fact that you are probably making the person across from you uncomfortable, you can do it). Still, I got more sleep that way than the night we spent with the snorer going to Kochin.
The next morning around 9am we arrived in Chenni, and I trudged with my stuff to the Salvation Army Guest House, where I called Lisette and told her where I was. She and her cousin were in Mallalpuram, about 60 km south of the city, but would be back later that afternoon. I had nothing to do (and a much lighter pack) so I set off to walk to the beach, planning to stop at the West Bengal Tourist Office on the way. They run the Jaldapara park, which I had been hoping to visit but you needed to show up in person to book a room at the lodge. I managed with the Rough Guide map (Yeah, Rough Guide!) to find it with only a few misteps. It was Saturday, so the office was closed, but the caretaker was there and invited me in to sit for a moment. He asked about my travels and when I told him about the hospital he nearly fell off the chair. "I am from there!" he said, "Dr. Gigi delivered my children!". He insisted that I tell him all about it, and had me stay for tea in his office. He called over to the office in Calcutta, and they apparently told him that there would be rooms available, then he gave me three copies of the same brochure and pointed me out toward the beach. It is a very small world.
Walking down to the beach was nice, even if it was getting warm by then. The marina itself is one of the largest in the world, and the whole thing was dotted with stalls selling everything from sea-shell trinkets to key-chains- to ice-cream to knock off hats. I bought one of those, since my own hat was sadly lost in Kollum, but managed to avoid everything else until I spotted the "you pick it, we fry it" fish place. I hadn’t had lunch yet, and those fish looked wonderful. So I sat down on the sand under the shade of their tent and had a wonderful masala fried fish. Then, feeling myself burning, I walked back to the sidewalk and checked my guidebook for what to do next. I saw that, about 10 km south of the beach, there was a cave that St. Thomas was supposed to have hidden in when he was being persecuted by some Raja. That sounded pretty good, so I called over a ricksaw and begun negotiations for the journey. They started at 200, but I didn’t want to go that badly, so after three walk aways we ended up with a 50 rps tour of the city (including some of it’s finest shopping establishments). We started out with a building that had been and old ice house, but then was used by Vivekananda when he returned to Chenni after visiting America. My religious education sort of skipped him, so I wasn’t that interested in anything expect the building itself (which had a gorgeous Raj era round porch overlooking the ocean) and the pictures of the Swami at the Chicago Worlds Fair. The guide, who was following me (the only guest) though the museum, smiled when I started jumping up and down and saying "That’s my native! That’s my native!". Clearly, I have been here to long as I am 1) speaking Indian English and 2) homesick.
They did have one other interesting exhibit, a series of 50 paintings showing the progression of Indian thought. They were quite beautiful some of them (especially those representing the different religions of India) but after 50 it was had to remember what ANY of them looked like. The major theme was "India awesome! Everyone else…took our awesome!"
After that trip, we went to our first store. Kashmiris who have a kind of funny ingratiating way of talking run them all. Everything in these stores is super expensive, and I wasn’t going to buy anything, but the drive got money every time I looked (50 rps is the going rate for an American). At the first store I met a girl who had also been taken there by her driver. Her name was Marie, and she was a teacher at the international school at Kodikai. I told her that my friend was there now, and she was really pleased, hoped you liked it. She was really sweet, but was leaving that night so we said goodbye as we left the store.
Next, we went to the cave which was down a windy road from the main street, peopled by children playing cricket at beggars waiting for people to get out of Church. The cave itself was in the basement of an old Church, built in 1550 by the Spanish to Our Lady of Good Health. It was lovely and peaceful, like the chapel in "An Affair to Remember" and to the left of the altar were the stairs down to the lighted cave. It was small, not someplace you’d like to hide, but had the same feeling as the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, like a place sort of out of time. I really enjoyed it, and was just leaving the chapel when the caretaker called me over and took me into another chapel where there was a miraculous spring that Thomas had drunk from. He gave me a sip, and I drank it though I couldn’t help but wonder about the state of the water.
We stopped at a few more shops, but I was pretty much done touring and called Lisette from the drivers cell phone. She and her cousin (Pauline) were at the hotel, so I joined them there and they told me about their lovely weekend (they went to a hotel with a pool and had been chauffeured by a private car!). The three of us headed out to "The Fort" which was listed as one of the main sights in all of the guidebooks. Perhaps the fact that none of the rickshaw drivers we asked knew where it was should have clued us in that this might not be the attraction we were looking for, but we went anyway. It was, mostly, just a working fort. It reminded me more of the Pentagon than anything, sort of interesting, but most people were there to do a job. We did see St. Mary’s Church, the oldest English church in India. It was great, because there were memorial plaques to old British soliders and their wives on all the walls. "Here lies Major Reginald Reyolds, who served his distinguished career at Madras Fort, and died here on June 23rd, 1768. This plaque was placed with loving memories by the men with whom he served" ect. I never really thought how many British people died here. I more thought about all those who went home (or didn’t) after the end of colonization. I wonder if their families ever came here to visit their graves.
After our visit to the fort, we walked back to the hotel, and the other girls rested while I asked the manager how to take a bus to Mallalpuram (having no private car). He was very helpful, and ended up telling me and a Swedish boy who was also staying there, his life story. He was found as a 4 day old baby by the Salvation Army, brought up by missionaries, and has been working at the guest house for 17 years. He was so kind, he got Paulie (who wasn’t even technically staying there) a ricksaw to take her to the airport for later, and gave us a recommendation for a restaurant down the street. It was lovely, with red checkered table clothes, Indian and Western food, and a staff who was tickled pink by Lisette and my attempts at Tamil.
After that I was pretty pooped, so I just went to bed while Lisette chatted with Pauline in the front room. The next morning, I got up bright and early and headed out to the bus stand to go to Mallalpuram. It a little town near Channi which is famous for its monuments and stoneworkers. I got there around 9:30 in the morning, and after a quick dosa for breakfast headed out to see the sights. At the first one, I was a little harassed by a postcard dealer, and another traveler came over to rescue me. His name was Gerald, from Britain, and as we got to talking I learned that he had lived in DC (Clerandon, actually) working with litigation support and had been to Marrakech. In his early life (he was about 55ish) he had been in the British Navy, and so had cheap tattoos on his arms that fascinated all of the Indians we passed. We toured the monuments talking about cricket and baseball, traveling and college and had a really nice time. Unfortunately, we spit up for about 20 minutes while he went into a monument and I went to shop (and had to bargain longer than I hoped) and I lost him. So, Jack, if you ever in your litigation support career happen to meet a man named Gerald who was working in Washington about 4 years ago, please tell him that I am ok.
I did spend some time looking for him, drawing the attention of several of the guide and salesmen in the area. One of them was incredibly kind, even giving me a lift around town looking for him on his scooter! Truth be told, I was almost as upset to loose my ride back (he had had a car hired by his company) as Gerald, but when I told the guide where I was staying in Chenni he said that he lived very close to there and would give me a lift, no problem. In the meantime, every salesman and ricksaw driver had an APB on Gerald, and would call him if he was spotted. He told me to go eat. I went off and had lunch at a lovely tourist café, on the second floor, painted bright pink, with lots of fun foods like pasta salad and crepes. They also had spice tea with bits of cinnamon, cloves, and cardamom floating in it. It was lovely, and I made lunch last until almost 4, when I met the guide again and got a lift back into town. On the way to Chenni, we stopped at his sister’s house for coffee (and so he could change). Her children were adorable, trying on my shoes, playing with my hair, and the little boy cried when I left. We got back tot eh hotel around 6:30, and I was just in time to meet Lisette for dinner at 7:00. Her train was at 8, we ate a quick snack and then I saw her off. Ever since, people have been asking me if I have friends in India, and I say "Yes, but not with me" and they look and I feel sad. Lisette, Kyla, John, Jackie I can’t thank you enough for how much fun you made even 3 hour hysterectomies, and hope you all keep in touch!
At 9 the next morning, my train left for Calcutta. This was the first of two long train trips that I am taking, and I was really excited about it. The way I see it, I don’t have that much time to see India, and I see the train rides and transportation, accomedation, and tours of all the places I don’t get to stop, but can see. In addition, they are social clubs! This time, I was seated with a group of teenagers coming back from Christian Youth Camp in Chenni. The girls (Uma, 18 and Christie 16) were full of questions about America: what kind of house did I live in, did I have a boyfriend, what did my parents do, did I hve brothers and sisters…I usually simplify answers to questions like this, it just makes everything easier (yes, I’m a Christian; my sister is a teacher; my roommates are both other girl students, ect). This got me in trouble this time, though, since I had to answer questions about how often I went to church, how long services were, and how we celebrated Christmas (for this one at least I didn’t fib…I told them all about the children’s service at church and they sounded enthused!). They were really nice kids, sharing all of their food with me, listening to my I-Pod (I realized after they made a face I probably shouldn’t have started them on random play. "Sweeney Todd" is not for everyone), and making the boys be quiet when I wanted to sleep. They had some funny ideas about America, how we had no poor people and everyone lived in huge houses (Ah, TV). One of the boys who takled ot me was really sweet (prehaps Freddie sweet...it's hard to tell here). He loves books, and we talked about Roald Dahl and Harry Potter and how he wants to write 5 books in his life and open a bookshop in every counrty. He asked me about my goals, and I told him some (become an advanced nurse, travel a lot, have a lovely house when I'm older with a huge garden and kitchen so I can learn to cook). It was nice.
The train went through Andrah Predesh and Orrissa, and for the most part the differences were subtle, but there. Wheat fields instead of rice paddies, block bulls instead of white cows, women in short saries carrying loads of hay on their heads, houses made from tile rather than banana leaves, pools with blue, rather than white, lilies. The woman sitting across from me was Bengali, and spoke almost no English, but gave me tea every time I turned around and wanted my mobile number. At night, the fires burning in the fields lit up the sky, and everything smelled like a bonfire. I had a whole bunk this time, and slept very well. Indian trains get very quiet at around 10:30pm, and by 11 there isn’t usually a sound to be heard except the motion of the wheels. In both second class compartments I’ve been in, I haven’t had one snorer. This is made up for by the 5:30 wake up time, though. It’s pretty easy to doze during the day, and that’s what I did until about 10, when I chatted more with the girls and then got ready for when the train arrived around 12.
After saying goodbye, I took the cross-town bus so that I could leave my luggage at Saldeah station, which is where my next train leaves. Moving through the traffic, I could see that this city is totally different in style from Tamil Nadu. Like all of India, it looks as though structures that were meant to last 10 years have been left up for 50, but these are townhouses with ornate wooden screened balconies, peeking out from leafy trees. The street life is amazing, everything is sold from blankets on the sidewalk. The chai is served not in glasses but in ceramic pots. There is a whole street of men who sit at typewriters typing letters for other people. I dropped off my luggage at the station cloak room, and walked about 3 miles through the town to the main tourist area, just letting myself go bug-eyed (oh, and also stopping at the tourist office to book a double room for myself at Jaldapara lodge. It’s elephant ride of bust! Thank you for your birthday present, Aunt Karen. I finally found somewhere that takes credit cards!).
About halfway though my walk, I ran into a protest of people saying they were against "Imperialism, Globalization, Zionism, and War". The were holding lots of signs saying "Stop US and UK Imperialism in Other Countries!" and, yes, there was a lovely picture of President Bush (in his flight suit, no less) Tony Blair and Rumsfeld looking very evil. ON the one hand, I could see their point. It’s not like I voted for him, or support most of what he does. On the other, something inside of me was screaming "You guys are supposed to LIKE us! If you don’t like us, nobody does!", which may, in fact, be the case. I felt a little awkward standing my the side of the road, but I wasn’t about to let myself get off the route I knew so I waited the 30 minutes while about 250 people marched by. It was pretty clear that some people were passionate about their cause, and others were street people who didn’t seem to have a clue why they were walking this way.
After finding a hotel, I wandered about some more (finally finding this place, which has 10 rps Internet. I promise I’ll try to be less frugal when I comes to Internet, since I don’t want you to worry, but they tried to charge me 40rps in Mallalapuram! That’s just not fair!). I stopped for dinner at a "rolls" stand, which is a Calcutta specialty. They prepare a kabab, then a vegetable mush mixture, and roll the whole thing in a thick chipatti. It was delicious!
Tomorrow, my train for NJP (and from there Jaldapara and Darjeeling) leaves about 10:00pm. I probably won’t be able to write again until I get to Darjeeling (not counting on there being Internet in the forest preserve) on the 30th. I miss you all very much (more every time someone says "Do you miss your Family, Boyfriend, Friends) but am having adventures (as you see). Next time I write, I will have fullfilled one of my Travel Goals: Elephant Ride!
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